Morrison

by Chelsea Camaron

  I open and close my mouth, as I have no words that could explain what I’ve felt since Morrison came into my world.

  He brushes his lips to mine. “Let the good come in, Hailey.”

  On those final words, he backs away and walks down the hallway without looking back, as I slide down the wall and contemplate everything he’s just said to me.

  Time passes and fatigue takes over. I go to the bathroom, wash my face, and brush my teeth—the little things moms forget to do when they fall asleep with their children. As I glance in the mirror, I can’t help hearing Morrison in my head.

  “It feels fucking good.”

  That it does, I admit to myself.

  Have something for myself? Fear grips my heart when I think about what I want for myself.

  His arms are my comfort. They are my place to regain my strength. When he holds me, it rebuilds something deep inside me. At my lowest, he wraps his arms around me, and somehow it doesn’t feel like all is lost.

  “It feels fucking good.”

  I keep repeating it in my head as I make my way back to bed. The last thought I have before I finally fall asleep is: Yes, Morrison Caldwell, it does feel fucking good. Too bad I don’t have it in me to tell you that.

  Morning comes all too soon. I have the late shift at the bar tonight, and Sally, who is off today, is lined up to start watching Marisa for me.

  After I wash up and get ready for the day, something pulls at me to find Morrison. The more rooms I go past and can’t find him in, the more dread settles in my belly.

  My mind races and panic fills me as I call him yet get no answer. Did I push him too far away? Did I just lose the only good thing in my life outside of my daughter?

  Jagger is in the kitchen when I round the corner to check for Morrison. He pops in and out, but always takes the time to check on me and Marisa, making me feel accepted. Still, of the three brothers, I find him the moodiest and most unpredictable.

  “Mornin’, Hailey.”

  “Mornin’, Jagger. You haven’t by any chance seen Morrison, have you?”

  “Yup—just got back from dropping him off at the airport. He left you the Escalade with a gas card in the glove box.”

  “Airport? What do you mean, ‘airport’? Where the fuck did he go?”

  Jagger gives me a grin. “That sassy mouth is hot, Hailey. My brothers are lucky bastards. They got two fine-ass women with spunk.”

  I brush off what Jagger is saying about me being Morrison’s woman, unable to take time for that line of thinking right now. “Jagger, where did he go?”

  “Where he always goes,” he plainly states, like this is all just common knowledge. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a week, two, tops. He doesn’t stay away long.”

  A week, two, tops?

  Until this moment, I haven’t thought about being away from Morrison. Since he came into my life, I haven’t had to think about him not being around, because…well, because he’s always been here.

  He left without saying goodbye.

  The thought stings.

  Numbly, I move through my morning as Jagger takes off to do whatever it is that Jagger does. I know he trains and fights, but does the man have a regular job? I’m beginning to think they all work at the bar but also have their “side pieces,” as Jagger would say.

  Throughout the morning I try to reach Morrison, but get only his voice mail. By the time of my shift that evening, I’m officially on edge.

  “Jared, you know what’s fun about being sober?” Hendrix calls out, humor dancing in his eyes as he chats up the older man who is a staple at the end bar stool every night.

  “Nothing, Caldwell, ain’t nothing good about that,” Jared retorts grumpily before turning his attention to Olivia. “Livi, what’s a man’s idea of a balanced diet?”

  She giggles before answering, “I don’t know, J. What’s a man’s idea of a balanced diet?”

  “A Miller Genuine Draft in each hand. Now make that shit happen for me, will ya, gorgeous?” He smiles at her, showing the genuine bond they share.

  I have been introduced to Jared and know he officiated at Hendrix and Livi’s nuptials, but the man is far from warm and friendly. He won’t let me serve him yet. I haven’t earned it, he claims. I wish he would tell me what I need to do to be granted that honor.

  “You,” he barks at me. “Morrison’s woman, come over here.”

