“Will you come to Jessie’s birthday on Thursday?” she’d asked me softly when she’d dropped me off at my bike, pretending she wasn’t struggling with her emotions. When I’d nodded in the affirmative, she’d started babbling. “Great. Awesome. It really makes the most sense. Until you get your family back, you’ll protect mine. Having a porch that doesn’t look like a death trap isn’t the biggest imposition. I’m learning. You’re learning. I will no longer whine or get defensive. We’re dropping our tough acts. It’s all going to be good.” I just grinned and kissed her forehead.
I didn’t say anything about her programming her number into my cell phone or that as far as I was concerned, I didn’t consider my tough nature an act. I just looked into her glistening eyes filled with determination, smiled at her, and then jumped on my bike and drove my ass home. I figured I’d give her enough time to remember who she was inviting to her house: the domineering ex-con. Let her build up the shields and masks she loved to wear.
I wasn’t going to get attached. I knew better than to play with fire.
As I reached the top step, I saw a black duffel bag at my front door. With its nondescript labeling, I didn’t rush to touch it. If it were left at an airport, I had no doubt dogs would be sniffing and barking. I wondered if it was another delivery from Eli. After spending time with Flash, I remembered I had a new focus.
A new distraction from the pills and pain.
I decided I might as well get it over with. Stepping closer, I carefully unzipped the top and was faced with hundreds of photographs of Lizzie and Beth. I froze.
I knew what this was. It wasn’t a delivery from my brother.
It was a warning from my cellmate.
A reminder.
I picked up the bag and stalked inside my apartment, then slammed the door with the frustration and anger that was building inside me. Fucking hell!
I dropped the bag on my bed and stalked to the fridge for a beer, taking a swig before I looked back at the damn bag. I wondered how long it took them to deliver it after they’d heard that I didn’t follow the fucking plan. If it had been sitting on my doorstep the whole time I had been acting like my life wasn’t filled with shit.
The amount of fucking photos meant they had this in the works all along. Since the damn beginning.
I was an idiot for not realizing who the fuck I was dealing with.
I thought I was so careful. Didn’t say shit to the cons who tried to get to know me about Lizzie and Beth on the inside. When I put Eli in the hospital, I knew there might be further retribution, a blood repayment of sorts. I was never certain who was and wasn’t friends with dirty cops, and whether they would or wouldn’t deliver a message to those who wanted to see me suffer.
It never occurred to me that my decision to help my fucking pathetic-as-shit cellmate would blow back on them. I never thought about the shit I told Anthony in the fucking weakest moment during my time in lockup. How in the early hours of my eighteenth birthday, the year I could’ve finally adopted Jake, I told my roommate all about the life I could’ve been living if it weren’t for that fucking judge and a corrupt cop. The nice neighborhood Lizzie and I always talked about living in. How we planned to escape from the shithole we grew up in. I remembered his condolences, his compassion, and his fucking friendly prison drug dealer.
I took another swig of my beer, then let out a ream of fucking curses that matched the fear and anger swirling inside my body. I thought to myself about what an idiot I’d been. He’d been screwing with me from the very beginning.
I needed to work out what the fuck I was going to do. I walked to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, opened it and stared at the little bottle of pills on the top shelf.
I should chuck them. They came from him, I knew it. I grabbed the little bottle and walked toward the trash. I had been coming home to these earlier. If Flash hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve used them to block the pain.
Destroyed my potential NFL career.
I emptied the pills into the trash.
“Fuck!” I yelled out loud before slamming the trash can shut. I was not a coward.
I wouldn’t be playing this motherfucker’s game anymore. I knew someone would go after them. If after the next game I didn’t make good on my promise, they would show me what happened to fucking cowards. The fact that Lizzie and Beth weren’t my family didn’t mean shit; these assholes knew that if they wanted to hurt me, all they had to do was hurt them. I wasn’t sure how, but I wouldn’t be letting that happen.
