Something Complicated (Dirty Southern Secrets Book 1)

by J. L. Leslie

  Copyright 2019. J.L. Leslie. All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes, promotions, authorized giveaways or teasers only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  I want to first of all, dedicate this book to my mom, like I do all of my books. She is who always supported me in my writing, and I dedicate all of my words to her. I miss her each and every day!

  A special thanks to my family for their love and support! Also, to my sister for listening to my ideas and never complaining! You’re the best! I love you all!

  A special thanks to my daughter for being the inspiration for my character, Willow. You have changed my life in so many unexpected ways! I wouldn’t change a thing about you!

  A special thanks to my PA, Amber Feist, for being my friend and sounding board! For always helping me find the perfect cover and for reading my words!

  To my fan group, J.L. Leslie’s Lovelies, for being the best fan group an author could ever ask for! Thank you!

  To my street team, J.L. Leslie’s Pimpin’ Peeps, you are the most amazing street team! Thank you for always sharing my work!

  To my ARC team, thank you so much for reading my words! It amazes me each day that people take the time to read what I write and sometimes actually enjoy it!

  A very special thank you to my beta readers! I so enjoy your feedback and comments! You make this journey so much easier for me! Thank you!

  Last, but not least, a special thanks to Veronique Poirier with V Designs for making such an amazing cover for me! My vision for the cover was brought to life!

  Something Complicated

  Prologue

  Kaler

  There are some things you never expect to hear in life. Not in the picturesque town of Chapelwood, Alabama. Not at twenty-two. Not when you’re happy. Not when you’re gazing down at your newborn daughter.

  Your baby has Down Syndrome.

  Those five words changed everything. I held my wife, Brynn’s, hand as she cried, neither of us fully understanding what those five words meant. Neither of us prepared.

  We had already heard all the negative things we thought we would hear. How we married too young. How we would never make it. How we were idiots. We didn’t care what anyone said. We got engaged right after graduation and married right after we turned twenty-one. We did our best to appease our parents and have a long engagement. It wasn’t always easy, but we were together and that’s what mattered.

  Our parents talked quietly to each other, no doubt reeling just as we were. Brynn’s friend, Jenna, leaned against the wall with her hand over her mouth, her eyes full of sympathy and compassion. My two brothers stood beside us, unsure of what to say or do.

  The four of us grew up together, inseparable since elementary school. We added Jenna to our little group in high school. We’ve had our share of ups and downs, fun times and arguments, but none of us ever saw this coming.

  I didn’t recall ever meeting a person with Down’s before. If I have, I can’t say that I spoke to them. Maybe I waved in passing. I have no idea. It’s not something you catalog into your memory bank for future reference.

  I kept my hand firmly latched to Brynn’s as the doctor explained what the syndrome was and how it would affect our daughter. She provided us with some pamphlets, suggested therapy for Willow, and even told us about support groups we could join. I never knew Chapelwood had support groups, only AA at the local church. We lived in a small town and the people here don’t air out their dirty laundry in support groups. They hide it with vicious gossip, sinful whispers, and southern hush-hush.

  The doctor allowed us time to adjust to the news and I knew there was a part of us both that denied what she told us. That denied our beautiful baby girl wasn’t perfect. But I could see it. The pudginess of her fingers and toes. I could look at her adorable little face and see the flatness of her eyes, although they were blue like her mama’s.

  Two days later, we took our daughter home, neither of us having a clue what to do with her or a plan on how to raise her. A child with a disability. A child who would need more care than your normal baby.

  Three months after that, my wife left. Brynn walked out on our home and escaped the nightmare that had become our marriage. That’s another thing you never expect to hear in life.

  I don’t want to do this, Kaler. This isn’t the life I want.

  Willow slept as I helped Brynn pack her things. I didn’t beg her to stay. Perhaps I should have, but I could see it in her eyes that she was done. No amount of begging was going to change that. Besides, it wasn’t the life I wanted either. Wasn’t the life I planned for us to have.

  We found out we were pregnant only a month after getting married. It wasn’t planned, but we were happy. Our families were happy. We thought the baby would make the arguing between us stop. We ignored the whispers and gossip about us then. The insinuations that we only married because she was knocked up. In Chapelwood, men still do the honorable thing. It didn’t matter that we’d been engaged for almost three years.

  And the arguing between us did stop. We were too busy preparing our lives for our child than to be arguing about silly things like our house, work, and money. It didn’t matter that we didn’t we have any money in our savings account and could barely make ends meet. We were having a baby!

  Brynn was convinced we were having a girl, a daughter she could dress up and call Princess. I was convinced we were having a boy, a son I could take fishing and hunting.

  When she looked at our daughter, she never called her Princess. She would cry and ask me why our daughter wasn’t normal, as though I had the answer to that. Then she would cry, asking me why she felt that way about Willow. I never had the answer to that either.

  Letting Brynn leave was the right thing to do. When she asked me that, if she was doing the right thing, at least I knew the answer then.

