Mr. Blakely

by Webster, K

  Sammie hisses, “By boys, are you including yourself? She smells like you, Quinn.”

  I don’t have time or the patience for this bullshit. “Get out of my house.”

  “But—” she starts.

  “Out!” My booming voice causes Sammie to flinch and Ava to yelp in surprise. “Just go back to where all your goddamned dreams are waiting.”

  Sammie’s eyes flash with hurt but I don’t care. She fucked me over. We’re divorced and I have full custody of our children. It doesn’t affect me anymore. I step out of her way and she glares at Ava.

  “Stay away from my sons, you gold-digging whore,” Sammie snaps as she shoves past my girlfriend.

  I’m about to storm after her and give her a piece of my mind but Ava throws her arms around my neck, a loud sob escaping her.

  “Shhh,” I coo as I rub her back. “She’s just a bitch. You did nothing wrong.” The front door slams shut and I relax. My palms find her tearstained cheeks and I tilt her head up so I can see her stunning brown eyes. I press my lips to her soft, swollen lips. When I pull away, her brows are pinched together.

  “I’m not a gold digger,” she whispers. “I earn my money.”

  Even though the lines are blurred between us, I still tuck the cash into the envelope each week in my office. She carts the boys around all over town, feeds them home-cooked meals, and helps them with their homework. Their progress reports improved significantly. Ava was just what we needed.

  “I know,” I murmur, my lips finding hers again. “You can’t help it if I like to spoil you.” My lips find her earlobe where a shiny diamond stud is hiding. I like buying her things. When I accidentally tore a pair of her panties, I thought she was going to come unglued. Clothing is precious to someone like her. So together we marched to the lingerie store and I bought her enough panties to last a lifetime.

  I start kissing down her throat and grab onto her ass to lift her. My tiny little thing wraps her legs around my waist as I love on her. Sure, I spoil her with gifts. Mostly, though, I spoil her with attention. It’s something nobody has given her aside from maybe her French teacher. Her mother is uninvolved and she has few friends.

  My mouth finds hers again and I kiss her hard. I’ve just leaned her against the counter when someone clears their throat. I tear my lips from hers to lock eyes with Aiden’s wide ones.

  Fuck.

  I was doing so well keeping this from them.

  “It’s cool, Dad,” Aiden says, snagging a package of Pop-Tarts from the pantry. “I knew you two were together.”

  Ava slides her feet to the floor and tries to push away from me. I can’t help but pull her against my chest now that the cat is out of the bag.

  “How did you know?” My voice is gruff.

  Mischief dances in his eyes. “Let’s just say I heard some stuff and it wasn’t the television.”

  Ava buries her face against my bare chest and utters, “Oh. My. God.”

  “Go get ready for school,” I order. “And please don’t tell Anthony. Let me be the one to tell him.”

  Aiden winks at me and gives me a thumbs up as if he approves. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ava

  “How is the saving coming along?” Madame Clare asks. “Friday the payment is due.”

  I stop grading the paper to look up and grin. “It’s great. I have more than enough.” Quinn has kept all the money in an envelope for me. I have more than enough for the trip. I didn’t chance taking it home in case Mom found it. On more than one occasion when money was tight, she’d raid my room to find the odd bill here and there from my tutoring sessions. I’d never called her out for it because she’s my mom and obviously needed the money to help take care of me.

  But just once, I’m doing something for selfish reasons.

  I want to go to Paris so bad I can’t stand it.

  As far as after that, I haven’t thought much else. I’m living in the present, with Quinn and the twins, and life isn’t so lonely. I spend all my time with the three of them. It’s been two weeks since I ran into his ex and I still shudder each time I think about it. She was beautiful—I can see why she thought she could be a movie star—but she wasn’t a nice person at all. Quinn deserves someone better.

  “Ahhhh,” Madame Clare purrs, her voice rich and velvety. “You, ma choupette, are in love. Who’s the lucky fella?” Her eyes twinkle with delight as she looks at me.

