The door flew open, and my lovely bride of less than a day glared at me, wearing an old ratty pair of boxer shorts and a too-large T-Shirt covering the fact she hadn't lost any of her baby weight since giving birth.
"What the fuck is your problem?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes and shoving ratty tangles of red hair out of her face.
"Are you still talking to Quick Shot?" I demanded, folding my arms over my chest.
"What?" she croaked in the middle of a yawn. Dropping her arms to her sides, she muttered a curse. "Jesus Christ. You woke me in the middle of the night to ask that? I thought the fucking building was on fire."
"Answer the question, Tristy."
"What? No. No, I'm not talking to that shithead anymore. Haven't seen him in months."
I arched an eyebrow. "Really? Is that why the time on the Facebook message you sent him, begging for a dime bag, says four hours ago? Is that why he just fucking asked if you were still looking?"
Tristy's mouth fell open. She shook her head once before saying, "No . . . wha . . . Wait, what were you doing on my Facebook page?"
Great. Of course, she'd twist this around to make it all my fault. That's what she always did. Gritting my teeth because I felt caught, I muttered, "I was trying to look something up and you were still logged in. Then these messages started popping up and, fuck! You've been fucking lying to me." Grabbing handfuls of my hair, I gritted my teeth to keep myself from reaching out to shake her. "Damn it. I've been busting my ass to keep you clean and safe, and you do this? With Quick Shot? The dick who left you abandoned in an alley the last time you overdosed?"
If it hadn't been for a complete stranger calling the cops, who'd in turn called an ambulance and rushed her to the hospital, she'd probably be dead right now.
"Keeping me safe?" Tristy snorted and folded her arms over her chest. "You've been keeping me prisoner is what you've been doing. I've been trapped in this goddamn apartment for—"
"You have not been trapped. You know damn good and well you can do whatever the fuck you like. You're free to come and go as you please."
Tris snorted and rolled her eyes. "As if I could go anywhere with a baby strapped to my hip. I have no freedom. No—"
"You got yourself knocked up. And if you ever need a break from Julian, I'll find you a fucking babysitter. Damn it, Tris. This is no reason to go to Quick Shot for fucking drugs!"
"It's what I know, okay. Those people, that life, that's what I know. Who I am. And you're trying to change me. Turn me into something I'm not. Into her."
I gritted my teeth and glanced away when she mentioned Tinker Bell. I regretted the night we'd gotten drunk together and I'd spilled everything to her about Madam LeFrey and the glimpses she'd given me. She'd never forgotten, never let me live it down.
"I'm not trying to change—"
A pounding on the front door of the apartment interrupted me. "Police. Open up."
I closed my eyes and hissed out a breath. Of course, someone had called the cops on us. The walls in this building were paper-thin. Someone probably heard me every time I sneezed.
Fuck.
"Are there any drugs in my apartment?" I asked quietly. "Don't lie to me, Tris."
When she answered, "No," I opened my eyes and sent her a hard look. She scowled and hissed, "There's not. I swear to God."
"There better not be. Because if I get arrested tonight, you have nowhere to go. Julian has nowhere to go."
"If Quick Shot was asking if I still needed a hit, that meant I hadn't gotten anything yet, right?"
If anything, she at least managed to look guilty that she'd just confessed she'd been planning to bring drugs into my home . . . the one thing I'd made her swear never to do.
I sniffed and shook my head. "Unbelievable." Whirling away from her, I stormed down the hall to the front door and yanked it open.
Two officers stood in the hallway, and one of them had arrested me the last time I'd gotten into a fight. "We received a domestic disturbance call from one of your neighbors."
"Yeah, I'm sure you did." I pulled the door open wider to let them in. After growing up in the foster care system, I was well aware how this worked. When the cops showed up at your place, you cooperated, you didn't turn belligerent, and you answered whatever questions they asked. Nothing more.
They stepped over the threshold and immediately turned their attention to Tristy. "You okay, ma'am?" the shorter one asked.
