by M. J. Fields
“John Ross, Jack Ross, and Josette—or Josie Ross—are siblings. Tessa, Alex, Kendall, Molly, and Jake are John and Maggie’s kids. Jack Ross is Jade’s daughter. His two other sons died when they were young. Josie had one child, Troy.”
She sits back and crosses her arms. “I don’t care.”
She does, so I continue, “Troy was pretty much as bad as Tessa’s high school boyfriend—he liked the ladies. When Tessa and her high school and college boyfriend went on a vacation together, they stayed with him and some of his friends in Ft. Lauderdale. That’s where Tessa and Carmen, your mother, met. They became instant friends, and the minute Troy saw her, he wanted her.”
She looks up at me then back down, trying to hide the fact that she was interested in what we know damn well is the truth, that she’s Troy’s daughter.
“He changed for her, and from what I’ve heard, he loved her. They were together at least two years. I don’t know why they broke up, but they did. Troy was a changed man because of her. He went back to college, and that’s where he met Emma.”
She looks toward the window, and I swear I see her eyes mist over.
“It’s all overwhelming, I know,” I explain.
“I’m sure someone like you has no clue, so save it.” She sniffs.
“I have a clue. I was seventeen when I got a girl pregnant. I was terrified, and Tessa, she assured me I could do it, be a dad. Trust me when I say I had no belief in myself. My dad is a fucking ass, and my mom was a lush.”
She looks back at me, this time with no malice in her eyes or words spewing out of her mouth to push me away.
I look at Angel. “Sweet girl, you’re blessed to have this family, and I dare say blessed to have this sassy ass over here as your mom.”
“She’s not blessed; she’s cursed.”
I don’t look at her. I continue to look at the baby, whose eyes are closed, sleeping peacefully on my chest.
“Angel, your mom is scared. I’ve been there. I thought after losing two babies to miscarriage that even God Himself knew I didn’t deserve to be a dad. Thought I had no idea how to be one. Your cousin, Suzy Sunshine, your mom’s friend Logan, your possible aunt London, they’ll show her just how much she deserves to be trusted to love you like she wants to, but for some reason may feel like she can’t right now. Maybe even feels like she has never been.”
“Don’t lie to her.” Keeka bats away a tear. “I’ve heard and said enough lies for a lifetime.”
I stand up and walk over to the side of her bed with Angel in my arms, then sit down next to her. “I’ve done a lot of shit wrong in my life, Keeka, a lot. Learned all my lessons the hard way. I pushed through and, by the grace of God, I’m still here. And I’m thankful I am, because I’m able to love my two kids, Tessa’s kids, our grandkids, like I never thought I deserved or was capable of doing. Took a lot to get to the point where I trusted in myself. But the moment when I bonded with Ava, and then Logan, I knew damn well they deserved love. More importantly, I knew I deserved to be their father and love them the way I learned to love. The Ross crew, well, there are no better teachers, so let them love you, let them love Angel.”
I hand Keeka her child, and she looks at her as she lies in her arms. I can see she’s trying not to get swept up in that little life.
“You wanna know a secret? The faster you let that wall down and let them in, the faster you’re going to see that every hurt you’ve experienced in your life so far and all alone will never fucking hurt you as deeply again.”
Angel begins to whimper.
“Can you sing?”
She shakes her head, then closes her eyes.
“Apparently, neither can I.” I nudge her softly.
She smiles a fucking legit smile. It comes and goes really fucking fast, but it was there.
“Give me a song with the word angel in it,” I tell her, knowing damn well I’m pushing here, but fuck if I don’t want her to break, to fold, to look at her baby and share in the love it freely gives her, us.
Angel whimpers again, I look at Keeka. “Give me one?”
Tears begin flowing down her face as she speaks in a sing-song tone the words of “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan. “Spend all your time waiting for that second chance. For a break that would make it okay. There’s always some reason to feel not good enough.”
She swallows back her tears and holds Angel higher as she brings her knees to her chest then puts Angel on her legs as she continues to say the words and cries while looking at her daughter.
Neither of us heard the door open until I hear my wife choke back a sob.
Keeka looks up at her, sorrowful tears flooding her face. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Tessa scolds, walking over to her and sitting at her other side. “Don’t you dare be sorry, sweet girl.” Tessa puts her arm around her and pulls her into a hug as Keeka looks at her child with fear, love, and what I believe is hope for the first time since she had her.
When Angel gets a little more vocal, Keeka looks at Tessa for answers.
“I think it’s time for her to eat.”
“And that’s my cue,” I say, getting up off the bed.
I lean over and kiss a tear falling down Tessa’s face. Then I kiss the top of Angel’s head before kissing the top of Keeka’s.
She looks at me in confusion. Confusion that I quickly clear up.
“Welcome to the family.”
“I may not be family,” she whispers.
“You are regardless.” I smile then chuckle. “Like it or not.”
When I walk out the door, I see Logan first, and behind him, the Hines. Brody is hugging both Emma and London.
“That was cool, Dad,” Logan tells me, letting me know they heard.
I grab his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “You look like you got some sleep finally.”
“Yeah,” he says, hugging me back.
