Morrison

by Chelsea Camaron

  “He came back. If he was going to keep you and your girl safe, he shouldn’t have been in Vegas. You left, and he should’ve been with you. He wasn’t, and I needed you away from the players.”

  The door opens again, and the DA calls out, “Time’s up, Hailey.”

  Pulling the papers from my purse, I push them in front of him. “Sign over your rights. You took away my choices.” I reach back and pretend to straighten my dress pants under me. Reality is, I am rubbing my ass to remind myself of who I really am. I am Caldwell’s little momma, and I’m done with the markers and the games. I want my daughter, and I’m going to get her. “You said you gave her to me as a gift since I lost Momma. Give her to me, Monte. Sign your rights away. If all you say is true, if you really wanted to keep me safe, then prove it.”

  “I’m about to go away, Hailey.” He looks to the two-way mirror. “Your boy needs to know: If I find him in Vegas, if I find him in my city, even from prison, he will pay. He’s been retired to keep you and Marisa from my past. Leave it there. Walk away today and stay the fuck away. I wanted to give you better than I had, and whether you believe that or not, I did. If Aces returns to my world, I’ll get to him. No. Matter. What. The part you need to comprehend is you’re over to me—debt paid. Now it’s about my life. No one’s gonna take me out for something that’s done and over, and that is you. Aces, you, and Marisa stay the fuck away or you’re dead. Got it?”

  I nod my head, seeing just how serious he is. My mind can’t process all that has transpired here today. Somehow, in his mind, Monte has justified what he did to me. He doesn’t give me an apology. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness, not that I ever thought he would. He doesn’t clue me in on the dangers I may face. Once again, he is in control.

  As he looks over the papers, my mind races. Will he sign them?

  Finally, he picks up the pen and twirls it in his fingers. Minutes tick by, feeling like hours, before he looks at me.

  “If he fucks up, Hailey…I don’t even need to say it again, comprehend?” At those last words, he signs the documents, relinquishing all rights to Marisa.

  I blow out a breath as the door opens and two guards come in to escort Monte to the courtroom.

  He signed the papers. I am done with Sean “Monte” Timmons. I have my baby girl, free and clear.

  Morrison enters the room, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me as if I am his last breath. I grip his sports coat as I get dizzy from the emotions and his kiss. Then the DA comes in and clears his throat, breaking our moment.

  “Time to go,” the DA says, and then turns to me. “I’ll get those notarized”—he points to my paperwork—“and I’ll be the witness to him signing them so we can file them at the courthouse today for you, Ms. Poe.”

  Handing him the papers, I smile in relief. Then Morrison laces our fingers together and we make our way into the courtroom, where we take our seats behind the prosecutor’s chair and wait. The jurors file in, and once everyone is seated, the bailiff escorts Monte in, then we all stand as the judge enters. My nerves must show, because Morrison squeezes my hand in silent reassurance.

  It’s all a blur until the judge asks Monte for his plea. He stands and looks to Morrison and then me before turning back to the judge.

  “Guilty.”

  I fight back a gasp. He isn’t going to fight it? Is this some game? Could he really be telling the truth? Was this all his way of protecting me? I don’t know—and I can’t dwell on it. I have my daughter, and in the end, he’s going away for a few years, regardless.

  They move on to sentencing. Monte gets four years with the possibility of parole. The earliest he can get out will be the three-year mark, and we have been reassured that will take some work.

  I have my daughter. I keep reminding myself of that. I have Marisa. She’s what matters. I can face anything anyone throws at me as long as I have her.

  Boarding the plane for Detroit, I can’t stop smiling. I have no desire to ever go back to Vegas. Today, I leave the past behind me and move toward my future with unlimited possibilities. When I get off this plane, I’m going home to my family. The family I have never had before is waiting.

  I am giving Marisa everything I never had. This feels good.

  I squeeze Morrison’s hand as we settle into our seats. “It feels good, Caldwell.”

  “That it does, little momma.” He winks at me before kissing my temple softly.

  —

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  Life is good. When I worked at the casino, there was this little old man who always had the same answer when asked how he was doing today.

  “I’m doing fine, just fine. I’m better than good,” he would reply every time without fail.

  Life is just that—better than good.

  I have my daughter, my man, and family. Well, I have my daughter and my man every night but Wednesdays. Keeping with tradition, Morrison and Marisa have their weekly date night, and Mom is not invited. I love that she has this.

  Love…It’s a funny thing. It is scary. It is overwhelming. It is amazing.

  I never had a prom date. Hell, I never had a boyfriend until Morrison. I have never had the chance to express these feelings to anyone other than Momma and Marisa. And the love I feel for them, although just as powerful, is completely different from what I feel for Morrison.

  He always says I have his balls. Well, he has me. I’m just not sure he knows it. I want to tell him, but at the same time, it scares the shit out of me.

  If he really knew how weak he makes me…The mere thought of losing him ties me up in knots.

  He is my best friend. He has held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. He has given me space when I needed to find myself. He has been my biggest supporter in everything I do. He has opened doors for me when I felt like I had nowhere to turn. He has given me a new life.

