by K. B. Webb
prelude
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
acknowledgements
To Tyler,
For being my reflection.
“No one will ever want you, just remember that. You’re broken, shattered. And who the hell would want that? You’re stuck with me. I mean, look at you! Stretch marks, broken heart. That sure as shit ain’t appealing to me, and I’m the one who gave them to you, so why in the hell would it appeal to someone else? Give up, Molly. You’re mine, always have been, always will be,” Brian sneered at me from the chair sitting next to my hospital bed.
Weren’t you supposed to be nice to a girl the day she gave birth? I guess Brian missed the memo, but Brian also missed the memo that said you shouldn’t treat your girlfriend, the mother of your daughter, like total shit.
He was right and I knew it. But I hated giving in to him. I wanted to fight, scream, tell him how fucking wrong he was, but I couldn’t. Because like I said, he was right.
Brian walked across the room and looked down at Lyric, my beautiful baby girl. “Well you may be a worthless bitch, but you pushed out a cute kid. I think she takes after me in the looks department though, thank God.” He always did know what to say to kick me when I was already down.
I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t always like this. That we were happy before. Before I got pregnant. Before he tried to force me to have an abortion. Before I finally put my foot down and said no to him. That’s when we were happy. Maybe not head over heels in love happy, but still, happy.
Lyric stirred and I know she’s hungry. She wasn’t even one-day-old and she already ate like Brian, which meant she was constantly hungry, and even though I wanted to argue with him about it, she did resemble him, and maybe that was a good thing.
I had never been anything special. To call me average on my best day is a compliment. I was an Irish girl through and through, something I had always been, and always would be proud of. Before my grandfather passed away, he would tell me stories of our ancestors and how they snuck into America by being stowaways during the potato famine. He was proud of his family, and raised me to be proud too. He was basically my parent.
My grandmother died when my mom was only ten, so he was forced to raise her alone. He did the best he could, but he always worked overtime at the mill to support her and make sure there was food on the table. My mom’s free time was what led her to meet Dix, my sperm donor. He was from the “wrong side of the tracks” as my grandfather would always say.
“Molly, I know that you’re half of that man, but he was always a piece of shit and will always be a piece of shit. Worthless nobody that one. No goals, no dreams, just booze and pills.” I never really knew Dix, but I trusted my grandfather’s judgment. I was sure Dix was all the things he said he was. The only thing the man ever gave me was his last name and his height. Dix was 6’4 while Lora, my mom, was 5’5. At 5’10, I towered over most girls I knew, but I was okay with that.
Don’t get me wrong, just because I was model height, it by no means meant I resembled one. My size 8 figure pre pregnancy was curvy but not fat, just a little softer than most girls were. My legs were long with full thighs that led to my curvy hips and flabbier than I would like waist. I would be the first to admit I had a nice chest though. 38 DDD was my natural cup size, and even though they weren’t naturally perky, they received their fair share of attention.
My Irish heritage meant my skin was pale, almost porcelain. I never had a problem with acne in high school like most girls I knew. I was blessed with clear skin, except for the one large brown freckle on the side of my nose and the few dots of them on my cheeks. My lips were fuller than I would have liked, but my teeth were perfectly straight and when I smiled a full smile, my dimples would show. My emerald eyes would squint from the pressure of my cheeks when I did so though. The only non-Irish thing about me was my hair. Somewhere down the line, people began to believe that all people of Irish heritage had red hair. My hair had a red tint to it, but was naturally brown. Not like the gorgeous brown that most girls were blessed with, mine was flat and drab, but when the sun hit it just right, the tint of red would show. I had grown my hair out for the first time while pregnant, and it finally reached a few inches below my shoulders. I had a few layers cut in, to make it not so flat and boring, and bangs on my left side that partially covered one eye.
“I need a smoke. I’ll come back by later tonight, alright?”
He wasn’t asking permission; he was just telling me. So I nodded in agreement, and watched him gather his things so he could leave me alone in a cold hospital room, less than twenty-four hours after giving birth to our daughter.
