by M. J. Fields
“Birth,” she cries and begins to sob. “Death!” she cries louder, shaking as she sobs.
When she’s calmed down a bit, I tell her, “Those are the guarantees, Keeks. What happens between those two events is life.”
“Well, life sucks,” she sobs out. “Life. Sucks.”
“It’s not so bad, Keeks, once you figure out what makes you happy.” I look over at London who’s looking at me and smiling as a tear falls down her pale white skin.
“Well, I don’t know what that is! How am I supposed to do that for...that...that...kid?”
“Well, sister from the same, or maybe a different, mister,” London says, “that’s what friends are for.”
She looks back at London. “It’s not going to work out well for us, you know that. Your mom—”
“My mom will love you regardless.” London reaches out and wipes Keeka’s nose with her sleeve. “And I’m gonna love you more.”
Keeka shakes her head, while London does the opposite. Of course she does.
Ten minutes later, I’m walking out of the bathroom, finding the two of them are sound asleep, hugging, as a nurse comes in, pushing a plastic bin with a tiny life wrapped in a pink blanket.
“Don’t wake her,” I damn near demand.
She starts to turn, pushing the baby back out of the room, taking her away from her family.
“You can leave her here.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” She glances at Keeka.
“It’s gonna be fine. Just leave her here.” Now I do demand.
“She’ll need to eat in four hours or so. The formula is in the drawer, with diapers.” The way she says diapers is like she’s trying to scare me.
Laughable.
“Great. Thanks.”
I walk over and look down at her. Then I read the pink index card on the baby bin.
Name: Baby Garcia Lopez
Weight: Seven pounds, two ounces.
Length: Twenty-two inches
Mother: Keeka Garcia Lopez
Father: Unknown
Immediately, my blood boils. Trucker.
I reach in and pick her up, supporting her head as I pull her swaddled little body against my chest and sit in the chair.
“Hey there, angel baby,” I whisper then kiss the pink knit hat on her head. “Happy birthday.”
She makes a little wet squeaky sound and nuzzles into my neck.
I reach into my pocket, grab my phone, take a selfie, and yes, I message it to that fucker.
Immediately, I get a text.
Ava’s kid?
Fucking joke. Ava’s kids are eight fucking months old.
No
Been busy. I saw some shit on the news. You good?
Fuck you, I think, then I type it out and send it. He deserves it.
Fuck you
What the hell’s that supposed to mean, man? Lol.
L. O. Fucking L?
Means you’re a little bitch. That’s what it fucking means.
I hit send then look up as Dad and Tessa walk in.
“You okay?” Dad asks.
“Yeah.” I stand. “Take Angel for me? I need to deal with something.”
Dad hesitates.
“What?”
“She named her?” he asks.
“Nah, just looks like a little Angel,” I say, nodding to the chair. “Sit so I can go take a piss?”
I’d piss on Trucker if he was here, I think.
Dad smirks. “I’ve held a baby before, boy; hand Angel over.”
“Shit, of course,” I say, putting her in his hands.
My phone vibrates in my hand. I know who it is.
“I’ll be back.”
I don’t look at the fucking screen, I just head for the stairs; the elevator would take too damn long. When I get to the bottom, I find the nearest exit and hit him up on FaceTime. He answers immediately.
“Hey, bro,” he says on a laugh.
“Hey nothing, Trucker. Twenty-seven people from a community you grew up near and went to school at died, and not even a call, man? Not one fucking message?” I yell at him. No, I fucking scream at him.
His nostrils flare a bit. He’s pissed.
“You’re a fucking waste of my goddamned time, Trucker.”
“You’re jealous of what I got, man. Jealous that I made it here first,” he hisses.
“No, motherfucker, I turned it down. That’s why you got it.” I let him suck on that a little bit. “Turned it down twice actually. The Giants drafted Jones because I told them no. Guess where he is now? He’s fucking dead.”