I step back and look at London. “Did you get answers?”
She nods and smiles as Emma wipes a tear away, then she hugs me. “Thanks, Lucas.”
I give her a hug and nod. “Who’s gonna let Josie know?”
She and Emma both laugh and say, “You.”
I laugh, too. “She loves me.”
London smiles. “She totally does.”
“My teenage charm won her over.”
“So I’ve heard.” London giggles.
I glance up at my son, who is looking at her with all the intensity of a man who is in love with a woman who is going through a sort of hell on earth. I felt it at his age, but I was the cause of the hell. He’s not.
It’s not hard to see that he’s walking a path that I had a similar experience walking. It’s not hard to see that he’s walking it a hell of a lot better than I did. And it’s not hard to feel pride in that, because I showed him how to be a better man than I was.
I should want to crush my father, yet I chose to learn what I could from him. And I learned a lot.
My chest swells with pride as I look at him, and then I can’t help thinking about Keeka and all the hurt she has bottled up and is fighting. The things she has yet to divulge, the shit that she will be forced to face so it will not hinder that little angel baby’s life but enhance it in some sort of way.
Every man, every woman, every human being who has experienced emotional pain and has the strength to push past it, to survive it, to want better for themselves, carries inside them a gift. It’s a gift to be given to the next generation. It is knowledge, wisdom, hope. It is allowing love of self and accepting the love of others. It’s immeasurable strength gained from wanting better for everyone who your heart becomes attached to. And when you see your child for the first time, a part of you, an unbroken part, knows there isn’t a damn thing you wouldn’t do to help them avoid all that hurt and pain.
My divorce fucked him up. I know it did. I knew it when he questioned me, not in words, but by actions. I also didn’t try to make him see otherwise. I kn
ew he would. And I knew he would by my actions more so than by my words.
I despise my ex, but I don’t hate her. How can I when she gave me two beautiful kids? She gave me a son who looks at a girl in a way that lets me know I showed him how to love.
I look at Brody fucking Hines, a man who I have given and taken shit from for years, who clearly is going to be even more a part of my damn life than he already is. “You and I are planning a fundraiser together, I hear.”
Logan’s back is to him. I see the little shit-ass grin form at the corner of his mouth. He did this. He did it for the girl he loves. He did it knowing damn well I would do whatever the hell was necessary to give him a better shot at his future.
“Probably should wait until Maddox is around. He’s gonna help get this thing going, as well.”
“Already talked to Coach; have a couple dates and a commitment from him and his team, as well as his assurance that the basketball team will participate, too,” I tell him.
He looks at me blankly—already I’m sick of his shit—then he looks at Emma. “You’re quite sure you don’t need me in there?”
“You’re a distraction.” Emma smiles fondly at her husband then looks around at the hospital staff who are whispering and gawking at him.
The high school boy in me takes offense. I mean, what the fuck?
“Looks like you have a few minutes then. Come on, Hines; there’s a room down here for us.” I pat his shoulder.
He forces a smile, albeit tight-lipped.
I walk down the hall to the small waiting room where I pour myself a cup of coffee. I consider pouring one for him, then decide, fuck it, he can get his own. Then I sit and wait.
He walks in and looks at me, then scans the empty room before walking over and pouring hot water into a cup. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a tea bag, and opens it. He sets it in the cup, picks it up, walks over, and sits.
“How is Emma doing with the news?”
“She’s managing.”
Silence. Awkward silence.
Fuck it.
“I won’t pretend to know exactly how it must feel to her, or you, or London for that matter, but if there is any way I can help, I certainly will.”
He leans back, removes his scarf, and sets it on his lap. “My wife suspected the man she was married to had affairs throughout their marriage, and now she has confirmation that he in fact did.”
“I understand how she feels.” I take a sip of my coffee.
He stares blankly at me.
“My wife wasn’t pining away for another; she was committed to her marriage, so I’m not sure you do know exactly how she feels. You certainly don’t know how it feels to be Emma, who feels responsible for a dead man’s child.”
Oh, here we fucking go.
“Gotcha.” I chuckle.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks.
“I’m not sure you truly want an answer to that question, Hines, so it’s simply a response. You and I haven’t ever seen eye to eye on things, and I could give a fuck less. Hell, no one has the same way of dealing with the same or similar situations. You need to dig really deep and figure out when exactly it was you decided I was public enemy number one, and then you need to figure out how the fuck to get over it, for London’s sake.”
“London is none of your concern,” he hisses.
“On the contrary, my son is in love with her. She feels the same. London is also my wife’s family, and believe it or not, I do feel responsible for a dead man’s child. Troy Fields may have fucked up, but he and I were friends, and Collin Abraham and I were, too.”
He huffs and looks down.
“Spit it out, Hines. I’m not backing down.”
“You want to know my issues with you, Lucas?”
“Absolutely.” I take another sip of coffee then sit back.
“You lusted after another man’s wife, and not secretly. You did so openly and disrespectfully.”
“You and I both know that’s bullshit,” I tell him.
“Is it?” He looks at me smugly.