Brian had always been handsome. He had an edge to him that made him seem unobtainable, and he was. He was tall, 6’3 and broad shouldered. His broad shoulders led to sculpted arms covered in two full sleeves of black and gray tattoos. His pants always hung low on his waist, and when he was shirtless, you could easily see his defined abs and visible v shape that led into his jeans. His legs were long, and strong.
HIs face though was beautiful. With his olive-colored skin and dark hair that always seemed to be in his eyes, he looked like a model. His grandmother, who was a full-blooded Native American, had passed along her high cheekbones and impressive jawline. His full pink lips were almost impossible not to look at, especially since he had the bottom pierced with a hoop ring. His eyes were the most crystal-clear blue I had ever seen. Like the crystal clear water you see in pictures of remote islands where staying in a hut for one night costs more than I made in a year waiting tables at Ricky’s. The color stood out next to his dark skin and hair, and made them pop even more. He had a way of looking at me that made me literally think he could see into my soul and read my thoughts. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
I watched him walk out of the room before I got up to hold Lyric.
My beautiful baby girl. She was the picture of perfection, a headful of blond hair and blue eyes as bright as her father’s. I knew babies eyes usually changed color after a few weeks, but something told me hers would not. Her skin was just as pale as mine and her chubby cheeks and round face made her look slightly like me. But she had Brian’s nose, wide in the middle and round at the tip.
After breast-feeding Lyric, I sat admiring my sweet princess when my phone beeped, letting me know I received a new text. Looking at the time, I realized I had been staring at Lyric for over two hours.
Brian 7:57 PM: Some shit came up and I’m not gonna be back tonight. Not sure if I will be by tomorrow either, but I’ll be there Saturday to bring y’all home. Don’t try to call. I’ll be busy.
Busy. Busy meant smoking weed, drinking whiskey, and sleeping with some skank, in Brian’s book, and I knew it. Usually, I would have told him that he was a fucking piece of shit and that he should be spending time with his newborn daughter, not out fucking random girls, but looking at Lyric, I realized I didn’t care. As long as I had my precious little angel, I had everything
“It’s just us girls now, Lyric. You and mommy, we’re a team. And I promise I will always be your biggest cheerleader.” I nuzzled her blond hair breathing in her natural baby scent. She seemed to sigh at my words, and she opened her eyes looking directly int
o mine, like she agreed with me.
As long as I had her, I had all I needed, Brian or no Brian.
“She is seriously beautiful, Molly!” Wynee cooed while holding Lyric. I had been home from the hospital for almost a month with Lyric and she had been over every day.
Wynee was my best friend, scratch that, Wynee Williams was family. Her and her mom, Becky, moved in next to my grandpa and me when we were two. We had done everything together ever since. Twenty years of friendship had turned her into more of a sister than a best friend. Wynee was my lifeline. My true soul mate. My better half. She was my everything. I would be lost and royally fucked without her. Wynee was beautiful, but in the unconventional sense. Her hair was cut in a sharp bob and naturally blonde with a gorgeous shine to it. Wynee was only 5’1, but had a size six frame with legs that were sculpted and strong from years of dancing. She looked like a younger version of her mom Becky. Her eyes were a dark brown, almost black, and somehow, she always seemed to have the perfect tan. She had long lashes than brushed against her rose-colored cheeks. Her lips had a natural pink tint to them that most girls paid good money to have with the help of lipstick. Her oval shaped faced and perfect button nose offset her grunge like look.
Wynee loved tattoos, more than most people. She had more than I could count, including one across her collarbone that she loved to show off. It said ‘The best is yet to come.’ That was Wynee’s motto in life. She always did her best to see the good in everything. I couldn’t count how many times when I had bitched or moaned about how fucked up my life was that she would say that, “The best is yet to come, Molly. You just wait. I know it.”
“Auntie Wynee is going to spoil you rotten, little princess!” Wynee gave Lyric Eskimo kisses as she smiled brightly at her.