  Chapter One

  Kaler

  I pour some Kool-Aid into Willow’s sippy cup, the same cup she’s been using for the past three years, and twist the top shut. For some reason, she will not drink out of a cup that doesn’t have a clear or white straw. I have bought endless sippy cups with all sorts of spouts or straws, but she will only use those with clear or white straws. She’s a creature of habit.

  “Willow!” I call out to my daughter and she walks into our kitchen, iPad in hand. I swear, I can’t potty train her, but she can access YouTube on that damn device without a problem. “Princess, where’s your shirt?”

  “I dunno,” she replies with a shrug.

  I take a deep breath as I walk over to the table and put her cup into her backpack. It’s a sequined purple and pink bag that she picked out for her first day of school. Now, if I can find her shirt, we’ll be all set to go. I tell myself her teacher can deal with it if she takes it off at school.

  I inwardly groan at the thought of Mrs. Colford, Willow’s teacher. If I had any idea how to home school Willow, she would not be attending Chapelwood Elementary with that snotty bitch. Her face was in a permanent sneer the day we had Willow’s IEP meeting. She even continued to remind me what IEP stood for, as though I would forget it meant Individualized Education Program. It was clear to me that she assumed I had no idea what I’m doing. Just because I don’t, I’ve done my fair share of research, so she didn’t have to act that way. Made me feel like a total failure of a parent.

  I h
ead to Willow’s room, the one right across from mine, and see her shirt discarded on the floor. I pick it up, stepping over the toys littering the floor. There’s an assortment of both dolls and trucks, but her favorite is a plastic purple kitchen pot. She doesn’t play with it on her kitchen set, just likes to hold it wherever we go. In fact, she typically has some sort of object in her hands at all times. I figure it’s a comfort thing, so I let her. It’s better than hearing her fuss over it. I’m surprised it’s being left here today.

  “Let’s get this on,” I tell her, easing the iPad from her grasp and noticing that her shoes are now discarded somewhere too.

  “Game!” she calls out, pointing to it as though it’s her lifeline.

  I honestly can’t remember when she became so attached to it. She began early developmental therapy right after she was born, but I believe she learned how to operate my iPad when she was around four years old. The therapists she’s worked with have all told me kids with disabilities have a knack for tablets of any kind.

  After I get her shirt on, I manage to turn the “game” off and scoop her up from our couch. She’s still calling for it as I grab her backpack and shoes and walk outside. I open the door to my truck and deposit her into her car seat and buckle her in. As I put her shoes on, I wonder if she even knows that she’s starting kindergarten today and not going to my mama’s anymore.

  I give her a kiss on her forehead and she beams up at me, her sparkling blue eyes matching Brynn’s so much it’s uncanny. Other than her eyes, she’s nothing like my ex-wife. I guess it’s hard to pick up characteristics from someone who’s not in the picture. I close her door and head around to the driver’s side. The moment I’m in, she asks for “susic” and I laugh. Same old routine.

  Any time we go anywhere, we listen to the same songs, over and over again. Willow dances in her car seat, rocking back and forth and doing her best to sing along despite her inability to say all the words correctly.

  She’s worked with physical, occupational, and speech therapists. They all say she will do everything that every other child does, only she will do it in her own time. I’ve always been told to treat her like a typical child. I honestly don’t know any other way to treat my daughter. I certainly don’t have the option of bailing like her mama did.

  Jenna

  I smooth my skirt down and do my best not to fidget. I take a look around the room and make a few mental notes on things I will definitely be updating, starting with that God-awful brown rug. I mean, what kindergartener wants to sit on a doo-doo brown rug? I physically shudder. No doubt Mrs. Colford picked it out and it’s been sitting in that exact same spot since 1942.

  “Are you getting settled in?” Principal Hawkins asks me, peeking his head into what is now my classroom.

  “Yes, sir,” I answer almost too quickly. “Yes. I mean, I will be getting settled in. I have a few things I’ll be purchasing and I’m excited to meet the children, but yes.”

  He chuckles at my rambling. “Miss Winston, we’re happy to have you on board.”

  He leaves me alone to my thoughts again. I’m sure he is happy to have me on board since Mrs. Colford decided to transfer without notice. Some dreadful comment about not getting her teaching degree forty years ago so she could work with a “mongoloid.” I didn’t mention to Principal Hawkins that I had to look up that term. What a hateful bitch!

  “Willow, stand up,” a firm voice sounds at my door. “Stand up, right now. We were just here yesterday.”

  “Gamma house!”

  “You’re not going to gamma’s house today, now get up!”

  I hesitantly walk over to the door, easing it open. A little girl is on the floor, her slightly pudgy arms folded over her chest. Her bottom lip is protruded in a pout, but I would recognize those brilliant blue eyes anywhere.

  They remind me that I haven’t told Brynn, my closest friend, about my new job. We haven’t seen each other in about five years, but we still talk. We’re still close. When I was at school to get my teaching degree, she told me she was getting divorced. She was moving to Tuscaloosa. I thought her and Kaler were the forever couple. They were what I aspired to one day have. Then it all fell apart for them.

