by Jane Anthony
She looks at me with huge brown eyes waiting for answers. Wild hair falls around her heart-shaped face, framing her high cheekbones. Her lips are pursed into a perfect little pout. The burgundy lipstick she had on earlier is worn away, and the natural pink color stands out against the pale tone of her skin. She looks so innocent. I hate myself for violating her trust and losing my temper on the one person in this world I promised I’d never hurt.
“We moved around a lot, that part was true. But that was it . . .”
“Kade! Move! Move! Move!”
The Sergeant’s Doberman style bark could be heard throughout the entire house. I spilled oil in the garage trying to grease my bike chain. My punishment is moving cinderblocks from one end of the yard to the other.
I’m hauling ass with a block under each arm, knowing if I don’t get it done fast enough, he’ll only make me do it again. Sometimes, he makes me carry them above my head and other times, straight out in front of me. Once, he even had me carry them with outstretched arms to the side, but a hairline fracture left me in a cast, a little setback that resulted in him calling me Katherine for the entire month. I’m told these punishments are meant to turn me into a man.
My mother hangs laundry from the line attached to the house while her husband stands close by with his arms crossed over his thick chest as their eleven-year-old son trips over his own absurdly large feet. I’m tall for my age but wiry and thin. Regaining my footing, I continue my hustle across the lawn.
The last block falls in the neat pile, and my arms fall weak and weary at my sides. I want to collapse onto the ground, but I turn toward him and wait to be excused. The Sergeant is still in his uniform, his hat pulled low over his shaved head, and his boots laced in immaculate rows. With a face devoid of emotion, he lifts the stopwatch as I sweat it out, wondering if my time was up to snuff. “Sufficient, private. Go clean the garage.”
“Yes, sir.” Physically exhausted to the point of passing out, I drag my body to the garage and begin cleaning up the small puddle of oil.
“Staff Sergeant Rodney Black was a militant son of a bitch who demanded excellence. He ruled our home with an iron fist and a zero tolerance policy. His word was law.”
“Dig a hole. Six feet wide and four feet deep.”
I take the shovel from his hand without a word, seething inside as he sits back in a lawn chair and watches me push into the red Georgia dirt.
The punishments changed as I grew and became stronger. By the time I was sixteen, my back was powerful and my shoulders were broad. Years of backbreaking manual labor had sculpted my physique, making it muscular and firm. Hauling cinderblock was no longer strenuous enough. The old man had to get creative. Digging holes, chopping wood, flipping tractor tires . . . whatever the sadistic bastard could think of, he made me do.
Dirt flies out of the hole as I dig, knowing I have to get this done in a timely manner in order to avoid further punishment. It’s hot, and my throat is so dry it burns, but I keep at it. Each time the shovel stabs the soil, I imagine it’s a fist in the old man’s face. The harder I dig, the better it feels.
By the time I’m done, the blood is rocketing through my veins, and I’m so pumped I feel like I can take on a bear. I stand on the edge and watch as he meticulously measures the proper four by six hole. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter, private? I said get in the hole!” A spooked flock of birds takes flight as his booming voice echoes off the trees. I jump in the hole and stand there waiting for my next instructions.
“Are you a homo or a woman?” he bellows loud enough that I’m sure the whole neighborhood could hear him. The old man always spoke in a stern Southern shout, as if commanding the troops instead of talking to his family.
My already rapid heartbeat jumps in my chest and begins thumping against my ribcage. Neither one, sir!” I shout back as expected.
“Didn’t I give you explicit instructions to get your hair cut?”
“Yes, sir!” I spit out through my gritted teeth. The dirt sweating into my eyes is impossible to remove with my filthy hands.
“Didn’t I give you the money to obtain said haircut?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Then why am I still looking at your shaggy ass standing in a hole, boy?” His smug face gives way to sarcastic laughter.