“You didn’t turn shit down,” he huffs. “I’m a fucking quarterback. Offense, Links.”
“So was I in high school, bitch. Gave that up for you, too, because you were too little, a bitch, and sucked at D!”
“Oh, here we go.” He growls a laugh. “Been waiting for this my entire life. The day Logan Links comes a-calling, telling me I wouldn’t have been shit if not for him and his old man.”
I’m about ready to blow the fuck up.
“You wanna send pictures of a baby to me like you’re some fucking saint? That kid could be mine or anyone’s on the team for that matter. Your new bro, Mitch, he fucked her, too. So did Downs. So take your picture and shove it up your ass!”
“So full of shit.” I laugh at him. “But don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” I try to be the better man, but when I’m pissed, that doesn’t always happen. “Just like my old man took care of you when your mom booked and your dad was never home.”
“Fuck you, Links,” he snaps.
“Fuck me? Fuck me! Who the fuck are you now?”
“Not your bitch anymore,” he answers. “I’m living the life we dreamed of.”
“You may have dreamed of becoming a fucking shitbag, but I sure as fuck didn’t. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of your kid, fucker.”
“Not mine, man.” He laughs at me. “Like I said, Downs and Mitch had her in their fucking beds, too.”
“I don’t believe a fucking thing coming out of your mouth right now, brother,” I hiss.
“I don’t give a damn what you believe.” He continues to laugh at me. Fucking laughs! “Get Springer to bring her on. Have those fuckers tested.”
“Those fuckers?” I yell. “Downs was your fucking friend! He’s in ICU right now, fighting for his fucking life!”
“Tell him I’ll add him to my prayer list, Links,” he huffs. “And leave my name the fuck out of it. I don’t need the damn drama that little bitch is drumming up.”
“Never fucking speak to me again, you hear me? You’re nothing to me,” I tell him. “Nothing!”
“One last thing, Links. I don’t owe you shit,” he snarls.
“Bitch, I don’t even know who the fuck you are.” I hang up the phone and pull my arm back to throw it against the fucking wall. I look back when my elbow is caught.
“Logan.”
I turn to see Mitch standing there.
“Trucker...Fucking Trucker,” I stammer, trying to get my thoughts together.
“You and I need to chat, man.” The way he says it puts worry in my head.
“About what?”
He shakes his head. “It’s fucked up, man. Fucked up.”
When he starts talking, I want to fucking kick his ass, but he’s too upset, so I listen to his shit. I listen to him tell me about a night that they were all fucked up. I wasn’t there. I was in the city with Ava.
He remembers bits and pieces about Keeka and Trucker fighting because he was hooking up with someone else. Trucker was nasty to her, verbally, but he stepped back. Apparently, Mitch woke up to Trucker screaming and Keeka in his bed.
“You fucked her? You fucked her and didn’t tell me that her baby could be yours!”
“I was fucked up, Logan. Been fucked up since fall semester started and I saw her. I asked her. I fucking asked her if it was mine.” He sits on the bench, holding his head, fucking tears falling. “She told me we didn�
�t fuck. I believe her.”
“You wanna believe her,” I correct him.
“Fuck yes, I wanna believe her. Jesus, man,” he snaps.
“You may have gotten her knocked up, and you’ve been fucking around with Jamie? What the fuck, man? That’s not fair to her!”
“She fucking knows! She knows all the shit. Why do you think she keeps fucking walking away? I’m falling in love with a girl who thinks I may have gotten Keeka pregnant. I tried to back the fuck off, I did, but I just can’t leave her alone, man. I may be a horrible bastard, but I can’t. And you know what, Links? She can’t either.”
“If you’re the dad—”
“If I’m the kid’s—”
“The little girl,” I tell him.
He absorbs the information and nods, looking down again. “I need to know. I need to fucking know so I can fix shit with Jamie. So we have answers.”