  More than any of that, he has shown me what real love is. For better or worse, Morrison Caldwell has stood beside me. He’s had my back, even when I didn’t know I needed it.

  He owns me—mind, body, and soul. He truly fills a part of me no one else could.

  There was a time not so long ago when the thought of anyone “owning” me scared the shit out of me. Then Morrison showed me that actions speak louder than words. But the words are nice, too. Morrison owns me in the same way I own him. I belong to him because I belong with him. It isn’t a possession of power and manipulation. It’s a possession of choice.

  I choose him as he chooses me.

  I choose to make him a priority as he chooses to make me his.

  I choose to give to him freely as he does with me.

  Everything between us is an exchange. More than that, it’s done with free choice. I have choices. Consent is fucking required, and the Caldwell family has taught me just that.

  We may not be some picture-perfect family, but we are family just the same. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m where I belong. I feel like I’m where we belong—Marisa and me.

  Making my way into the bar, I see Jagger pacing. I stow my purse in the back, then go out to where he is right as he throws back a shot. Jagger is a wild card, sure, but he never drinks this early in the night.

  “Wanna talk about it?” I greet him.

  “You ever felt helpless?” He looks at me. “Well, that’s a dumb fucking question.”

  “Jagger, what’s going on?”

  He murmurs to himself. “Untouchable. Pushing buttons and she’s completely untouchable.”

  “Who?”

  “Nothing; not your concern. Just a bad situation for an innocent person. That’s the way it goes, though, right?” He pours another shot and downs it. “Bad things always happen to good people. Gotta treasure what you have when you have it because not everyone gets to have it good.”

  Before I can reply, he turns and stomps away. I frown, wishing Jagger would let me in, even if it’s only to listen. But these Caldwell boys were made from the same mold, and I know that whatever he’s going
through, he will sort it out and lean on family when the time comes.

  “You did an amazing job, Momma Caldwell. I only hope I can be the mother to my children that you were to yours,” I whisper to myself at the back of the bar.

  The rest of the night passes quickly and without incident. Then I make my way into my dark apartment, where Marisa is sound asleep in her room. I expect to find Morrison in my bed, so when he’s on the couch, it takes me off guard.

  Jagger’s words about treasuring the good have been playing over and over again in my head all night. As a result, when Morrison stands and comes over to me, I don’t bother with a hello; I just wrap my arms around his neck to pull him to me for a kiss.

  “You give me good, Morrison Caldwell. You give me good all the damn time.”

  His hands run up and down my sides as he watches me, not understanding where I’m at in my head.

  “Something happen tonight, little momma?”

  “Not particularly. Something happened the night you parked your car behind mine. Morrison Caldwell, you brought me to life. You have shown me what living really is. You have made me feel. You have held me at my worst and celebrated with me at my best. I could go on and on about everything you are and everything you mean to me. Most of all, though, you have made me feel.”

  “It feels good.” He smiles, and I beam up at him.

  I bite my bottom lip. “It feels good.”

  “Gotta say, little momma, as good as it feels, it’s late, and if I’m gonna make you feel good before you sleep, we should head to bed.”

  “Morrison, I love you. I need you to know. I. Love. You.”

  Chapter 23

  Morrison

  Floored. I am floored and speechless.

  I can’t believe how good it feels to have those words finally come out of that sexy mouth of hers.

  Her mouth…I need it, now.

  I crash into her mouth as I push her against the wall, tasting her and her words. Her hands are on my belt, then my button, and then my pants are down. She grips me tight and strokes me hard, fast. My hands are instantly up the back of her shirt, trying to unsnap her bra.

  “Front clasps,” she pants out against my mouth.

  “Fuck,” I growl as I move my hands to the front and cup her tits—my tits.

  She pulls away and sinks to her knees, immediately taking my cock in her mouth, licking, sucking, and fucking worshipping my dick. She moves up and down on me fast, her eyes closed as she takes me farther, faster, licking, sucking.

  “Son of a bitch,” I groan as her nails sink into my ass, and she pulls me closer, taking me in farther.

  Then she swallows.

  “Damn,” I growl. “Fuck, little momma. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  One hand wraps around me as she leans back, panting. She strokes me as she licks her lips and looks up at me, eyes full of an animalistic need and desire that I have not seen since the alley.

  “You love my cock, don’t you, baby?” I say as she strokes me faster, her grip tightening.

  “Yes,” she says, and then quickly wets her lips.

  “It’s yours, baby, all fucking yours,” I hiss as her tongue circles my tip.

  “Mine,” she says before taking me deep again and hollowing her checks.

  “That’s it, baby. Fuck! All yours.”

  She moves faster, pumps her fist harder, and I am right fucking there.

  “Gotta stop.”

  “Mine,” she says with my dick still in her mouth.

  “Babe, you’re gonna get—” She swallows, making her throat tighten, and I lose restraint. “Fu…ck!”

  When she has thoroughly sucked me dry, she stands up and looks into my eyes. Then she gets a silly little smirk, one I don’t think I have seen before, and she grabs my balls.

  “Owned.”

  “Fuck yes, owned.” I laugh and pull her against me. “Fuck yes,” I say softer as I kiss her neck.