Something inside me snaps. The anger and humiliation that’s been building inside me boils over into a river of rage flowing out of my body. It’s aimed directly at the belligerent fuck standing in front of me. I’ve dug hundreds of holes, moved thousands of cinderblocks, and fulfilled every cruel and unusual punishment he thought to throw my way while he watched like a friggin’ psychopath. No infraction was too minor. The abuse was always the same.
In one long leap, I jump out of the hole and tackle him to the ground without a second thought about the consequences. I’m already as tall as he is and nearly as wide. He falls like a tree, my fists coming down like the hammers of hell, bloodying his face and cracking his ribs.
The Sergeant gets in a few jabs, but it only serves to fuel the fire coursing through my veins as I unload a litany of punches. Each swing releases every last bit of anxiety, fear, and self-loathing I’ve carried around inside my gut for as long as I can remember. For the first time in my life, I feel free.
A cold blast of water whips me in the face, throwing me off my father, who’s lying in a ball in the dirt. My mother hovers just a few feet away, aiming the hose at me like it’s a gun. With hands in the air, I stand and surrender my fight. She drops the hose and runs to his aid.
“Looks like you were right, Dad. Your punishments made a man out of me after all.” I spit in his direction, walk off the property, and never return.
“Every time someone gets in my way, all I see is cinderblocks and dirt. It all comes back, and the animosity returns with a vengeance.”
Ainsley’s eyes are so wide I can see the whites around her irises. She sits on the edge of her seat, inching closer to me in tiny increments as I tell her story after story. By the time I’m done, she may as well be in my lap. “You make it all go away. When I’m with you, I get a glimpse of the man I know I can be instead of the broken one I am.” I run my thumb across her cheek. “I’m tired of feeling this way. I want to feel the way I do when I’m with you all the time.”
Her eyes soften. I pull her off the chair and onto my knee, needing to feel her against me. I always thought sex and fighting were the greatest forms of escape, but I was wrong. This is. With her in my arms, everything is better.
The ringing of her phone breaks the heavy silence. She digs it from her coat pocket and looks down at the number. “It’s Maxwell. . . .” I watch her brows crinkle as she listens then her eyes go wide and her lips part. “You’re kidding . . . okay . . . yeah . . . I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Thanks.”
She disconnects the phone and stares at it for a second as she waits for whatever news to sink in. “His private investigator has been following Bob all week. You’re not going to believe this.”
CHAPTER 40
Ainsley
“THIS PRICK IS something else,” Kade says. Sprawled out in a chair in Maxwell’s office like he’s king of the world, he flicks the photo he’s holding back into the pile on the desk and rolls his eyes. I told him I could handle this on my own, but he insisted on coming with me.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Bob had been sleeping with Cami for years, right under my nose. I have no reason to believe he wouldn’t do it again, yet here I am, staring at photos of him and his dental hygienist in utter disbelief. It’s been over two years since I caught Bob and Cami in our bed, but seeing this is like reliving it all over again.
“I wonder how long this has been going on.”
“I can’t say for sure, but they seem very cozy together.”
Maxwell sits behind his desk with the photos spread out between us. The sleeves on his crisp white dress shirt are rolled up his furry forearms, and I notice
for the first time that he has a slight indentation on his bare left ring finger.
Acid burns a hole in my stomach. Charlene has been Bob’s hygienist for years. I know her well. I swallow down the nagging feeling that he didn’t just cheat on Cami with her, but me as well. “So what does this mean for the case?” A dull throbbing is beginning to form between my eyes.
“Well, it definitely shows his lack of commitment to family values. I mean his girlfriend is expecting, right?”
“Twins,” I reply with a nod.
The thought of poor, pregnant Cami sitting home while Bob is out tapping his hygienist makes my heart ache. I can hear Jenny’s voice in my mind saying Karma’s a bitch, but I can’t get on board with that. I don’t forgive Cami for what she did, but I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. “Do we threaten him with these or something?”
“I think it’s best to save these as our ace in the hole to further sway the judge in our favor the day of the trial.”