  I start to correct him, to tell him I’m not Morrison’s woman, but he speaks before I can. “When your man gets back, I got a joke for ya to give him. You ready?” he asks in all seriousness.

  I nod, unsure of what he actually expects me to do. He reaches over and pulls me down by my shoulder, bringing my ear close to his face.

  “How’s a casino like a woman?” he whispers, and I can’t help wondering where he is going with this. “Liquor in the front and poker in the back.”

  My eyes grow big in shock as Livi giggles next to me, having heard every word he said.

  “Think on that one and give it to our boy when he gets home from his tournament.”

  “Tournament.” At the word, it all hits me. Instantly, I know where Morrison is, and I’m far from happy. This is my problem, not his.

  Remembering where I am, I wipe the counter as I laugh at the joke, then continue on with my shift. I do what I do best—push it all down and keep going, even as the world crumbles around me. The night passes in a whirl of drinks and bar food. Once we close up, Livi sets a shot in front of me.

  “Ummm…I should tell you I don’t drink often. In fact, the last time I drank, I was Lucy Loose Lips, and it wasn’t attractive,” I try explaining.

  “Girl, I’ve watched you be on edge all night. Then, after Jared said ‘tournament,’ you went into robot mode. Now, you have a little girl waiting back home, and she doesn’t want Robot Mom. Toss that one back and let’s chat.”

  Livi and I have bonded over my time here. She knows every detail of how Monte and I came to be and our time together. Even though I check in with Jamie, we can’t talk long, since she doesn’t want to attract attention that would show Monte she has two phones; with her husband Alex owing Monte, he is sure to have eyes on her. Livi has become almost as close to me as Jamie in this short time. She gives off this innocent vibe, and after living all my life in the world of players and reading tells, Livi is a breath of fresh air. She’s clean, pure love and loyalty.

  “Tell me he went to play for himself. Please, Livi, tell me he’s not off trying to beat Monte for me.”

  “Can’t do that, Hailey. I wouldn’t want you to lie to me, and I’m not about to lie to you. He’s good at what he does, though. He’s gonna get you outta this mess, and he’s gonna do it while holding you up so you can fall down.”

  I stiffen at her words. “I can’t fall down.”

  “Sure you can,” she states matter-of-factly. “We all do at some point.” I sigh and then she continues, “These boys were raised to lift each other up. It’s okay to depend on others, Hailey. Not everyone expects anything in return, and the Caldwells don’t want anything but your love in return. Let Morrison do what he needs to do for this family, his family—and that includes you and Ris Priss.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  She squeezes my hand. “There was a time I didn’t think I could let anyone help me, but you know what? I was walking in the snow in downtown Detroit, all to avoid telling anyone how bad things were, and Hendrix swooped in and took care of my problems. More than that, he held my hand as I faced my past. He gave me the strength to endure. Let Morrison give you that. Let all of us give you the security you’ve never had.”

  “He’s not playing with someone who will play fair. Monte won’t allow him to win, and if by some miracle he does, how do I ever repay him?”

  “By living your life free of the chains of your past.” She takes me by the hand to the bar stools, where we both sit. “These boys, they saw things growing up, the kind of things that stay with ya. They were powerless to ge
t their momma out of a bad situation, so they had to watch helplessly as she put up with a lot of crap she shouldn’t have had to put up with. They can’t meet someone being held down and not want to extend a hand to get them back up again.”

  “I wasn’t beat on, Livi. My situation is not their mother’s. I owe Monte.”

  “You don’t owe him a damn thing. You played a game, and you lost. It happens. Sure, the money wasn’t on the up-and-up, but blackmailing you into a marriage?” She shakes her head. “That is not evening up anything.” Quirky Livi rubs her ass like she often does, but this time, something flashes in her eyes. “Consent is,” she starts, and looks around before whispering, “fucking required.” Then, as if she’s found some new confidence, she repeats, but more loudly this time, “Consent is fucking required. You hear me, Hailey?”