  “Kaler?”

  He turns to face me, and I swallow. It feels strange to think that he’s changed so much over the years, but he has. His gray eyes were once so full of mirth and mischief, but now they hold sadness and regret.

  The corner of his mouth is no longer turned up in a smile, a smirk forever playing at his lips. He’s grown a bit of a beard, but not one that’s unkempt. The only thing that hasn’t changed is his messy brown hair, still in disarray on his head.

  “Holy sh..um, wow, Jenna. What are you doing here?” he says, stepping over to me and enveloping me in a hug. “It’s been years.”

  I awkwardly wrap my arms around him, my best friend’s ex-husband, and nod against his cheek. “Yes, five years I believe. So, this is Willow? She’s grown up!”

  He releases me, staring down at me for a moment, and then he looks back at the still-pouting child. “It is and apparently she knows her teacher is the devil incarnate.”

  “Oh, I won’t be that bad,” I assure him and his brow furrows. “Mrs. Colford is no longer employed here. She transferred. This is my classroom now.”

  He nods slowly as if taking in the new information with a grain of salt. I don’t want this to be weird between us. We were friends at one point. Spent afternoons and summers together. I step past him and kneel down to Willow. I touch her hot pink Chucks.

  “I like your shoes, Willow. I have a pair exactly like these, only they’re black,” I tell her. “Maybe I could borrow yours and you could borrow mine.” She giggles at this. “Do you want to come play with me? I have some fun toys and I’ll share them with you.”

  Willow looks to Kaler. “Pway?”

  “Yes, Princess, you can go play.”

  I hold my hand out and Willow places hers in mine. I help her to stand and I lead her into my room. I nearly laugh out loud at the face she makes at the brown rug.

  “Um, the office has my cell phone number if you need anything. I work at the shop just a few blocks down,” Kaler lets me know.

  “Your dad’s shop?” I ask him, recalling all the times we all hung out there.

  “Yeah, so just call if I need to come and get her or I don’t know, if she needs anything.”

  Before I can reassure him that Willow will be okay, two kids come rushing into the room with their parents following close behind. Kaler takes a step back, allowing more kids and parents to file in. I give him a slight wave and he disappears down the hall, leaving me to explain who I am and where Mrs. Colford is.

  Chapter Two

  Kaler

  I arrive at the school ten minutes after three o’clock. Ten minutes later than I planned. I rush out of my truck, barely closing my door, and hurry inside, my boots scuffing the shiny linoleum floor as I hightail down to Willow’s classroom. I damn near panic when I find it empty.

  “Jenna! Willow!” I call out, running a greasy hand through my unruly hair. I make a mental note to get my haircut during my lunch break tomorrow. “Jenna!”

  “We’re here,” she answers, emerging from a room in the corner. “Willow had to go potty.”

  I look at my daughter and then Jenna dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Jenna holds Willow’s hand as they walk to me. “She had to potty. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Are you telling me she told you she had to go to potty and she went? I mean, like pissed on the toilet?” I ask her, picking Willow up and studying my daughter.

  “Well, not exactly. I saw her doing the potty dance and so I took her in there and put her on the toilet. Then she went.”

  I furrow my brows, unsure of what this potty dance is that Jenna is talking about. She obviously knows I’m confused because she explains it and I feel like the biggest dumbass for not knowing what the potty dance is. I have officially fail
ed as a father.

  “Kaler, it’s not a big deal,” she explains as I grab Willow’s backpack.

  “Yeah, I’ve been a single father for five years and you’ve been in my daughter’s life for five hours and you get her to do something I couldn’t. That’s failed parenting if I ever saw it. We’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe then you can teach her how to say her ABCs and write her name.”

  I sound like a bitter asshole, I know that, but it sucks to have someone else do what you’ve been trying to do for over three years. The moment Willow perfected walking, which was when she was eighteen months old, I started trying to potty train her. I mean, hardcore potty train her.

  I read all the books, I watched all the videos, and nothing. I’ve been changing pissy and shitty diapers since she was born. Do you know how many hundreds of diapers that can add up to? In all that hardcore potty training I was trying to do, I probably overlooked something as simple as the potty dance.

  “I’m proud of you, Princess,” I tell her as I buckle her in, and she grins.

  “I potty.”

  “Yes, you pottied like a big girl. Good job.”

  I want to do a happy dance, shout and scream it from the rooftops. My daughter pottied on the toilet like a big girl! It’s about fucking time!

  But the elation I want to feel doesn’t come and I have Jenna Winston to thank for that. She took that moment from me.

  I pick up the pizza I ordered, Willow’s favorite, and drive home fighting the annoyance I’m feeling that Jenna took something special away from me. I keep telling myself, reminding myself, that there will be things I miss. That there have already been things I missed.

  Willow took her first steps at my mama’s house. She went fishing for the first time with my brother, Kipton. She had her first scraped knee with my brother, Tauren, who still beats himself up about that.