“No. Absolutely not.” As delightful as it may be to see Bob suffer, these photos would destroy more than just him. His entire relationship with Cami would unravel. Shay already comes from one broken home. She loves Cami and is thrilled about the babies. I cannot allow my anger to steal her happiness away from her. When this comes out in the wash, it’s going to be Bob’s fault, not mine. “Keep digging. Find something else.”
My lawyer looks at me as if I’ve gone mad. “Ms. Daniels, the affair builds a foolproof case against him. I implore you to reconsider.”
“I’m not putting Shay through it again.”
This is a constant cycle in Bob’s life. He hasn’t changed a bit since high school. It’s evident he does not possess the ability to be a one-woman man; however, he can’t be alone. The hygienist will just fall into Cami’s place, followed by another woman, and another, until the trail of stepmother figures in my daughter’s life is a mile long. It’s not fair to her. I refuse to be the catalyst that sets that wheel in motion. “Either we use it against him privately, or we don’t use it at all. I have faith in you to sway the judge without it.”
Maxwell nods. “Okay, then. I’ll build the case without it.” His Patek Philippe watch clinks on the desk as he collects the pile of photos and shoves them back into his file. I never asked Kade how much Maxwell was billing him for, but with a timepiece like that, I’m sure it’s a hefty sum. I just hope he’s worth it.
By the time we leave Maxwell’s office, I’m drained. I deluded myself into believing Cami was the first, but now, I know he was never true to me, and it stings more than I care to admit. “Are you going back to the hotel?”
Kade stands outside the massive skyscraper with his hands in his pockets. The wind has kicked up, and the smell of winter is in the air. It won’t be long before every tree is bare, and we’re buried under a mountainous pile of snow. Considering my own icy behavior, I wonder if Kade will stick around long enough to see it. I’m a mess of up and down emotions these days. It’s impressive that he hasn’t split yet.
“Yeah, sweets, I guess I am.”
I resolve to push Bob out of my mind as I begin to walk down the sidewalk. Focusing on shit I can’t change won’t do me any good at this point. The holidays are coming, and I’d rather focus my energy on the things I have rather than the things I’ve lost.
Kade jogs around to the street side and falls in line next to me. It reminds me of something my grandmother said to me once a long time ago about chivalry and the way a lady should be treated. Never run out to a honking car, and never walk on the curb side of the road. Thinking she’s watching us makes me smile. We were close, and I miss her. She never came right out and said so, but she wasn’t Bob’s biggest fan. I bet she would have liked Kade.
“What’s gotten you so happy all of a sudden?”
I rest my hand in the crook of his elbow and slow our brisk pace. “Do you want to spend Thanksgiving with me and my family next week?” Thoughts of my grandmother always remind me how short life is. All our drama aside, Kade shouldn’t be alone on Thanksgiving. He should be with someone who cares about him. He’s been alone for far too long already.
CHAPTER 41
Kade
I’M A SPASTIC bundle of nerves, which is an odd change for me. Usually I’m the one causing worry, not the other way around. Ainsley has this remarkable talent for making me feel things I’ve never felt before. Love, jealousy, heartbreak, redemption . . . and today: complete anxiety.
I drive to her house way earlier than I’m supposed to, but I can’t sit still anymore. I’m always turned up to eleven. I’ve never been able to just relax and take it easy. The Sergeant’s booming bark is a constant in my head. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, boy! Get to work! Ainsley is the only one who squelches that voice. I feel a sense of calm I can’t explain when I’m around her.
The first time that I ever felt at ease was holding her against me in that hotel room after that awful interview with Music Buzz. She curled up next to me on the bed like a kitten, her little body nestled snugly under my arm. I was crazy about her from day one, but that was the moment I realized I couldn’t live without her.
I ring the bell and wait for someone to answer. I hear two high-pitched voices, scurrying footsteps, and a series of clicks just before the door opens. The early afternoon sunlight filters into the doorway and catches on Shay’s golden strands of hair. “Hi, Kade! Happy Thanksgiving! Mom’s in the kitchen. She says come in.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, kiddo.”
