by Ella Goode
I’m sorry for so many things. For the little boy upstairs. Sorry that Crystal’s life will be forever changed. Sorry for Corby that I’ll never let this go and will tease him about it for the rest of our lives.
“We need to stop the bleeding.” Corby’s shirt is now drenched with blood.
“It’s fine,” he tries to tell me, but he’s starting to look paler by the second. I look around, trying to find something to hold against his shoulder. But there is nothing in this room that I would even consider using to press against the wound. Everything in here screams it will give you an infection. I begin to pull off my shirt. “Don’t even think about it.”
I roll my eyes, about to pull it off anyway, but Graham shouts that he’s coming in a second before the front door is kicked in.
“Ambulance. Corby is stabbed, and there is a little boy upstairs.”
“One is already here,” he says as he rushes over to Crystal, rolling her to her stomach. She doesn't fight him as he puts handcuffs on her. I stop paying attention to them as Darcy looks Corby over.
“That’s a lot of blood,” Darcy says under her breath. “Can you walk to the ambulance?”
“Yes,” I say for him. It would take longer to get a stretcher into this mess. I wrap my arm around him in case he wants to lean on me. Fatigue tries to settle in, but I focus on getting Corby the help he needs. We make it to the ambulance, and I climb in with him. Before the doors close, I see Crystal being put into the back of the cop car and Graham coming out of the house carrying the little boy. And it’s not long before the bright flashes of light from the paparazzi cameras blind me. The other paramedic, Johnny, slams the door to the ambulance. I ignore everything else, holding Corby’s hand as Darcy cuts the shirt off him.
“I’m going to be fine,” he tells me. I nod in agreement as Darcy pulls the shirt free to get a look at the wound.
“You’ll be okay.” I keep nodding my head and saying it over and over. Blood keeps pouring from him, and there is nothing I can do. I suddenly feel so tired.
“Glory.” Corby says my name, but he sounds far away. I feel far away. “Baby, look at me.”
I lift my eyes from the blood to him. “I love you,” I think I say.
“Shit. Grab her!” Darcy shouts as I keep on falling.
Chapter Twenty-One
Corby
“There you go.” Glory pulls the blanket up over the boy’s chin. Christopher, as he shyly whispered when he was carried out of Toscati’s house, blinks sleepily up at Glory.
“Will you be here when I get up?”
“'Course I will.” She smooths a hand over his forehead.
I clench my teeth at the slight tremble of her fingers. My girl is exhausted, both emotionally and physically from the events of the day but is trying so hard not to show it.
I want to tuck her into bed and not because I want to dick her down until she’s too exhausted to move (which I do) but in a Thank God you’re alive and I love you way.
The boy gives her a sleepy smile. She holds his hand until he falls asleep. When his breath slows to an even rhythm, Glory carefully untangles their fingers and joins me at the door.
“You think I should stay with him?” she whispers.
“No. We’ll be just down the hall from him. We’ll leave both doors open, and if he gets scared, you’ll hear him. Now go to the bedroom and sit on the sofa in front of the fireplace while I make you a drink.” I give her a pat on the butt and wait for her to obey me before going down to the kitchen to mix something up for her. Drink made and snack of fruit and cheese ready, I climb up the stairs.
My shoulders are still tight as I think about how easily Glory could’ve been hurt today and how crazy out of my head I was when I saw her fall. I wouldn’t let the medics treat me until they had revived her and checked her out thoroughly. The knife wound was no big deal. Crystal had sliced me open, but nothing serious was damaged. After they stitched me up, I was ready to take Glory home, but the boy was in the waiting room alone.
Crystal was under lock and key in a different wing of the hospital, and the cops had forgotten about the kid. Glory coaxed out of him that Crystal wasn’t his mother but a neighbor who decided to take him in after his mom died. Glory suspects it was for the child welfare checks and to boost Crystal’s delusional state.
Whatever the explanation, we couldn’t leave him at the hospital, so we buzzed through the fast food drive through, got him chicken fingers and a toy, and brought him home. He conked out on the drive home, and I carried him upstairs, with Glory arguing I was too weak the whole way. She undressed the boy, and I fetched a T-shirt for him to wear, and then Glory put him to bed.
Seeing her all motherly stirred some powerful feelings inside me, and if she didn’t look like Casper the ghost’s cousin and there wasn’t a young, traumatized boy in my house, I might have pulled Glory into the hallway and nailed her to the floorboards.
I find my sweetness lounging on the sofa with her head against the backrest and her eyes closed.
"You looked sexy as an avenging angel,” I say as I reach the sofa. “Maybe I should start writing fantasy stories featuring a very hot reporter who turns into a—"
"I like my feet here on earth," Glory interrupts. Her voice is weak, but color is starting to creep back into her cheeks.
I set the tray of food onto the coffee table and pick up the mug of spiced rum I made for her. I hold the cup to her lips. "Drink up. This one's not poisoned," I add when her eyes flick open and she gives the mug a dubious look.
"I can smell the alcohol.”
"It's good for your health," I coax. She takes a small, cautious sip at first and then a few more gulps with enthusiasm when she realizes it doesn’t taste like ass.