I grab the collar of his coat. “You need to know because, if you’re the dad, you owe that little girl and Keeka, not you, not Jamie. Do you fucking hear me!”
“Yeah, man, yeah, of course.” He nods, but he doesn’t fucking look at me.
“Mitch!”
He looks up. “I fucking hear you, man. I told her that. Told her on the way to London’s. Keeka swears we didn’t, man. Jamie—”
“Jamie means fuck not right now,” I snap.
“Fuck she doesn’t.” He stands up. “The fuck she doesn’t.”
Her Heart
Brody
Sitting in the office at Maddox and Harper’s place, I can hear my wife talking to London’s roommates.
She’s been through so damn much, yet she’s sometimes stronger than I am. This morning for example. She can clearly deal with London in a way I admittedly lack the skill to do. I still see her as the seven-year-old little princess who stole my heart simultaneously with her mother. Em was less receptive to the idea, and I know had it not been for London’s heart and persistence, her mother, the love of my life, Emma, my Em, wouldn’t be mine today.
London’s heart has been displayed on her sleeve from the moment I met her. Regardless of what she has endured because of the fame, and yes, misfortune, she has shone brighter than any star I have ever had the privilege of seeing, in the sky or otherwise. As I told her, that’s what makes her vulnerable. It scares the hell out of me.
What scares me even more is this fucking Links kid. Collin Abraham became my best friend, and even though he was cool with Lucas Links, I never was.
Guy is an arrogant fuck. You know what they say about apples not falling far from trees? Not just what they say, but what happens more often than not.
My princess is in love with his kid.
I run my hands through my hair and rest my elbows on the desk.
Fucking kid. He’s no kid. Fucker has no fear.
“He should goddamn fear me,” I grumble, continuing to rub my head, trying to relieve some of the tension headache I’ve had all damn day.
I feel hands on my shoulders, kneading softly. I don’t have to look up to know whose they are. “Em.”
“Still hurting?”
“Dissipating now.” I sit up and lean back, looking up at my wife. “Em, your touch is magic.”
“I still think you were over the top this morning, music man. Don’t look at me with those eyes,” she scolds.
I grab her hands, turn the chair, and have her on my lap in seconds.
She sighs and looks at me, then links her hands behind my neck. “You want him to respect you, not fear you.”
“He said he loves her. Do you know what kind of hell she’s in for?” Before she can answer, I tell her, “He’s going to hurt her, Em. Then I’m going to murder him, and then I’m going to jail. Then, do you know what you’re in for?”
“He said he loves her?” She smiles. Fucking smiles like it’s cute.
“It’s not cute, Em. It’s not,” I scold her now.
“If they love each other, they will be fine,” she scolds me right back.
I want to argue my point with her, but I also need to tell my beautiful wife something that I’m sure will hurt her. I have two hearts in need of protection—London’s and Emma’s. That little prick was right; Emma needs me to get her through this. However, in seeing her hurt, I will have to use every ounce of strength I have not to allow myself to be jealous of a dead man’s ability to still hurt her. It’s selfish, but I’m human. However, love, my love for her, supersedes.
Having allowed my anger for Links to take precedence over trying to figure out a way to tell her that her ex may have fathered a child, gotten another woman pregnant, before she was pregnant for London, I hold her close, and then I tell her, “We’ll get through this.”
“That’s right.” She smiles earnestly.
“We can get through anything,” I add, building a nice cushion of strength for the bombshell I’m about to drop.
“Of course we can.” She rubs her fingertips against my temples slowly with precise pressure to relieve the ache in my head.
“We’ve come through cancer.” I rub my knuckle across where I know the scar on her breast from the lumpectomy lays beneath her clothes. She smiles. “Custody battles,” I remind her. Again, she smiles softly. “Death and near-death experiences.”
I stop talking when her eyes widen, and she looks at me with questions in them.
“We’ve gone through—”
“This isn’t about London, is it?” she whispers her worry.
I sigh, slowly shaking my head.