Tristy clammed up in the presence of cops, mostly because we'd always been treated like suspects, even if we were the victims.
"I'm fine," she mumbled, ducking her head, which only made her look like an abused spouse.
God, this better not end badly for me. She might regret my interference in her life and feel as if I was keeping her prisoner, but without me, she'd be on the street right now and Julian would probably be dead.
When she wasn't any more forthright than that, the men turned to me. "So what's all the commotion about?"
"I shouted," I confessed. "And I pounded on her bedroom door, trying to wake her up so I could talk to her. But I wasn't even loud enough to wake the baby."
"And just what did you need to talk to her about at . . . four in the morning?"
Four? It was already four? Nice. I was going to have to get up in four hours to get ready for my day shift at the garage.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, feeling the need to be belligerent but trying to hold it back.
"Hands out of your pockets," they barked at me together.
I jerked my hands free and lifted them to show I didn't have a weapon.
"Why did you need to wake her up and talk to her?" the taller one with more attitude repeated.
Glancing away from him, I ran my hand over my face. "I found some messages from another guy on her Facebook page. And I didn't like what they said."
There. I made it look like a lovers' quarrel. I don't know why I covered for her since she'd been planning to sneak drugs in behind my back. But I didn't want to see her go to jail either.
The ball-buster cop, the one who'd arrested me seven months ago, stepped close to study my face. "I've dealt with you before, haven't I?"
"Yes," I admitted. "For battery and assault."
I had looked up the guy Tristy was seventy percent certain was Julian's biological father because he'd been hitting her, and I'd bashed his face in.
Almost disappointed that I was being so cooperative and not giving them any lip, the men turned away from me, eyeing Tristy.
"Are you sure you're okay, ma'am? Did he hit you or touch you in any malicious way?"
She drew even further into herself.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead, ready to get this shit over with. "Tristy, just let them look you over so they know you're okay."
"No!" she screamed, stomping her foot and glaring at me. "I don't want anyone to fucking look at me. I don't want anyone to fucking touch me. JUST . . . LEAVE . . . ME . . . ALONE."
Down the hall, Julian's muted wail made me hiss a curse. "Now that was loud enough to wake the baby," I told the officers before I started down the hall to fetch him.
The short cop followed me. "Anyone else home?" he asked, glancing into Tristy's room when he passed it.
My gut clenched as I hoped to God Tris hadn't been lying about there being no drugs here, because if they found anything in my apartment, Julian would end up in foster care. That was the very last thing I wanted to happen to him.
"No," I answered as I opened the door to my room. "It's just the three of us." I kept the light off so the sudden blare wouldn't hurt Julian's eyes, but the cop flipped it on as he stepped into the room behind me. And of course, the baby's wail grew louder.
"Hey, little man," I murmured. "Did Mommy wake you up? I know she did, you poor thing. And you just got to sleep too. I'm sorry, bud." Kissing his hair as I cuddled him against my chest, I swayed on my feet, hoping to rock him back to sleep. With my nose buried in his dark curls, I slid my gaze to the cop who wou
ldn't stop gawking.
"That kid's black," he blurted out, shocking the shit out of me.
I blinked, wondering what Julian's ethnicity had to do with anything. "Gee, really? I hadn't noticed."
At my sarcastic answer, he shook his head. "But . . . you're . . . why are you the one coming back here and taking care of him when he's obviously not yours?"
For a split second, I saw red. Just because my blood didn't flow through this child's veins didn't make him any less mine. I loved this kid more than just about anyone.
"Because no one else is going to take care of him. And he is mine. He's my stepson."
Eyeing me strangely, the cop nodded slowly. Something akin to respect glinted in his eyes before he said, "Next time you get mad at your old lady, keep your tone down, will you? If we take too many calls at the same address, someone eventually goes to jail. And that someone would be you."
I nodded, realizing he was trying to give me a break and a friendly heads-up. Some people would've taken it as a threat, but I knew how these guys worked.
"I hear you," I answered.