  I sigh and desperately want to confide in her but something holds me back. I’m not stupid. What Quinn and I have would be considered taboo. I am his babysitter whom he pays for a job. He’s twenty-five years older than me. People like to tell other people how to run their lives. Madame Clare would be no exception. “Oh, he’s just some guy—”

  “Hey, Aves,” Chad chirps from the doorway.

  Madame Clare’s eyes widen and she gives me a knowing wink. I suppose it’s not the worst thing to have her thinking Chad is who I’m all head over heels for.

  “Hey,” I answer as I circle the grade on the paper before setting the sheet in the appropriate stack. “What’s up?”

  He jabbers on about something called suicide doors—whatever those are—while I sort the papers into piles. Once I have them organized to my liking, I carry them over to Madame Clare’s desk.

  “Have fun,” she says with a smile. “Love is a wild little thing. You must snag it up and stuff it in its cage so it doesn’t run away.” Her gaze flits to Chad. “Love is an animal you must capture and keep. Name it and own it. Allow yourself these things, ma choupette.”

  I laugh and gather my things. Once I say goodbye, I walk side by side with Chad down the hallway. After Quinn and I started sleeping together on the regular, I told Chad I was seeing someone. He’d given me his puppy dog eyes but we easily fell into friendship. Had he not been such a prick a few years ago, we could have been friends this whole time. We take our normal path from the senior halls to the sophomore halls where the twins are always waiting for us.

  “Whore,” someone spits once we turn down the hallway.

  I jerk my head, heat painting my throat, to find the accuser. For some silly reason, I expect it to be Samantha. Instead, I find the druggie guy who flipped me off last month. His palm is pressed against the locker and he’s snarling at Lacy, who’s in front of him. Chad grasps at me but I’m already storming over to them. Lacy, with her dirty blond hair and lifeless blue eyes reaches a shaky palm for his chest. He slaps her hand away and she yelps.

  I knew she needed help. This guy is a jerk.

  “Hey!” I call out to the loser. “Don’t hit her.”

  He jerks his head to glare at me. His pupils are dilated again and he definitely looks high. Something about his stare unnerves me. He seems unhinged. “You again? Are you friends with this slut?”

  Lacy starts to cry and I snap, no longer apprehensive. Storming over to him, I push him away from her. I’ve just cupped her cheeks to ask her what’s wrong when he grabs my shoulders from behind and slings me to the floor. I hit the linoleum hard with both elbows. Pain shoots up my arms and I’m momentarily shocked that this guy just threw me down.

  I hear Chad grunt behind me and then a pop of knuckles hitting flesh before the creep grabs a handful of my shirt from behind and drags me to my feet. I’m shoved again, and this time Lacy and I both go down with a crash. Before I can recover, he kicks me hard in the back of the head, causing me to howl in pain. Darkness swarms around me and the room spins.

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Crack!

  I roll my head to the side, straining to see what all the commotion is about. Then, I’m being lifted as though I weigh nothing.

  “Quinn,” I choke out. Everything is hazy and unclear but I recognize the eyes.

  “Not Dad,” the voice says. “Anthony.”

 
“My head hurts,” I whimper, the world fading black again.

  “I know. Just try to stay awake until I can get ahold of Dad.”

  * * *

  Voices.

  Blur.

  Arguing.

  Blur.

  Deep, raging, familiar voice.

  Blur.

  Familiar scent.

  Blur.

  Softly spoken words. The rumble of a quiet engine.

  Blur.

  Mom?

  I’m confused but when I finally blink away some of my haze, I find several people staring at me. Mom, creepy Dr. Allen who I run into all the time when I come to visit her at work, and Quinn. The first two faces are concerned. The third looks like he wants to rip someone’s head off.

  “Ava,” Quinn rumbles as he kneels in front of me. His dark brows crash together, worry painted all over his features. “How are you feeling, mon petit oiseau?”