“I don’t think booze is good for my health.”
“It’s number one on the things to take after I have avenged my soulmate and saved the imprisoned prince listicle in the June twelfth issue of the Cherry Falls Gazette.”
“You sound very convincing. If I didn’t work there and know all of the things we’ve printed including most of the listicles, I might believe you.” She agreeably takes another sip. Her cheeks are nearly glowing now.
I sit down close to her and tug her against my shoulder. She comes willingly, and once she’s inside the circle of my arms, I finally allow the tension of the day to seep out of my veins.
“You have quite the story to write up.”
“In the future, let’s keep all the exciting stuff between the pages of your books,” she suggests.
“Agreed.”
I dip my head and kiss her. The kiss starts off soft. I have good intentions. The boy down the hall. Her fainting earlier. The drama of the day. All of that means she should rest and I should stop thinking with my cock, but then she swings around and straddles me.
My good intentions drain down into my cock. I clasp her around the hips and grind her against my thick hard shaft. “Sweetness, maybe we shouldn’t,” I suggest in a last-ditch attempt to be a gentleman.
She stops moving. “Because of your shoulder?”
“No. Shoulder’s fine. Can’t feel a thing. All the blood in my body is in my cock right now.”
She giggles, and it’s so fucking adorable, I drag her head down to mine for another kiss. I tongue her deep and long as my fingers tunnel under her panties to find her cunt sopping wet. I slip two fingers inside her and jack her sweet pussy with my hand until her kisses become sloppy and distracted. The fur throw on the floor is soft enough to cradle her body. I ease her on to the floor, peel her panties away, and take my own cock out. The broad head of my shaft pierces her tight cunt, and she gasps loudly as I penetrate her.
“Shh,” I whisper against her mouth. “If you make a noise, someone might hear you, and I won’t be able to make you come. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”
Fervently she shakes her head no. I kiss her again and shove my cock into her until my balls slap against her ass. She gulps down her next scream. I
pound into her harder, faster, fiercer until she’s forced to press her mouth against my biceps in order to muffle the involuntary sounds being pulled from her lungs. I grin as I thrust into her, reveling in the responsiveness of her hot little body.
As she comes, a shuddery, shaky mess around my cock, I whisper how much I love her, want her, need her. How I will treasure her today, tomorrow, and every moment we have until the end comes, and even then I will not stop.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” I pant as I shoot my seed into her convulsing channel.
Her eyes glitter as she mouths the same words back to me, and then she can’t say anything because she’s coming again.
This house is full of secrets once more, but this time it’s the secret of her love and mine.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Glory
I smile against Corby's mouth as he tries to calm me down with a kiss. “If one of those blood suckers scares him, I’ll end them,” I say in my sweetest voice. There is, after all, a social worker sitting at the island in our kitchen.
Angie, the social worker, snorts a laugh. She doesn’t look up from the small laptop she has in front of her. She continues working, the sound of her clicks still filling the air.
“Aren't you one of those blood suckers?” Corby tries to tease me. I know he’s only trying to get me to relax, but it’s hard. Today is probably one of the most important days of my and Corby’s life.
“You’re lucky I love you.” I poke his hard stomach. Not that it does anything. The man was stabbed yesterday, and here he is getting all this handled along with cooking breakfast.
I am one of them, but I’m not. I never had this drive to chase big stories that went on outside of my town. After last night I think I’m more than okay with sticking to the smaller ones. This really could be the story of my life, but it’s the last thing on my mind. I’ve now morphed into this mama bear. I’ve actually said a few things that had me sounding like my own mom.
“I love you too.” He drops another kiss on me.
“I can grant you temporary guardianship which normally takes a few days.” She flicks her eyes to Corby and me. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he made some calls to make this happen for us.
Last night after he wore me out even more, still I couldn't find sleep. I had been uneasy and left feeling unsettled. That was until Corby told me no one was going to take the little boy from us. I believed him, and that was all I needed to calm my mind. I was fast asleep in no time.
I woke up this morning with a social worker, a lawyer, and the sheriff all in the kitchen. Christopher is still fast asleep. Sheriff Larson and the lawyer are outside talking to the reporters. They are trying to get them to get down to the station by promising them some inside scoop, hoping that will encourage them to leave us be. The agreement was that the little boy was not to be mentioned in any of their stories. Ever.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” She gives me a smile that meets her eyes.
“I have to admit I was going to come in hot. The governor is trying to strong arm me.” She rolls her eyes. I don’t ask her, but I’m pretty sure she is married to the governor if I’m remembering right. They came to Cherry Falls when Governor Cooper was running. She’d gotten my vote along with an article in the paper I write for.
“But now that I know the boy is in good capable hands, and with the extra money we got for funding, I don’t see the problem with speeding things up.” Yesterday may have been a disaster, but this news makes it all worth it.
“You should give them more.” I elbow Corby.
“Done.” He shrugs while I give his money out, making Angie snort again. We feed her breakfast as we answer more of her questions. She gives us advice on how to help Christopher cope with all of this. She makes sure to give me her cell phone number and tells me to text her anytime if I need help.
