by Monica James
I always had neighbors and Avery who helped me out, but it wasn’t the same for Jordy. I know, in a way, he despises me, blaming me for his father leaving. His father was the love of my life, a good man who I could only love in secret.
I was head over heels for my brother’s best friend, but they were opposites. I never understood how they were friends, but I suppose growing up poor creates a bond like no other. I was barely sixteen when I found out I was pregnant. But for the first time in my life, I was happy because Michael wanted to have the baby.
He said he’d tell Christopher about us because he didn’t want us to be a secret anymore. But he soon proved to be another disappointment in life because I wasn’t even six weeks pregnant when he left us.
He left without a word, and to this day, I have no idea where he is.
I was heartbroken, but I couldn’t share that with Christopher. No matter that I would now be a single mom, I would never betray Michael like he did to me. When I began to show, Christopher’s big brother protective mode went into overdrive, demanding I tell him who the father was.
But I never told. And after a while, Christopher stopped asking.
I only met a few of his friends because he was very protective of me. He rarely let me out of his sight, but the times he did was when I could be alone with Michael.
I didn’t know what he did late at night, but I imagined it wasn’t good, especially when I was cleaning blood and god knows whatever else from his clothes. But I didn’t judge. We all had our flaws. And that’s how I remember my brother.
He wasn’t perfect, but he was all I had in this world. So when he also left me, a small part of me went with him. Getting pregnant changed our relationship. I was his little sister, the person he protected, but having a baby changed that. It wasn’t just us anymore. I hurt him. I also betrayed him by going behind his back. All he did was try to better my life, and in return, I fell in love with his best friend when I knew it would wound him. I live with that guilt every day of my life.
Although I don’t know where he is, I continue to hope he’ll come back into my life and let me make it up to him.
I know Jordy is missing a male figure in his life, which is the reason he’s acting out. His psychologists have confirmed it. He’s been kicked out of five different schools for fighting, bullying, and vandalism, among other things.
His psychologist diagnosed him with ADHD. And the reason he hates school so much is because he’s dyslexic. I can’t blame him for being frustrated because kids can be cruel. I work so much because even though the private school he’s currently enrolled in is smaller and better catered for his needs, it’s not cheap.
Neither are his therapy sessions as well as his tutoring.
I can’t afford all of this waiting tables. And I have no other qualifications other than my love for dance. Everything I do, I do for Jordy because when I look into his blue eyes, all I see staring back at me is his smart, funny, and gentle father who wouldn’t hurt a soul. He was perfect.
But me, I am anything but perfect, and I can’t help but blame myself for the way Jordy turned out. My genes polluted the gene pool, not Michael’s. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to my son. I won’t allow him to live the same childhood I did.
When Jordy walks into the kitchen, I quickly wipe away the lone tear with the back of my hand. I don’t want him to see me cry.
“What time is the movie?” he asks, slumping into a kitchen chair. He’s wearing clothes about two sizes too big for him and has a red bandana wrapped around his head. He looks like his uncle used to.
Switching off the kettle, I reach for the instant coffee. “About two hours,” I reply. “But we’re not going anywhere with you dressed like that.”
“Like what?” he rebukes, poking out his bottom lip.
“Like a wannabe gangster.”
“I am a gangster,” he says proudly while the spoon trembles in my hand.
“In this house, you’re Jordan Hope. Now go change.”
“Mom!” he whines, but this isn’t up for discussion.
When he sees I’m serious, he stomps off to his room, mumbling under his breath. If only my mom did that to Christopher, our lives would have turned out so differently. But you live and you learn, and I won’t make the same mistakes she did.
The movie was great, and mother son day was a complete success. When we bumped into one of Jordy’s friends at the mall, he begged to go to his house to play the latest video game and have a sleepover. I only agreed because his friend’s mom was there and said it was okay.
Parenting is about balance, and I don’t want to give my son too much freedom like my mom did with Christopher and me, but I don’t want to be a helicopter parent either.
Once I got home, I crashed, absolutely exhausted. The only thing that wakes me is a knock on the door. Groaning, I fumble for the clock on my bedside table and see that it’s after ten. Who the hell is knocking on my door at this time of night?
Kicking off the blankets, I tiptoe through the apartment. When I get to the front door, I look through the peephole but don’t see anyone outside. I’m wondering if I dreamed it but decide to open the door a fraction to make sure.
Unlocking the door, I open it slowly, but keep the chain in place. As I peer through the crack, I see a small gift box with a pink ribbon sitting in front of my door. Getting on my knees, I reach through the gap and drag the box inside.
Once the door is shut and relocked, I turn the box over, but there is no card or sender’s address. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pad back into my bedroom. Sitting on the end of the bed, I carefully unwrap the meticulously wrapped box.
The blue velvet box feels expensive, and when I open it, the diamond earrings only confirm my thoughts. There is a small card inside, and although what’s written on there isn’t much, it’s enough.
Only the best for my girl.
~C
There is only one person whose name just happens to start with a C who thinks I’m his girl. Fucking Carlos.
The earrings are beautiful, and their sparkle practically reflects rainbows all over the room, but I would rather be eclipsed in darkness than be bought this way. This is just a chance to flash his wealth, hoping I finally cave.