  “What happened?” I rasp.

  “Do you know what day it is?” Dr. Allen asks from behind Quinn who is seconds from tugging me right out of the bed and into his arms.

  My mom glares at Quinn. “Give her space, Mr. Blakely.”

  Quinn boldly runs his knuckles across my cheek before standing and moving out of the way. Dr. Allen sits beside me and pats my shoulder.

  “Do you know the day?” he asks again.

  “Uhhh,” I squint and try to remember. It was test day in French. “Wednesday.”

  Dr. Allen frowns and Quinn curses.

  Mom steps closer and strokes my hair from my eyes. “Ava, honey, it’s Sunday.”

  I’m blinking in confusion as I try to place how and when I got here. My head is throbbing like crazy.

  “I’m thirsty,” I croak.

  Mom nods before slipping out of the room to fetch some water.

  “A student at your school kicked you in the head,” Dr. Allen says softly, his thumb running circles on my shoulder. I shudder at his touch. He’s not comforting at all. I wish it were Quinn sitting there instead. “You received a moderate concussion. An MRI showed some swelling but it’s gone down mostly. It’s typical to have some mild amnesia in these instances. You’ve been in and out for days. Do you remember your name?” He’s once again rubbing me and I don’t like it.

  I shoot Quinn a pleading stare that has him grabbing the doctor by the arm and pulling him away from me. “Don’t touch her,” he snaps before taking his spot. I’m instantly calmed. I boldly take his hand and sigh when he kisses my knuckles.

  “Wait,” I murmur, my brain finally catching up. “Madame Clare. The trip!”

  Quinn’s face goes from fierce to horrified. It’s then, I know. I missed the Friday deadline. When I burst into tears, he gathers me in his strong arms and presses kisses to my temple.

  “Shhh,” he whispers. “Shhhh, mon petit oiseau.”

  He murmurs sweet nothings into my hair but I’m too overcome with loss. I was so close.

  “I’ll make everything better,” he vows, his voice harsh and formidable. “I swear it.”

  * * *

  I stare at the cold bowl of soup on the worn-out coffee table in my living room with disinterest. I’m depressed. I know this. My mother knows this. Quinn knows this. Even a week and a half since the incident, I’m still locked in my own little world. I’d been doing so well in school that my grades haven’t suffered at least.

  What has suffered is my job.

  I haven’t gone back to work. A part of me feels guilty for leaving Quinn high and dry. He hasn’t spoken a word of it though. Instead, he checks up on me and texts me often. At night, he calls. But it’s all the same. I feel disconnected.

  Mom works twelve hour shifts so I spend a lot of time alone. She made me some soup before she left a couple of hours ago but I didn’t touch it. I haven’t showered in days. I’m tired, my head freaking hurts, and I don’t care.

  I’m still zoned out when someone bangs on the front door.

  Go away.

  Probably some annoying neighbor kids.

  Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.

  Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.

  The incessant knocking is giving me a headache on top of a headache. With a furious grumble, I kick off the blanket and storm over to the door. I sling it open and yell, “STOP!”

  Quinn’s fist is raised but he drops it upon seeing me. His normally severe look has softened. He looks tired. Dark circles ring his eyes. His black hair is messy and hangs over his brows. A shadow of stubble is growing in along his cheeks.

  He’s hot.

  The first sign of life in days sparks within me.

  “Oh, Ava,” he utters before tugging me into his powerful arms.

  I relax against him and inhale. His scent is intoxicating.

  “You’re rail thin,” he complains, his palms rubbing up and down my back. “Why haven’t you been eating?”

  I shrug and choke back tears.

  “I’m going to take care of you. Just like I promised.”

  His words warm me. “I don’t feel like myself,” I tearfully admit.

  He peppers kisses on the top of my head. “Concussions are that way, mon petit oiseau. Your brain is upset with you. Let’s make it happy again.”