I prowled toward the bag and grabbed a handful of the photos. I couldn’t help myself as I started looking at the life we’d always dreamed about. Photos of Lizzie doing people’s hair at the salon. Beth walking in and out of school. Both of them playing at a park.
The more of their life I saw, the wilder I felt.
I couldn’t let this shit slide. Someone invaded their privacy, took photos through windows and bushes. Dragged them back into the dirt they’d worked damn hard to climb out of. Someone would pay for this shit. I might’ve decided not to break Grayson Waters’s legs but I hadn’t decided to walk the fucking clean life. I would break the legs of the asshole who took those photos.
My fingers traced over their smiles and laughing faces. I started looking at every photo methodically, tried to calculate how long ago they’d been taken. Tried to put them in order to find a photo of Lizzie with her current hair color. If I turned up the next day, would I be able to catch the Peeping Tom?
I was almost at the bottom of the bag when I saw the photo. My heart stopped.
There in crisp color was Flash dropping her girl off at daycare.
I flipped the photo over and read the words written in black marker: “Make a choice.”
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, studied the worn jeans, plaid T-shirt, and leather jacket, grimaced at the telltale signs of living without sleep. I knew I was not little girl birthday party suitable. I also didn't have anything else to wear and knew I couldn’t avoid this shit any longer.
It was Thursday. Four days since I’d shared my baggage with Flash, lived a day free of worry, listened to her announce that it was okay now to protect her family, and then found Tony’s fucking threat. The fact that I looked like a rough biker dealing with a hangover was the least of my problems. A duffel bag of photos. Oxy in the fucking trash. Some dickhead telling me I needed to choose between helping Flash’s family or ensuring no one decided to destroy Lizzie’s and Beth’s lives. My life was a mess. I just happened to look that way too.
I needed to work out what the fuck I was going to do.
I had started riding toward Lizzie’s home twice before turning around. I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do. Before I turned up on her doorstep throwing her and Beth’s life in turmoil, I needed to know everyone here was safe.
As I stared at the holes in my jeans, I went through my options for the billionth time. I thought about calling Lizzie instead, telling her that someone was stalking her and Beth and instructing her to get out of Dodge. Immediately. I also thought about calling Al and getting him to share his motorcycle club connections. I knew his club would help Lizzie find some place to hole up in with Beth. They would even send someone out from Nevada to help me deal with the fuckers threatening to destroy Flash’s family. Unfortunately, I knew they’d ask a lot of questions, or at the very least demand that I hole up in their fucking compound while they exterminated the pests I’d let burrow into my life.
I knew it was my best option, but I knew Al wouldn’t let me punish the idiot who thought he could send someone to follow the women in my life. He still thought of me as a kid. Nineteen and a college football star in the making. He hadn’t seen the man I had become since doing my time. I also knew the club wouldn’t let a witness stand around as they chased these assholes down unless he was patched in. Therefore, it wasn’t an option.
Tony needed to pay.
My phone went off again with another text from Flash, reminding
me of the time and place of the party. If I didn’t leave now, I knew I would be late.
I climbed on my bike and adjusted the rough backpack I usually took with me when I had a need to carry crap. It felt heavier than it ever had before. I chose not to think about how that didn’t make a lick of sense seeing as the only thing in the bag was a fluffy pink bear with a giant yellow bow.
I adjusted the bag and pulled out onto the road, getting every green light as I rode to Flash’s house. With every tree I passed, I thought about how my bike should’ve been headed in another direction. It shouldn’t have been around a two-year-old. No good would come of this.
I was at Flash’s door in record time and I rode past the damn thing, lost in thought. When I saw that I’d driven a block past her house, I slammed on the brakes.
Shit.
I pulled over, got off my bike, and took a fucking breath, staring at the dirt. I couldn’t leave her yet. Not until I knew that she’d be okay. I had faced down a gang of skinheads wanting me to join their ranks behind the walls of a fucking prison. I could handle a gang of little girls and an asshole behind bars.