But I’m not a whore. This expensive gift and his promises to take care of me only seem to deepen the line in the sand between us. He thinks he can buy me because I’m poor and he’s, well, he’s an asshole who needs to be put in his place.
I have no idea how he knows where I live, and if he thinks leaving gifts at my doorstep is cute, he’s shit out of luck.
Springing into action, I rip off my pajamas and step into my jeans. I’m about to put on a sweater, but Bull’s AC/DC T-shirt catches my eye. I regretfully took it off when I showered earlier today, but now, I lunge for it, and the moment I slip it over my head, I inhale deeply because all I can smell is him.
It’s way too big, so I tie a knot in it and wear it Daisy Duke style.
I remember the way he looked last night in his suspenders, black pants, and white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his taut, tattooed forearms. He looked like he ate a hipster for breakfast and stole his clothes.
Once I’m in my Chucks and black hoodie, I grab my keys, only to realize my truck is still at work. Bull must have caught an Uber or cab back to the motel with me in tow. My plan to rip Carlos a new one is put on pause, but when I look at my reflection in the mirror, or more accurately, when I look at Bull’s T-shirt, I’m suddenly zapped with a surge of adrenaline.
He’s never backed down from a fight before and neither will I.
As I’m charging out my front door, I organize an Uber, who thankfully arrives only seconds after I catch the elevator downstairs. The driver isn’t one to socialize, which suits me just fine. I send a text to Jordy’s friend’s mom, who confirms the boys are having a fun time.
It’s a rainy night in Detroit, but give it a month or so, and the snow will commen
ce. Once the Uber drops me off at work, thankfully not asking any questions, I slip on my hood and lower my face, wanting to remain incognito.
My truck is parked out back, so I quicken my steps as one of the dim streetlights has blown. The area isn’t normally well lit, so now, it’s almost impossible to see in front of you. The wind howls around me.
Just as I round the brick wall and see my truck, I sigh in relief, but that is short lived because by the time I realize what’s happening, it’s too late. I don’t have a chance to fight or scream. I’m lifted off the ground, and a hand clamps over my mouth as an unknown assailant drags me toward the alley.
I wriggle madly, kicking and flailing with muffled screams, but my assailant, who I’m certain is a man, snickers at my attempts to flee. His humor surpasses my sudden fear, and I bite down so hard, I taste blood. He grunts in pain, taking his hand off my mouth for a split second, and that is all the time I need. I scream so loudly it hurts my own ears, but the sound is my ticket to freedom.
He fumbles, attempting to silence me, but his panic allows me to strike my foot backward and connect with his shin. His knee buckles, and he loosens his hold around me. Instantly, I scramble free, finding my footing on the wet ground.
I make it only two feet before the asshole grips my hair and thrusts my head back at a painful angle. I fight like a wild cat, attempting to turn around and connect with any part of his body I can reach, but I drop to my knees in agony when he punches me in the kidney.
Gasping for breath, I clutch my back, my body aching. I want to curl into a ball because it hurts so badly. But I won’t surrender. With a roar, I swivel on my knees, primed on punching him in the balls, but he wraps his hand around my throat, forcing me to stand.
I slap at his hand because his grip is so tight that I can’t breathe. But when he tightens his hold, it appears that’s what he wants. He’s fucking choking me.
He’s wearing a ski mask, so his identity is concealed, which has me wondering what the fuck I ever did to him. His eyes look…familiar. But I don’t know where I’ve seen them before. Was I right? Was someone watching me all along?
I’m being choked to death in a parking lot by an unknown assailant. I refuse to accept this as my fate.
I swing out, hoping to connect with him, but the harder I fight, the more air I need. And seeing as I’m being choked, air is something I don’t have. I begin to panic; my eyes widen as I frantically claw at the hand around my throat.
In response, he lifts me off the ground.
I’m certain my neck is about to snap, and tears begin to fall. I’m not sad; I’m so angry it has come to this. Another statistic, the news will say, because I got what I deserved. That’s how fucked up this world is.
“Please…don’t,” I beg, coughing and spluttering as I gasp for air. “I have…a s-son.”
But he only presses down on my windpipe harder.
Jordy will be alone. If I die, he will have no one. This can’t end this way. Hell to the fuck no.
My legs are strong, thanks to all the dancing, so I steady my breathing and kick out. I connect with something solid, and the air suddenly returns to my lungs. On my hands and knees, I inhale rapidly, desperate to fill my oxygen-deprived lungs.
I give myself a moment of reprieve and am about to fight for my life, but when I peer up, I see something that makes no sense. My assailant is no longer the hunter—he is now the hunted.
Time moves in slow motion as I watch a feral force comparable to a hurricane rain down fury like no other on my assailant. He staggers back, attempting to stay upright, but my hurricane doesn’t let him.
In quick succession, he punches my attacker in the ribs and stomach, then repeats on both sides. It’s a flurry of fists, and blinking prevents me from witnessing the attack because it’s so fast. However, when my rescuer turns to face me, the air is siphoned from my lungs for another reason.