The smell of food hangs in the air already, and I’m sure Ainsley has been cooking up a storm since early this morning. The door clicks closed, and Shay lifts her tiny fist in front of her. I smile and reciprocate, bopping my fist along with the countdown to our game. This time, on the count of three, I throw up two fingers and she keeps a tight fist. Rock beats scissors. “You’re too good at this game!” I say tapping my fingertip on her nose. She grins.
The sight of Ainsley’s bodacious rear end greets me in the doorway as I stroll into the kitchen. The woman has zero problems filling out a pair of jeans. “What are you doing up there?” My gaze travels up her stretching body from her knees on the countertop all the way to her pointed fingertips reaching into the gaping maw of the cabinet in front of her. The view stirs up all kinds of dirty in the back of my mind. Nothing on this planet is hotter than a thick, round ass with a tiny waist. Ainsley has both. “Let me help you before you get hurt.”
“I’m fine! Just trying to get the stupid platter from the top—ow!” Her shriek echoes into the open cabinet as my teeth sink into the meaty part of her ass cheek. It was begging for it. I just couldn’t help myself.
Her arm jets out behind her in a cliché mom swipe, but I swerve and duck, and she misses me completely. “See? Told you you’d get hurt.”
“You’re such a cocky asshole.”
The look of shock on her face as she rubs her wounded cheek turns my chuckle to a cackle. My arm hooks around her middle, sweeping her off the counter and lowering her feet back to the floor.
Effortlessly, I pluck the turkey platter from the shelf and present it to her with a bow. “Your plate, my lady.”
She rolls her eyes, snatching the platter from my hand. “You’re like a big child. Why don’t you go play with Shay for a while?”
“Aww,” I placate, still trying to control my laughter. “Okay, I’m sorry. What else do you need help with? I’ll be good, Scout’s honor.” One hand covers my heart, while the other one holds up three fingers.
“I find it very hard to believe you were ever a Boy Scout,” she says flatly.
I steal an uncooked green bean from a bowl on the counter and snap it off between my teeth. “I was, actually, but I got kicked out for eating a Brownie.”
Another eye roll. I’m two for two. She turns back to the counter with an ugh. “Just for that, I’m making you do the dishes.” The quirking corners of her mouth assure me that her annoyed reaction is an act. She pretends I disgust her, but she secretly lov
es it.
I’m still grinning when I walk into the family room. The wooden coffee table in the center is covered with construction paper. Crayons litter the tabletop like a colorful array of fallen soldiers, tumbling out of a forgotten box laying on its side, while animated superheroes fight crime on the television ahead.
“Hey, kid. What are you making here?” I take a seat on the couch and watch as Shay folds a green piece of paper and slides her thumb across the edge, making a firm crease.
“Thanksgiving cards for Grammy and Pop-Pop.”
Her teeny fist holds the crayon as it moves along the colored paper. She stops coloring for a minute to admire her work then goes right back to it. When she’s done, she sets the crayon down and shows me with a triumphant grin.
“That’s a nice turkey. I like the waddle.”
“Thanks!” she beams, climbing onto the couch next to me. My hands settle onto my lap, one resting on each knee. I’m not a hundred percent sure what to do with them, so I figure it’s best to leave them in plain sight. “You don’t have to be nervous around me. I like you.”
“What makes you think I’m nervous?”
Shay lifts my hand, turning up my palm, and trailing her petite finger across it. “It’s wet.”
A smile grows on my face. A nine-year-old called me out for having sweaty palms. I like this kid. She’s good at reading people. “Between us, I’m a little nervous about meeting your grandparents.”
“Why?”
I glance back toward the kitchen, keeping my voice low so Ainsley can’t hear me. “I guess because I don’t have any family of my own. I want them to like me too.”
“What happened to your family?” Shay looks like a cherub, all innocent and cute. Looking at her face, I feel my chest begin to tighten. I’m starting to grow attached to her.
“They weren’t nice.”
“Like my dad isn’t nice?”
Ouch. “Your dad loves you.”