The photo told me to make a choice.
Thank fuck I’d stopped fearing the orders of sociopaths a long time ago.
MILLIE
I WAS GOING INSANE.
It was the only logical conclusion.
I needed to be committed. Immediately. I needed to be taken straight to a padded white room. A room that was absolutely silent, no little girls screaming and crying for attention. I didn’t even care if my arms had to be strapped to my body. The idea of my hands being unavailable to get snacks or drinks for dictators in tiaras was heaven right now.
What the hell was I thinking?
Telling Grayson, Parker, and Tahnee that I had everything under control was possibly the first sign of lunacy. But they knew. Oh, those bastards, with their convenient excuses as to why they couldn’t arrive until the party was almost over. I’d decided it was all an act. Tahnee with those unshed tears in the bottom of her eyes. Parker and Grayson with their dozens of apology text messages. I’d believed they were so sad and disappointed.
They had me fooled. They knew I would be dealing with bedlam, and they averted the chaos like trained Marines leaving a hostile country before it imploded. I was sitting there, all sweet smiles and naivety, planning my two-year-old little girl’s party as if it would be just like a one-year-old little girl’s party. None of them warned me. None of them told me that my sweet angel child would refuse to follow my every instruction. Tahnee and I had been unknowingly creating a devil by talking about it being “her day” for a week. How I rued the day I introduced the idea that it was “her day.” It was worse than her obsession with “mine.”
This year my girl knew it was a day about her and demanded as much attention as she could get. Thinking that there would be a sleep in, with Jessie not realizing that it was her birthday, was the first warning sign that my day would not go as planned. When I was unable to throw on a Disney movie and set up the decorations I had planned to have stylishly around the house, my day started unraveling.
Five hours later and there were too many of them. I was outnumbered. I didn’t think three kids under three would be that hard to handle. Excited children were like Gremlins: completely unmanageable, eager for only dirty and dangerous activities. And I was the only one around to supervise.
When the doorbell rang I almost cried.
God, please tell me I didn’t invite another one. I didn’t care how cute they looked in their ribbons and party dresses. I couldn’t handle another one.
When I tentatively pulled the door open to find Cooper standing all brooding on the doorstep, I couldn’t help but mutter “Excellent” before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside.
“Whoa, hey, stop pulling,” he grunted as I dragged him toward the lounge room.
“Nope, nope, I need you to go in and keep them occupied. Five seconds. God give me five seconds. Burn the house down. Set a doll’s hair on fire. I couldn’t care less. But you will give me five seconds of peace so I can go to the bathroom and get what I’m pretty sure is glitter nail polish out of my hair.”
“Flash, I’m a guest. Goddamn it, stop digging your nails into me”
“Cooper, you are the only adult in this damn house. All others ran. They dropped their devil spawn disguised as princesses at my door and bailed. Unless you come with me, I will draw blood. I promise you.”
“Flash, seriously, I’m following you, but I don’t think you shou—”
I didn’t let him finish, shoving him into that room alone before I made a run for it.
I lied. I spent five blissful minutes in the bathroom. However, I completely forgot to wash out the nail polish. Instead I looked in the mirror, stared at the messy red bun, the freckles that danced across my nose free of the cloak of makeup. In all the drama of trying to wrangle three two-year-olds, I had forgotten about Cooper coming to the party. Sure, I had sent a couple of messages reminding him to come that morning, but I then came up with the brilliant idea of a pretend spa activity, and with little devils dictating my every move, I forgot my foolish plan to invite him into my world.
He’s here.
I felt the tears threaten to spill over. “I know,” I whispered to Nate.
I knew he would come.
“I just pushed him into a room of two-year-old little girls with a ton of makeup. He might be here now, but the moment I rejoin that room, he won’t stay. He’ll have some excuse.”