He lingered another moment, his gaze returning to Julian who'd closed his eyes and was snuggled peacefully against me. "Cute kid," he finally said.
I grinned and shook my head. "I'd say thank you, but he didn't get his looks from me. Obviously."
Sniffing out a short laugh, the cop tipped his hat. "Keep the volume of those arguments down." And then he was gone.
Listening to them bid Tristy a farewell as they left the apartment, I continued to pace the floor with Julian. I knew all too well that if he were even the slightest bit awake when I laid him down, he'd holler his head off. He had to be completely out of it.
When Tris appeared in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest as she stared into my room at us, I sighed.
"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have yelled and pounded on your door," I confessed before she could start in on me. "And yes, I could've waited until morning. But, shit, Tris. Are you really that miserable here? Is it so bad that you'd rather go out and get high, not knowing where you're going to wake up, what's going to be done to you, or who you'll end up with than having a roof over your head, a clean bed to sleep in each night, and a constant supply of food?"
Tears filled her eyes. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, smearing them. "No, but . . . Damn it, Pick. I get so . . . so sick and tired of being cooped up in this place all day. And I thought it'd be okay if it was just marijuana. Nothing heavy. It's just . . . the kid's always here. There's just no break. You get to go off to work; you don't have to constantly listen to him cry and demand shit all day."
I blew out a breath and closed my eyes, resting my cheek on Julian's head. "I wish you had come to me and told me this instead of looking up Quick Shot. Damn, Tris. If you need a break, I can get you a break. I can watch him every evening I have a night off, and you can go out and do whatever. Plus, I'm sure Mrs. Rojas next door can babysit one or two times a week."
When Tristy's eyes lit with excitement, I knew I'd said the right thing. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
"Tris." I rolled my eyes. "When have I not done everything within my power to get you whatever you needed?"
"That's true," she admitted with a sheepish shrug.
"If you promise not to contact Quick Shot again, I'll make sure you have more . . . freedom. Okay?"
"Okay." Then she stepped in the room, looking relieved. "I can walk with him for a little bit if you want?"
Her offer shocked the shit out of me. "Uh . . . yeah. Sure." We fumbled awkwardly as I tried to pass the sleeping kid off to her. Julian stirred but didn't wake. When his head was securely propped on her shoulder and she patted his back in a motherly manner, I stared openly, unable to look away.
"What?" she asked, giving me an irritated frown. "Am I doing something wrong?"
"No." I grinned and shook my head. "Nothing. You're doing great. I'm going to change into something to sleep in and get a snack. Be right back."
When she nodded, I grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of sweats and darted out of the room. I couldn't stop grinning as I changed in the bathroom and then ransacked the kitchen, looking for food. I finally just smeared butter on some saltines, sandwiched them together, and called it good. After tossing all the disposable trash I found on the counters, I stacked the dirty dishes so there was some counter space left and hurried back to my room.
I'd been gone five minutes max, but that must've been too long for Tristy. She'd already settled Julian back into his crib and returned to her own room.
With a disappointed sigh, I stroked the sleeping kid's head before settling into my own bed, where I dropped crumbs all over my sheets as I polished off my snack. I guess I couldn't expect too much from the new mommy yet. So for now, I'd take five minutes. She'd touched him and held him. That was progress.
Chapter 6
EVA
My roommates were driving me crazy. A week after the wicked witch of Florida had swooped in to mess with Mason and Reese's life, the awkwardness in our apartment grew so thick I was sure it'd smother all three of us. And it was Mason's fault entirely.
Reese tried, she really freaking tried to move past it, to shrug off Mrs. Garrison's visit and get on with her life. But Mason just wouldn't let her. He kept acting like some kind of abused dog who'd been kicked in the ribs one too many times. He shied away from Reese, couldn't look her in the eyes, stopped touching her completely. His guilt was so tangible it left a nasty aftertaste in my mouth. Despite her normally upbeat personality, even Reese had stopped attempting to be cheerful.
They were both so miserable; I hated it.