“Great, Wynee, that’s all I need, you spoiling my kid and being a bad influence. Just make sure her hair doesn’t end up like yours!” Brian busted into our conversation while grabbing another beer out of the fridge. Wynee glared at his back, and if looks could kill, he would have been dead a long time ago. To say Wynee was not a fan of Brian would be like saying PETA was not a fan of Kim Kardashian. She commonly used words like loathe, worthless, and shit-brick when she talked about him.
“Molls, you remember me telling you about Logan, the kid who used to live next door to me when we were little?”
It took me a minute, but I finally placed the name. Logan was kind of Brian’s long lost friend he spoke of when he was drunk. Stories about two kids getting into any kind of trouble they could. “Yeah, I remember, why?”
“Well, Justin saw him at the gas station before he and Wynee came over. He just moved back in town from New Orleans. I just called him and he’s going to come hang out for a bit. Please don’t embarrass me tonight. Got it?”
“Yeah. You and Justin go wait for him outside. Wynee and I will be out there after I get Lyric down.”
Justin Laney was Wynee’s boyfriend and Brian’s best friend. Wynee and Justin were perfect together. They both acted like kids most of the time and could find the humor in any situation. But looks wise, they were polar opposites. Justin was a country boy. He grew up on a farm and still worked on one with his dad. He had a constant farmer’s tan and bright blond hair that was always cut short. His hazel-colored eyes and all-American-boy smile made him irresistible. He was my height, 5’10, but towered over Wynee’s small frame. His body was gorgeous. Years of manual labor had left all of his muscles well defined.
Justin was a great friend, not just to Brian, but also to me. I knew he always had my back if I needed him, and didn’t hesitate to stand up for me if Brian was being his usual dick-like self. But my favorite part about Justin was that he was good to Wynee. He made her happy. And she deserved it.
Wynee and I were cut from the same cloth. We rarely let people in. That was probably why we were still friends after 20 years; we didn’t trust anyone enough to try and make new ones. With the exception of Justin and Brian, we had mainly stuck to ourselves since graduating high school four years earlier. Growing up and until shortly after graduation, we had Colt and his older brother Ryan. Colt had been our best friend since we were five and he was seven and was my boyfriend all through high school, and Ryan was the like our overprotective older brother. But now, Colt was long gone and Ryan had joined the Army leaving behind Wynee and me. After losing Colt and Ryan at virtually the exact same time, we chose to just stick together and leave everyone else out of our lives.
“You doing okay, Molls?” Wynee looked at me with knowing eyes. She knew me too well. She knew I wasn’t okay. She knew I hated Brian. She knew I didn’t really love him, but she also knew I wouldn’t leave him.
“Yeah, Wynee. I’m good. Just tired. She hasn’t learned her days and nights yet, so I’m running on about three hours of sleep.” It was a lie. I knew it, she knew it, but neither of us wanted to talk about the truth.
“I think I just heard a truck door. I guess that means Logan’s here.”
I got off the couch and laid Lyric down in her swing. I wasn’t excited at all to meet Logan. All I had heard for years were crazy stories about him. The last thing I needed was another one of Brian’s crazy friends making my house their new hangout. I loved Justin so he was welcome anytime, but the other random douche bags that were at my house every other day constantly tested my nerves. I guess I was about to add another one to the list. Great!
Wynee and I walked through my kitchen to the front door. I could hear the sound of two voices I knew to be Justin and Brian outside, and the sound of a third deep voice, which I assumed, belonged to Logan.
After walking outside, it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the night; it was only lit up by one light under the carport.
Then I saw him.