I can’t breathe because my savior is Bull.
Coming to a shaky stand, I watch on the sidelines as Bull beats the living shit out of my assailant. The guy tries to connect with him, but Bull is too fast. He ducks and weaves, his lips twisting into a mocking grin. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile.
He’s baiting the guy to fight him. It’s like he is getting off on the altercation.
Something shiny catches the moonlight before Bull brings his foot down on the guy’s knee, shattering his kneecap. He drops to the ground with a thud, shrieking in pain. He begs for mercy, but Bull shows him none as he pins the guy to the asphalt by holding down his shoulder and connecting with his face over and over again.
The ski mask isn’t a suit of armor, and before long, the man stops moving. But that doesn’t deter Bull. He continues to hit him, the sounds a hollow emptiness, which turn my stomach. He is brutal, frenzied, a vision of destruction and pain.
“Bu—” I try to speak, but I feel like my vocal cords have been grated raw. But even if I could speak, I don’t think I’d be able to stop Bull. He won’t be satisfied until this man is dead.
As much as he deserves it, I can’t live with that on my conscience, so with a stagger, I hobble toward Bull. The man’s head lolls from side to side from the fierce punches. He no longer puts up a fight because I think he’s out cold.
Just as Bull is about to bring down his fist, I snare it midair. He snarls, swiveling to look at who dares to stop him, but when he sees it’s me, he blinks once.
“He’s had enough,” I croak in a whisper.
Bull’s lip curls, ready to fight me like a dog protecting his bone, but not overthinking it, I slide my hand toward his and interlock our fingers. The warm blood seeps between my fingers, but I only squeeze harder.
“He’s had enough when he’s stopped breathing,” he spits with venom. He tightens our connection, fire burning behind his glare.
“Please, don’t do this. Let the police take care of him.”
From the corner of my eye, I see a small group of people huddled off to the side. No doubt, the police have already been called.
Bull examines me closely as if he’s witnessing something he’s not seen before. I don’t know what it is, but it makes me tremble all over.
With our fingers still locked, he nods once. “I can’t be here when they do.”
I don’t know why that is, but I don’t care. “My truck is here.”
Bull clenches his jaw as though he is once again battling heaven and hell. He looks down at the non-moving man as if transfixed by the sight. When his shoulders shudder on a deep exhale, I know I’ve won.
Severing our connection, he rises slowly. “Let’s go.”
I desperately want to see who this masked coward is, but when the street is lit up with approaching blue and red lights, that’s our cue to leave.
Bull turns quickly but stumbles to the left. We both are puzzled by the movement because he wasn’t the one who got beaten unconscious until I scan down his body and yelp. “Oh my god! You’ve b-been st-stabbed!”
With a shaky finger, I point at his torso.
Bull’s attention focuses on the silver knife protruding from his side. “It’s just a scratch,” he states with a shrug.
“A scratch?” I cry, bile rising when he touches the wound and his fingers come away red.
“Yes, I’m good. Where’s your truck?”
My eyes are glued to the knife impaling his side. “You ne-need to go to the hospital.” Hysteria begins to rise. I was running on adrenaline, but now that that’s worn off, I am seconds away from losing it.
“I’m so s-sorry. This is my fault.”
My knees buckle, and I’m about to hit the pavement. But that doesn’t happen because with a poised move, Bull wraps one large hand around the back of my neck while the other grips my waist. This is the first time he’s touched me without flinching.
Our faces are inches apart, and this close to him, I take him in. He is rugged, wild, dominant, but I don’t feel afraid. “Never apologize for something that isn’t your f
ault.”
My mouth opens and closes uselessly because I can’t construct a coherent sentence.
“Now, give me your keys. I’m driving.”
The wailing of the police sirens gets louder, and that’s all the wake-up call I need. Licking my lips nervously, I state with newfound confidence, “No one drives my truck. And you’ve been stabbed, just in case you’ve forgotten.”
Bull’s lips tilt into a semblance of a smile, and the sight stirs deeply within me. “Then let’s haul ass…Tiger.”
My head bobbles a nod, and we commence a quick walk toward my truck. Both our faces are downturned, disguising who we are, but when Bull walks past the man on the ground, he clenches his jaw. I know it’s killing him not to take off the ski mask, and if his fury wasn’t clouding his judgment, he probably would have done so before rendering him unconscious. But now, to do so, Bull would have to reveal his identity to the nosy bystanders. And he clearly doesn’t want to do that.
After fumbling with the zipper on my backpack, I finally get out my keys. Unlocking my door, I get into the driver’s side before whimpering in absolute pain as I reach across the middle console to open Bull’s door. He jumps in, appearing untroubled by the knife sticking out of his side.
My truck is slow to start, but once the engine turns over, I tear out of the parking lot, the realization of what just happened hitting hard. My hands are shaking so badly, I grip the steering wheel tighter to maintain control.
Bull leans back in the chair, breathing deeply through his nose. He must be in pain. And when I hit the curb because my eyes are on him and not the road, he grunts loudly.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he barks through a winded breath. “Where you going?”
“To the hospital,” I hoarsely reply, thankful the traffic is light.