“Glory.” I turn to see Christopher standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, but I can see the fear and hesitation in them. I get up immediately and head toward him.
“Hey, little guy.” He reaches his arms out for me to pick him up. He rests his little head on my shoulder and wraps his arms around my neck. A warmth fills my chest, a feeling that is unexplainable at the trust this little boy has for me in such a short amount of time.
He clings to me, scared Angie or someone else is going to try and take him. I head back toward Angie and sit back down. Christopher is still in my arms while she asks him a few things and reassures him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I whisper into his ear. “You’re ours now.” I can see the hope in his eyes, but I’m sure he’s weary. With time, I think we can get that to fade away. Time and a lot of love.
Angie stands to head out. I peek out the front to see that it’s cleared out. Graham must have worked them over.
“I should mention that if you plan to adopt, that there are steps that will help speed up the process.”
“We do,” both Corby and I say at the same time.
“Get married,” she suggests.
“By the end of the day. My lawyer is getting the papers handled as we speak.” Angie laughs as she heads out the front door. Corby locks it behind her.
“I hear that Corby O’Neal is getting married?” I try and fight a smile, but I lose.
“Chasing a story?” He comes back over to the sofa to sit down with us.
“No, I’m not chasing a story.” He slips in close to us.
For a while now I’ve been wondering if I was on the right path in my life. Being a reporter is what I always wanted to do, but I never wanted to stray from my small town, the one I’ve spent my whole life in. I didn't want to leave, but I knew something was missing. I run my fingers through Christopher’s short dark hair, knowing this is it.
“We are the story.” I look over at Corby and Christopher. Knowing that every lead that I’ve followed over the last year has led me to both of them.
Epilogue
Corby
“Honey, put Charity down, please.” Glory comes over and snatches my youngest out of my arms. “You have peanut butter on your jacket.” She dabs at the food stain with a napkin.
“Good thing we chose the black coat instead of the white one.” I take the cloth from her hands and wipe the smear away.
“Daddy.” Charity reaches out her arms and because I’m a sap, I start to take her back. Luckily for all of us, Chris appears.
“I got her, Mom,” he says and then whisks the girl a safe distance away.
“Thank you. You’re an angel,” Glory tells our fifteen-year-old son.
Without taking attention away from the baby, he gives his mother a thumbs-up and plops onto the floor, shaking a stuffed rabbit in front of Charity’s face. The girl gurgles with glee and tries to snatch it from him.
“He’s so good with her. With both of them,” Glory murmurs beside me.
“They adore him.” Our other girl, Chas, toddles over and drapes herself across Chris’ back. He reaches up and squeezes the five-year-old’s arm. Charity claps her pudgy hands together and makes a motion with her hand. She wants Chris to draw for her.
Ironically, even though Chris grew up with two writers, he’s not into words but pictures. He wants to be an animator when he grows up. I think he’s as good as any illustrator out there, but I could be biased. Nah. He’s just great.
After the kidnapper got put away, Chris had no family to go back to. He was going to be placed in the foster care system again, just another lost kid. Neither Glory nor I could stand that, so we adopted him. He’s always grateful—too grateful—because we’re the winners here. Ten years later, bigger than me, smarter than me, more sensitive than his mom, he’s the son other families are jealous of. I couldn’t be prouder of a kid.
Glory sighs and lays her head against my shoulder. “We did good, didn’t we?”
“We did.” Looking back, waiting for five years to have more kids was the right thing to do. We cemented ou
r time with Chris, allowed him to slowly grow into the knowledge that we would never leave him or abandon him so when we had the two girls, he didn’t feel threatened. In fact, I think he was enthused. Finally, someone to take the attention off of him.
“Um, Mrs. O’Neal, it’s almost time,” a timid voice interrupts.
Glory straightens immediately and starts to brush her hands across my chest and shoulders. “You can’t go and accept an award with food sticking to you. Maybe we shouldn’t have brought the kids.”
Over her head, my eyes sweep the full hotel suite. The stylist is packing up her suitcase of supplies. The PR person Glory hired to manage this whole whirlwind season of awards is on the phone, probably booking another interview. I dread it already, but it has to be done.
“You shouldn’t have written the screenplay if you didn’t want it to be successful,” Glory teases. She knows exactly what I’m thinking. After ten years of marriage, we don’t even have to talk anymore. She can read me with one glance.
“I shouldn’t have written it? You’re a co-writer, babe.”
She flushes delightfully. “I helped here and there.”
“That’s not what the cut sheet says. You’re an equal partner.”
My sixteenth book was optioned for a movie by Plan Z productions. The first script that came in was terrible, and I complained so much that Glory told me that I should write it myself or be quiet.
So I wrote it, but not by myself. I roped Glory into it because she’s great with a punchline and with dialogue, which is what the script needed. It came out great, as evidenced by the numerous awards the screenplay is up for, so here we are in Hollywood, with two kids, a nanny, and a team of people to make us look and sound great, ready to receive another statuette to put above our fireplace.
This place is crowded and noisy and looks nothing like the solitary life I had before I met Glory, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