He was talking to Brian, and whatever he was saying was making him smile. Dimples. He had dimples. Shit. That was my weakness. His skin was tanned and he had a day or two worth of stubble across his rugged face. His eyes caught the light for just a moment, and I saw the most amazing blue with a hint of brown around the edges. His lashes were dirty blond just like I assumed the hair under his baseball hat was. He had on a blue t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days with the sleeves cut off. His arms. Dear God, those arms. Either he was blessed with the body of a Greek God, or he worked out religiously. He had a tattoo of a Celtic crescent moon on the inside of his left forearm. His shirt with tight against his stomach, and I could have sworn I saw the outline of his abs. His jeans were a light-colored denim and fit him perfectly, and just like his shirt, they had obviously seen better days. They had rips in both knees and looked thin from years of washing. His jeans were tucked inside boots that looked distinctly like work boots more than dress boots. When I ran my eyes back up his body to look at his face, he was looking directly at me. His eyes crashed with mine, and for a moment, the world stopped around me. All I could see was this beautiful man staring at me, looking at me as if he had known me for years. There was a familiarity in the way he smiled at me. That perfect smile made my knees weak. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. I wanted to live in the moment for forever. Because, for just a moment, it was just me and this man, who instantly made me feel complete.
“Molly, this is Logan. Logan this is my girlfriend Molly.” Brian waved his hand between the two of us. I should have said hello, said it was nice to meet him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t form words through the knot in my throat. Wynee shoved my shoulder lightly, and when I looked at her, she had a facial expression that said I would have to explain all this to her later.
“Nice to meet you, Molly,” Logan spoke, and I lost it a little more. His voice was like velvet, smooth. I realized at that moment, I could listen to him read the phone book and I would love every minute of it.
“You too, Logan. You need a beer?”
“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”
I virtually ran into the house before he even got a chance to answer. I just needed a minute. A moment to bre
athe, because around Logan, I felt like I couldn’t. I gave Wynee a look that translated to ‘don’t follow me’. I couldn’t explain to her what just happened right now. I had no fucking clue what just happened. I closed the front door behind me and leaned against it for just a minute. Dear God. I about lost my shit, and my panties, within two minutes of meeting the guy. What the hell was wrong with me? I prayed Brian didn’t notice, because if he did, I would be getting shit for it later and I knew it.
Deep breaths, Molly. Yes, he was beyond handsome. Shit, they needed a new word to describe that man. But that was totally beside the point. A man like that would never want a girl like me. Stretch marks and a broken heart. That was me.
Seeing Brian James was not on the top of my list of shit I wanted to do, but I was tired of sitting around my brother’s house on the weekends. I needed to get out for a while, so when he called and invited me over, I agreed. Brian wasn’t a bad guy, just more annoying and kind of a dick, well not kind of, just a dick. We grew up together and lived on the same street, along with Justin, and always got in some kind of trouble. The hair-brained ideas usually were Brian’s doing, but it was me who always got caught. This pattern went on through junior high, then high school, and I knew if I stayed in this God-forsaken town I grew up in, I would end up in jail or flipping burgers. Neither was my style. So after graduation, I left town in my ‘94 GMC Sierra, Old Blue, with the $3,000 I had saved from working dead-end jobs.
Somehow, I ended up in New Orleans. I wasn’t real sure how long I’d be there. I’d found a cheap apartment with furniture that I’d rented for a month. After being there for two days, I met the guy across the hall, Brett, who worked construction. He said his crew chief was in desperate need of another set of hands, so I went in with him one day and just started working. The money wasn’t great, but it paid the bills and left me enough to go have some of the fun that New Orleans was known for.
I had been living in New Orleans for about six months when I met Elizabeth, Lizzy. She was my ideal woman. Smart, funny, sophisticated, and beautiful. She loved to have fun, and together, we had tons of it. She was studying pre-law at Tulane and came from money. In the beginning, I figured I was her way to break the mold her family had made for her, her dirty-little-construction-working secret. But after a few months, we both realized there was something more between us. Love. Family be damned. We moved in together and a year later I proposed. We were supposed to live happily ever after, but the closer Lizzy got to graduation, the harder things became between us. One day she woke up telling me that she felt she couldn’t be with someone who had no goals or dreams, so she broke up with me. Walked out of my life like she’d never loved me at all.