  “I did consent, Livi.”

  “Under duress, and while you were underage. Do you get what I’m telling you?”

  “I don’t need absolution. I need Morrison to come home and not fight my battle for me.”

  “Hailey, this isn’t absolution. Your soon-to-be-ex-husband manipulated you into your situation. You ever hear of the term ‘dubious consent’?”

  Tears fill my eyes. “Livi, stop! I wasn’t raped. He didn’t beat me. He took care of me! I owe him!” I snap at her unintentionally. “Don’t try to justify or explain my poor choices.”

  “Hailey, honey, you’re breaking my heart here. What choices did you have? He took them all away by controlling the circumstances around you. None of this is your fault. Let us help you. Let us be the family you never had. Let Morrison show you what good really is. Please, Hailey.”

  “Help me get to the tournament. Let me play for myself. Morrison is taking away my choices right now, too!”

  Something flashes in her eyes. In a blur, she is gone, and I’m left with my own thoughts about my past.

  Monte took my choices away. He did. The question is, what the hell do I do about it now that I have a choice?

  Chapter 13

  Morrison

  All in.

  I walk out of the bathroom at the airport, dressed in fucking jeans and a T-shirt. Why? ’Cause when I threw shit in my bag, I wasn’t thinking about my show—that’s why. That woman has me all sorts of fucked up.

  I throw a twenty in the airport slots, and the first pull is a loss. The next twenty goes in, and the next pull, I get my cash back. My third pull, I lose.

  A lose, so I should start off the Strip. Ritual gone.

  I’m not playing my normal game; I’m playing a game for her, for my girl. Yes, I am fucking calling her “my girl,” and she is also about to lose the “Hard Knocks” tag she has been given and seems to accept. Fuck that! She’s platinum. She’s just gotta accept it, and by God, I’m gonna make sure that happens!

  I am all in. It’s a game, one where I will either lose it all or gain the biggest fucking jackpot I have ever played for.

  I walk out and hail a cab.

  “3111 Bel Air Drive,” I tell the cabbie as I climb in.

  The first time I came to this sandbox, I expected it to change my world. And in certain ways, it did. For one thing, I was suddenly able to buy the people I loved nice things. But life-changing? No.

  Still, it sure as hell felt, and feels, good. Ballin’ feels good. Having people look at you and want to be like you feels good. Lying down with pussy that’s neat, trim, and pampered feels good. Having socialites on their knees, sucking you off in the bathroom at a club feels good.

  But none of that is life-changing.

  Fame or virtue, which do you choose?

  A month ago, it was all about fucking fame for me. Fame is what I have here. People know me—they fucking know me. The man I chose to be, not the man everyone thought I would be. Not the fucking man my old man raised. Here in Vegas, they know I am good at the game.

  But I wanted life-changing moments, and so far, all I have gotten are material things.

  Virtue, though…Now, virtue changes lives. Virtuous people change lives, and changed lives break cycles. And virtue is now within arm’s reach. If I lose the game, lose the girl, I do it knowing that this man, this Caldwell man, did something that made his momma proud—gave a girl back what should be a birthright, something that was stripped from her: the freedom of choice.

  When I get to my pad, I go inside and realize I didn’t even check on my car. But who gives a shit? Not me. Not today.

  I open the safe and grab two grand, then snatch the keys off the entry table.

  Opening the garage, I see Hailey’s little car and decide I wanna drive it. That motherfucker is out there, and it’ll draw him out like a cockroach in the night. I slide in and check for the keys, but they’re not in the ignition. I check under the seat—not there. I look above the visor and all the typical places people stash keys, but they aren’t there.