Who you trying to kid with that crap? You don’t really believe that. He’s a fucking superhero. All that shit about his growing up in foster care, taking care of those kids he lived with, and then you asking for his help. You know the dude’s a damn white knight in training. He’ll stay.
“I didn’t think about you both being here on this day. I forgot that you’d be in my head on her birthday,” I choked out. “I . . . this . . . what am I going to do?”
Go enjoy our girl’s party. Let them paint your face again. Laugh. Tell me about it later. Or maybe with him here helping you celebrate, you won’t need to tell me at all.
With those last words, he disappeared. I wiped away the tears and opened the bathroom door.
He was covered in bright red lipstick, his forehead, his cheeks, and his lips painted with a very thick hand. I was certain I saw glitter, nail polish, and princess stickers in his beard. I kept my chuckles silent.
“You knew.”
“Oh I knew.”
“They’re so little, but together they’re like a sixteen-year-old girl on steroids.”
“Mama, wook! Pwetty man!” Jessie yelled out to me as she tugged on Cooper’s beard.
“She’s been saying that since you pushed me into the room,” Cooper muttered as I surveyed the lounge room.
I snorted. I knew. “Pwetty” was her word of the day as she became a dictator that morning, ordering me to do her makeup after I did mine. Learning new words just to boss me around.
“I figured you’d be able to handle yourself.” I grinned.
“Do I get a bathroom break now?” he asked with one eyebrow raised. I took in his appearance, all sparkling beard and 80s Madonna wannabe eye shadow, and without hesitation informed him, “No time. We need to exhaust these little devils so when other people get here, they’ll think I’ve been in control the whole time.”
“Babe—”
“Come on, you can do it. Thirty minutes tops. We let them do our nails next and then help them build a fort. Surely by then they’ll want to watch a Disney movie and our job will be done.”
“They already did my nails.”
The look on his face, part horror and part shame, had me bursting into laughter.
“Okay, they can do my nails as you start building the fort,” I chuckled.
“Fawt?” Jessie squealed, distracting the blushing biker enough for me to turn to the other little she-devils and start pretending that I was excited about the length
of my fingers about to be painted.
It was two hours and two bottles of nail polish remover later. Two moms had arrived to cart their sleeping babies away. Both of them apologized for having other commitments and missing out on all the fun. They were very good liars, but they weren't very good at hiding their shock. Only one of them managed to keep her tongue in her mouth at the sight of the overgrown biker asleep under three different princesses. I should’ve woken him up, or at the very least lifted Jessie off his chest. However, the sight was almost too much for me to handle.
I decided to stick to the kitchen. Parker was arriving any minute with Gray, and Tahnee would be there after that to help with clean up. They would wake Cooper up. They would take in the sight of my daughter asleep on his chest, covered in makeup and glitter, and not want to cry. They wouldn’t know his background. They wouldn’t struggle to keep their shit together. Their eyes wouldn’t threaten to fill with tears that I wasn’t sure would stop once started.
When a knock sounded at the door, I raced to open it, that time not out of excitement or desperation but to ensure they didn’t wake my exhausted patrons.
“Hey,” Parker greeted before taking a step back to let Gray inside, who was carrying a handful of pink balloons and a very large wrapped box. “Sorry we’re late. I know you said it was okay, but Marissa needed help at the bar.”
“It’s all good,” I whispered as I led them toward the kitchen, away from the sleeping girls.
“Why are we whispering?” Gray asked as he placed their gifts on the dining table.
“Well, while you guys were helping Marissa and every other child’s parent had some engagement to attend today, I had three wild little girls on my hand. After pretend beauty salon, where I let them paint each other’s faces with all my makeup, then help themselves to my nail polishes, and then destroy my lounge room in the effort to build their own pillow castle, the she-devils finally fell asleep,” I responded.
“Shit, babe, not one parent stayed?” Parker’s eyes widened.
Flash (Penmore #2) Page 16