So when Mason walked into the kitchen one evening while I was fixing myself a snack—carrots, apple slices, and celery smothered in peanut butter because I wanted to deliver a healthy kid—I dropped my butter knife on the counter and grabbed his arm, yanking him close. I'd had enough of this shit.
He tried to jerk back in surprise, but I wouldn't let him go.
"This has to stop," I hissed, glancing warily toward the opening of the kitchen in the hopes that Reese didn't walk in any second and catch me chewing him out.
"What? I just walked into the kitchen." Pulling his arm away, he managed to free himself as he scowled back.
I snorted. "As if. Your non-stop moping is sucking the life out of Reese. I hope you realize that."
His face drained of color, telling me how much he'd noticed it . . . and hated it, too. But the way his jaw tightened said he was pissed I'd brought it up. Stepping in close, he whispered, "What the hell am I supposed to do about it? I can't stop what happened. It already happened."
"Yes, it did. But it's over and done with. All you can do is control how you react to it. And you're having a really bad reaction. It's dragging Reese down with you."
His eyes filled with torment. "Don't you think I know that? It's killing me to see her every day with all that pain in her eyes. But I don't know how to stop it. There aren't enough apologies on earth to make up for what happened. And there's no way to fix it. No way to—"
"Just stop right there." Rolling my eyes, I set my hand over his mouth to shut him up. "You're thinking about this all wrong. Looking for forgiveness from her is not what you need, because newsflash, numb nuts: she's already forgiven you. That's the amazing thing about Reese. She forgives. And an even more amazing thing about her is that she moves on. Just think about it. Were you able to tell her ex-boyfriend had tried to kill her and nearly succeeded just four months before you met her? No, because she has this super power of being about to get past awful, disturbing, traumatic events. It's all part of the beauty of who she is. She would've gotten past this last episode with Mrs. Garrison too, but you're not letting her. Every time you pull away, or refuse to meet her eyes, or dodge a conversation, it kills her."
Mason closed his eyes and covered his face with both hands. He gulped audibly and took a moment to regain his composure. Then he blew out a breath and dropped his finge
rs.
"I swear to God, Eva. The last thing I want to do is hurt her, but I just can't . . . God." He swiped the heels of his hands over his eyes. "I don't know how to get past this. I don't deserve her forgiveness. I don't . . . how the hell do I touch something so pure and amazing when I'm so fucking filthy?"
I bit my lip when tears began to swim in my eyes. Freaking pregnancy hormones. They just wouldn't leave me alone, would they? But my heart was breaking for poor Mason. The man could not forgive himself for what he'd been.
Picking up a piece of peanut-butter coated apple, I took a bite and began to munch, trying to act as cool and collected as I didn't feel. While Mason tried not to emotionally fall apart in front of me, I licked my fingers clean of my snack and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Finally, I cleared my throat.
"So, I've been reading all these new mommy, expecting-your-first-baby articles online lately. And they're really cool. They go week by week through your pregnancy, telling you how big your baby is compared to a piece of fruit." Setting my hands over my bump, I grinned. "Baby Girl's about the size of a pineapple right now, by the way."
Mason blinked and stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. But I did have a point, and I was about to get to it.
"The advice that helped me stop freaking out the most was about dealing with all the mistakes I'm going to make as a mother. They say it's inevitable, you know. No matter how great I want to be, I'm going to mess shit up. And I'm going to worry that I'm destroying my child's life. But I read this thing that said as long as I love her and try to make her happy, the rest will fall into place. Discipline, temper tantrums, all of it. Instead of drowning in my mistakes, I'll learn from them. And the more joy I bring to her life, the more I'll bring to my own." Reaching out, I grasped Mason's hand hard.
"Are you listening to me, Mason Lowe? Just love Reese and make her happy. And when you bring joy to her life, it'll bring joy to your life. Instead of wallowing over everything you did wrong, you'll forgive yourself and move on from this, because making her happy is the ultimate priority. Everything else is just bullshit."