  I’m scooped into his arms and he carries me inside. He scans the dinky trailer for a moment before stalking toward my bedroom. Once inside, he gently sets me on the bed and starts pulling clothes from drawers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done a long time ago,” he grits out.

  I frown. He collects everything into the duffel bag that had been hanging on the closet door. Not that I had a lot but he grabs it all. Clothes, pictures, makeup, books, everything. My head hurts so I close my eyes. Sometime later, I wake with his hand on my thigh as he drives us through town.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you home, Ava. Your home is with me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Quinn

  I tried to give her space like Judy asked. Not an easy task, but one I attempted nonetheless. And it was fucking impossible. I’m worried all to hell about her well-being. Judy assures me she’s behaving normally after a concussion but I don’t like it. I don’t like how Ava’s mother is so indifferent. My mind flits to how I found her.

  * * *

  The trailer is dark and lonely at night. One solitary lamp shines from the living room window. Like the fucking creep I am, I climb the porch steps and peek in. My sweet girl lies on the couch curled into a tiny ball.

  Alone.

  I fucking hate that for her. At least when she’s at my house, I can hold her in my arms where she belongs. My boys and I talk to her and make her laugh. She’s ours.

  Here though, at her supposed home, she’s lost and lonely. It makes me sick. But our relationship isn’t exactly public news yet. Fuck how I wanted to scream at her mother the night they let her out of the hospital and tell her Ava was coming home with me. Something held me back. Just like now... I can’t find it in myself to barge in and destroy her world.

  A shadow walks past the window startling me. A moment later, the front door opens and Judy steps out. She’s still wearing her hospital scrubs but her light brown hair is no longer in a ponytail. Wordlessly, she pulls a cigarette from her pocket and lights it. The orange glow from the cherry brightens before she pulls it away to exhale a plume of smoke.

  “You’re her boss, huh?”

  We both know that’s a fucking loaded question.

  I’m a lot more than her boss.

  “She helps me with my kids, yes.”

  She takes another drag. “She must be a real good babysitter if you’re creeping on my porch in the middle of the night to check on her.” Her tone is cold.

  I straighten to my full height and walk over t
o her. She offers me her cigarette but I decline.

  “Ava is...”

  “Just a girl,” she finishes. Her narrowed eyes find mine. Somewhere beneath the tough girl act is a mother who worries over her daughter.

  “She’s mature for her age.”

  Judy snorts. “Right.”

  I glare at her. “She’s got her head on straight. A lot better than most women twice her age.”

  She stiffens. “Fuck you, rich boy. You think you can waltz into our lives, wave your fancy shit around at my daughter, and then steal her away? What do you want from her? She’s not experienced. She’s quiet and shy and focused on school. What could possibly attract you to someone like that when you could clearly have any Barbie doll out there you want? She’s barely eighteen. And you’re what? Forty?”

  I scrub at my face with my palm. She makes it sound so cut and dry. It’s not like that. Ava fills parts of me that were missing. She makes me whole again.

  “She deserves so much,” I murmur. I don’t think I’ll ever have the words to fully describe how I feel about her daughter. I try anyway. “She’s so smart and caring. Any decent human is drawn to her. Ava makes me feel like myself again—not this goddamned robot I’ve become. She breathes life into my world.”

  She frowns at me and takes another drag of her cigarette. “She’s eighteen,” she reminds me. “I was eighteen when I had her. It was the worst decision of my life.”

  I wince and gape at her as if she’s lost her mind.

  “I don’t regret having her,” she says with a sigh. “I just regret having to put my career on hold. I regret marrying her father because we weren’t all that good together. We made it work because neither of us was keen on divorce but we weren’t happy. When she got older, I went back to school and got my degree. It just felt like too little too late. I’m almost thirty-six years old and I’m doing the grunt work that a new ER nurse would do. Had I started when I was younger, I would be so much further in my career. I might have made money earlier on and been able to live someplace nicer than this.”

  I grit my teeth. “But you wouldn’t have Ava. She’s everything.”