  Then I look in the rearview mirror and see little chick’s car seat, reach back, and pull up the cover. Keys. I laugh to myself, because Hailey isn’t anything like the chicks I bang. She thinks, plans, strategizes, and has better street smarts than anyone else I know. Hiding keys under car seat covers. Your typical car thief wouldn’t even think to check there. That’s because he wouldn’t know the little chick’s more important to her than anything or anyone else in this world. Her tell, and her reason for the fight, is that little beauty.

  I want in on whatever bullshit underground tourney Monte has coming up, because that motherfucker has no clue how to treat a girl like Hailey, and he has no fucking right to that little chick, either.

  I drive by her place three fucking times. Three isn’t my lucky number, but three makes shit happen in my life. There is a beginning, a middle, and an end. The middle is the safest place to be; I’ve always known that to be true. I hated the idea of choosing to be the safest—the one who floated—so I never did.

  I park in front of a dive bar, the Double Down Saloon. Then I walk in, order a beer, sit, and wait. Before my beer is finished, I see four men walk in together, and behind them is Monte.

  I leave my stool, walk to the back of the bar, and sit in a corner booth. I look up to see that bastard walking toward me with his boys.

  He stops in front of me. “I want the keys to that piece of shit you rolled up in. Then you better tell me where my little whore is.”

  I laugh, intentionally taunting him. “Not gonna happen.”

  “I don’t know who the hell you think you’re dealing with here, Aces, but in these parts, you don’t fuck with me.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t much like following the rules of a piece of shit like you.”

  One of his guys steps forward.

  “You might wanna call him off, because the way I look at this, you may not want any physical altercations between you and me. ’Cause, if you ever come face-to-face with that fine ass again, she’s gonna be looking at you like you ain’t shit. Not after she’s had me.”

  “I’ll fucking ruin you.”

  “Well, I did ruin her…for you or any other man she chooses to let inside that tight little pussy of hers. You ever hear her scream out anything other than ‘Get the fuck off of me’? ’Cause the way she screams my name is like—”

  “You’re a dead man.”

  “If I died today, I’d die knowing I’ve tasted heaven, something you never did. I have no idea how the fuck you can call yourself a man and not eat a pussy.” I look at one of his boys. “Can you believe that shit?”

  “I don’t eat whore.”

  “From what I understand, she was seventeen when you fucked her, and she had no one else, ’cause you made her believe she owed you, which sounds a lot like rape to me. So, if my calculations are correct, Monte, she’s had two dicks, one tongue, and only one man who made her feel like a woman and not a fucking captive.”

  “She and I are married; her mother gave consent. There was no rape involved.”

  “Not a true marriage, and she was a seventeen-year-old girl who was scared out o
f her mind after being raised by a woman who never knew true freedom. You fucking raped that ass.”

  “Is that what she’s saying?” He laughs.

  “No, that’s what’s real. She’s learning real fast, though. She’s gonna raise that little girl to be whatever she chooses to be someday. You owe her; she doesn’t owe you shit.”

  “Listen, you fucking punk, she owes me three hundred thousand dollars, and I intend to get it all back, by whatever means it takes. If you’ve got that kind of cash, she’s all yours.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, she’s all hers.”

  “The man doesn’t want to lay claim to an ass he’s willing to die over.” Monte laughs, and then so do his guys.

  “What you fucks don’t get is that a woman who chooses the man she is underneath is fucking owned—mind, body, and soul. If I get you the money and she stays with me, I’ll have much more than ownership—I’ll have a woman who will be by my side willingly. She won’t be a girl looking for an escape. And if she doesn’t choose me, I’ll still never have to reach down my pants to check to see if I have the equipment that makes me a man—I already know by my actions that I am all man, a better man than she had before.”

  “Three hundred grand and I don’t give a fuck if she’s a willing participant to you or not. I’ll just know the little whore has paid her debt. You have three days.”

  When he stands up, he looks at his guys, then at me. “Three fucking days and I’m coming after you, then her, and then the kid.”

  “You touch either one of them, and I will personally put you six feet under.”

  “This isn’t a game, Aces.”