  “I love you.”

  “I feel it, Hailey. Felt it in here for a while now.” I touch my chest. “I was almost convinced it was all I needed, but damn if I wasn’t wrong. Because finally hearing you say those three words, little momma…” I stop and shake off the overwhelming emotions. “Those three words own me on a level that is unfathomable to me.”

  “When you said those words, I felt the same, like I am part of you, of this. It scared the hell out of me, Morrison. I didn’t know if I could give it to you and not take away from Marisa. The past few months proved otherwise. The way you love me, the way you love her, and the way you love your family has all proved it’s okay to say those words out loud. It didn’t take away from her. If anything, it’s added to the love I feel for her—and for you.” Tears flow down her face. “I want to be good. I want to be good enough for you. I will never be able to say it to you enough. I love you. I love you. I love you. I—”

  “We are one, little momma.” I pull her pants and underwear down, and she kicks them off. Then I take her mouth before taking her against the wall, hard. “One.”

  “One,” she moans.

  —

  ONE MONTH LATER

  I walk into the bank with two checks—one from the insurance company for the Porsche and one for the sale of the Atlantic City pad. I see Townsman exit his office, and he reaches out his hand to shake mine.

  “Glad you called. Come on in.” I follow him into his office. “Have a seat.”

  “I won’t waste your time. I’m here to make an offer.” I put the check for the pad on his desk. “I had a friend walk around the outside, and it needs some work to make it code. I have a mission statement, a building plan, and files to be tax-exempt. I have applied for the business license, reached out to local shelters, and visited them. I have a board of directors and volunteers who are ready to pitch in.”

  “This is more than the asking price,” he says, looking at the check.

  “That’s enough to fix the roof and the elevator, paint, and do some flooring and kitchen updates that will be needed.”

  “But—”

  “The bank is paying taxes on the place. Five grand a year isn’t shit, but to heat that place this winter is gonna take a toll. I am offering eighty grand and a spot on the board if you want it.”

  “That’s a hundred and twenty thousand less—”

  I stand. “That’s my offer. Let me know if you accept.”

  “We can maybe offer a loan.”

  “No loan. Let me know.”

  I walk up to the bank teller and deposit the check for the pad and the Porsche. Then I pull out twenty grand. It doesn’t seem like enough, but she’ll freak the fuck out. She loves me, though. She fucking loves me and finally said so exactly one month ago today, and that changed everything.

  —

  It’s Wednesday night, and I am snuggled into Marisa’s bed, which now has a canopy.

  “Mommy is gonna be so mad.” She tries to keep a straight face but fails and falls into yet another giggling fit, and I can’t help laughing with her. When she has relaxed, she is looking at the bed in awe. She rolls over on her side. “You’re nice.”

  “Well, I’m glad you think so, little chick.”

  “I like you.” She rolls onto her back, and her smile gets even bigger. “I like you a lot.”

  “I like you a lot, too.”

  She yawns, reminding me it’s forty minutes past her bedtime. It took a little more time to get this bed together than I expected. The directions should have come with a warning that, if children are helping, important hardware may come up missing. In my case, it was a washer, which became a ring around a little chick’s thumb.

  “You know”—she yawns again—“I said I didn’t need stories tonight, but the best daddy eva would still read me books.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Uh-huh,” she says matter-of-factly, nodding.

  She falls asleep at the end of the second book, face toward the pink canopy. I still read four, though. Call me competitive, call me dumb, call me someone
who keeps a promise, call me Caldwell.

  I laugh at my thoughts.

  “Call me Caldwell” used to be a way to give a chick a name without giving an actual name, a noncommittal response to make a moment seem more than just a fuck. It was a name moaned from the mouth of a stranger during a one-night stand. Shit, sometimes when I said “Call me Caldwell,” it was a blow-off.

  That name means much more to me than it did only a few months ago. That name is Momma’s legacy, that name is family, and that name is mine.

  I walk out of Marisa’s bedroom and close the door behind me. I have a task to complete, and I have only two hours to do it.

  I grab my phone and send a text to Jagger to let him know I’m ready. Then I open the door as Jagger and Hendrix carry in one of the three boxes.

  “We’ve been waiting an hour to hear from you. You better hope this goes smoothly or—”

  “It’ll be fine. Just try not to use washers as rings and then let me look around for thirty minutes before you tell me you have it.”

  “Ris Priss?”

  “The kid loves dress-up.” I smile.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Hendrix asks as I push the new queen-sized air mattress into the corner.

  “I’m sure popping the old one tipped her a little. Didn’t get my way, though. She just bought a new one, stubborn little momma. So she left me with no choice. She’ll be pissed, but she’ll get over it. I have my balls back.”

  They laugh, and then we get to work.

  Once we’re done, I stand back and admire the four-poster bed. It’s not a king; I did listen to her about that. And I am damn sure gonna mention that when she is stewing. Of course, the other reason I decided the queen is good is I didn’t want distance to be an option.

  She walks in the door and glances around, looking beautiful in the candlelight.

  I walk to her, take her purse off her arm, and set it on the table.