“What is it? What are we up against? Are you planning to go to England again?” Her voice changes, and she swallows hard. “Brody—”
“Listen to me and do not hide your emotions or questions.” I take her face in my hands. “Some information has come out that leads London and Logan to believe there is a possibility that the girl, Keeka, who was here...” I close my eyes briefly, taking a damn mental image of my wife, whose heart is safely in my hands, guarded and protected, who is about to receive a blow that will no doubt hurt her.
I open my eyes when she whispers, “Brody?”
“Em, they think Keeka may be Troy’s daughter.”
It takes her a split-second to ask, “London’s sister then?”
I nod.
She says nothing. Not one thing.
Then, with hurt evident in her voice, she asks, “How’s London?”
“I’m assuming fine. It was Logan who told me.”
She nods again. “I need to call her.”
I hold her still. “How are you feeling, Em?”
“I’m feeling like I need to call my daughter to see if she’s okay, Brody,” she answers, her face turning a bit red.
I let go of her with one hand and tap London’s name on my list of contacts. It rings but she doesn’t answer. An automatic reply comes back in text form.
I’m busy at the moment. I’ll call you back soon.
Em lets out a frustrated sigh and sits back. I wrap my arms around her.
“Try to relax and wait,” I tell her.
Relax, not a word Emma responds to well.
I curse myself for saying it as she tenses and sits up. Then she grabs my phone and scrolls through it.
Tessa Abraham.
“It’s Links now, Brody. Whether or not you like it, Collin is dead, and Tessa and Lucas are together, and you don’t get to keep living in the past.” She hits her contact information, changes it, and shoves the phone into my chest.
I grumble, “The man and his son are—”
“He’s dead!” she yells at me. “He’d want you to be happy for Tessa!”
I set the phone down and take her face again. “Go on.”
“It’s not fair that you do that! Maddox, Harper, Piper, Reed...” She pauses and looks down. “London may have a sister that...” She shakes her head.
I try to explain to her what it is she’s feeling in a way that opens her up to feeling safe to do so. Like in the bedroom...but not. “You’re ang
ry at him. Feel betrayed—”
“All feelings I got over, Brody. He’s dead.” She looks up at me. “I need answers. I need to know that he took care of her! I need to know that his daughter, London’s sister—” She covers her mouth and gasps. “How could I not have noticed?”
“Don’t do that to yourself. We aren’t even sure she is, Em. Until the DNA test comes back—”
“You’ve already done a DNA test without even talking to me first?” She pushes off my chest to sit up again. I hold her firmly in place.
“I didn’t. London did. Logan,” I pause, “contacted me.”
“What? How?”
“Hair samples,” I tell her, still keeping her in place.
She looks at me. “Am I the last to know?”
I understand her frustration and give her an honest answer, “I’m not sure.”
“Do Tessa and Lucas know?” She now seems angrier.
“I will not assume yes, or neither one of us will remain in control.”
“I will be so pissed at her, Brody. So hurt if she knew and didn’t call me.”
I know she’s talking about Tessa.
“I understand completely, Em. Yet, as you said earlier, we need to consider Maddox, Harper, Piper, Reed...” I pause and sigh. “London and possibly Keeka, too.”
“What a mess.” She now buries her head in my neck and holds me tighter.
“Mom?”
I look up to see Lexington walking toward us.
“She’s just tired, sweetheart,” I say, motioning her to come to us.
She climbs up on Emma’s lap as I whisper to my wife, “And Lexington.”
Emma looks up, kisses Lexington’s face, hugs her, and then looks at me and nods.
When the phone rings and I see London’s name, I grab the phone before Lexington insists on talking to her first.
“Sweet girl,” I say to her as I hand Emma the phone, “would you mind giving me and your mom just a couple minutes alone?”
She giggles as she slides down. “Kissy-kissy time?”
“Go.” I laugh at her as she skips out of the room, already on her way.