“It most certainly is. I respected him, I respected her decision to be with him, and I moved on. Not to pat myself on the back, but I did it with dignity and fucking class.”
“Was it dignity or was it class when my family was in crisis and you came to the Cape and told Tessa she should have stayed with you in front of her husband and half the family—”
“Really?” I laugh outright. “That was one moment in over twenty years—”
“It was fucking wrong,” he growls.
“Was it?” I lean over the table. “Was it wrong when my little girl called in hysterics because she was afraid?”
He leans forward, too. “She had nothing to be afraid of, Links.”
I can’t help laughing, and then I can’t stop laughing because I’m fucking exhausted.
“What the hell is so comical?”
After I get my shit together, I shake my head at him. “I shouldn’t have worried that two rock stars, all over the fucking news, balls deep in scandal, were with my kid who was eight hours away from me?”
“You should have trusted Tessa and Collin.” He points in my face as he stands up.
That’s one.
I stand as I bat his fucking finger away. “Says the man who doesn’t trust his eighteen-year-old stepdaughter around a man who wouldn’t harm a hair on her head.”
“I’m not worried about her fucking hair.” He reaches out and gives me a shove.
That’s two.
I grab his collar and push him against the fucking wall. “That was two, motherfucker. I don’t have three in me.”
“You give it your best, Links, because it’ll be your last,” he sneers.
“Yeah, I had nothing to fucking worry about, did I? You need to fucking think back, Hines, and you need to be fucking thankful I watched you change, and you need to be even more fucking thankful I have, too.” I let go of his collar and step back.
“Shall we let them carry on?”
I look left to see Maddox and Logan standing at the door.
“I’d say yes, if not for Piper, Reed”—Logan quirks his eyebrow at me, then Brody—“or London.”
“Right, of course, how quickly one forgets all that is at stake.” Maddox walks between us to the coffee pot. After he makes himself and Logan a cup of coffee, he walks over and sits down. “So, the fundraiser? A lot get sorted out with that between the two of you?”
I look at Logan, who shakes his head and says, “I’m thinking no. But I’m also thinking this shit needs to end here. There’s too much shit to do. Too many things happening. Too damn much going on to be at war with each other.”
“Cheers to that,” Maddox says, lifting his cup.
A Step Back
Logan
It’s been a long week. A week that feels like a month because of all the immediate and life-altering changes that have occurred.
Keeka adamantly declined Brody and Emma’s offer to stay with them. She adamantly declined Dad and Tessa’s as well. I knew she would. That’s why I offered to share my place until hers was done, which she adamantly declined until I told her that I spoke to Trucker and would do so again if she even thought I was going to let her stay in that shit-bag studio she thought she would be taking the angel baby, whose name had to be decided before she was released.
Leddie Lou Garcia-Lopez is seven pounds, two ounces and twenty-two inches of innocence and beauty. All the health and developmental testing the hospital ran, which I haven’t a clue what they mean, were good, and Tessa Links confirmed.
I decided to postpone my graduate classes when London announced she was going to take the semester off to help Keeka with the baby, her niece. I told her she needed to continue with school without a break, that she needed to do this for herself, put herself, her dreams first. That conversation took place in private, or so I thought, until I saw Brody round the corner of the hospital hallway, lock eyes with me, and nod what I suppo
se was his approval.
The first time Keeka walked into the apartment, she looked at me, unable to speak, and shook her head. I nodded mine. She cried.
Crying women, my Achille’s heel, my weakness, also the cause of so much confusion in my past has become an everyday, sometimes every hour occurrence.
I once thought, when a woman cried, I was the one to cause it in some way, or she was in pain, or that she was being dramatic. Over the past couple years, I realized I may have been wrong.
Rarely has it been about me. Like a piece of kindling set too close to a fire, one spark can cause it to combust. Emotions, ones in which a male can normally keep hidden, seem to be almost impossible for the females I am close to, to hide—they can erupt without warning. I know there’s hormonal shit that affects them, making it difficult, ones we males don’t contend with. But the women in my life—Ava, London, and now Keeka—seem to have an even harder time than most. Or is it me that has a harder time seeing them cry because I am emotionally attached to them?
Either way, it sucks to watch them cry and not be able to make it stop immediately. At least now I’m pretty sure I’m not the one causing it. I’m much more confident that just holding them, listening to them, being there eases the burden in which women like them carry. Women with hearts.
I look down at Leddie who is attached to my chest in some contraption Dad had to help me learn how to use. She’s asleep, but so is Keeka, and I’m afraid if I lay her down, she will wake up, and then Keeka will wake up and cry.
She’s exhausted, and yes, exhausting.
Leddie isn’t. She’s amazing. She cries when she has a reason, like if she’s hungry or shit through every article of clothing on her tiny little body.
Keeka is the champion of diaper changing. She’s great when it comes to the tasks that need to be done—diaper changes, laundry, and breastfeeding. But when she’s quiet, Keeka stares at her like she’s afraid of her. Honestly, I think she is.
While Keeka was busy feeding, changing, bathing, and dressing Leddie, I made myself busy in her apartment. She would come over and look around. When I asked her what she thought, she told me straight up it was too big and had too many windows.