Bittersweet (Redemption Book 3)

by Jessica Prince

  The tears were still flowing down my face, only now they were tears of joy. “We’re having a baby,” I whispered, and Jensen’s excitement started to fill me up. “We’re having a baby!”

  He picked me up and spun me around again as we laughed and kissed like crazy. Then I did what I’d been doing for the past several days, thinking I had some kind of bug before I bit the bullet and took the test. As soon as my feet touched the floor, I whipped around and hurled into the toilet.

  And Jensen was right there the whole time, holding my hair back as he rambled on about baby names over the sounds of my retching.

  Shane

  Twenty years old

  I knew something was wrong the moment Jensen walked into the apartment. He slammed the door behind him and stormed into the kitchen. From my place on the couch I watched in confused surprise as he moved right to the fridge, yanked the door open, and pulled out the six-pack of beer from inside. He proceeded to pop the top on one can and down the entire thing in a matter of seconds before starting on the second.

  By the time I was able to push my big, pregnant ass off the couch and waddle into the kitchen, he’d already crunched the second can in his fist and cracking open a third.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Had a shitty day,” he grunted, slugging back a big gulp of the third beer.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothin’ to talk about. It was a shitty day, now I’m gonna drink until I pass the fuck out. End of story.”

  Moving as quickly as my beach-ball-sized stomach would allow, I crossed the kitchen and grabbed hold of his arm as he started lifting the can back to his lips. “You can’t drink until you pass out. We have our prenatal class tonight.”

  He let out a sharp curse, turning his head and raking a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “I’m really not in the mood tonight. I’ll go to the next one.”

  “But you said—”

  “Jesus Christ, Shane!” he barked, his voice so loud in the small space it rang inside my skull. “Cut me some fucking slack, just for one goddamn night. I told you I had a bad day, so lay the hell off. If that class is so damn important go by yourself.”

  My chest was puffing up with each rapid inhale. My eyes stung with rage tears, and I was about two seconds away from losing my shit completely, something that probably wasn’t good for the baby. I counted to ten and tried to calm my breathing before speaking in an even tone.

  “Look, I’m sorry you had a bad day. I don’t know what happened, and I wish you would’ve talked to me about it instead of coming in here and acting like an epic dick. You want to be mad about something? Go for it, but you will not talk to me like that ever again. You understand me? I won’t put up with—”

  Before I could finish the sentence he cut me off, looking around the kitchen with a pissed-off glower on his face. “You haven’t made dinner yet?”

  He did not just say that. My head was going to explode. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I spat out sardonically. “I thought, after working a shift at the diner this morning, then going to school and taking three exams, all while carrying around a million-pound watermelon in my belly and peeing on myself every five steps, that I might take a load off for a second after I got home. You know, kick my feet up in the hopes that the swelling in my ankles would go down so they’d stop looking like elephant trunks! Please forgive me for not having your dinner ready and on the table when you got home!”

  He looked at me with flat, emotionless eyes. “No need for the sarcasm. A simple no would’ve been enough.”

  “No, asshole, I didn’t make dinner! If you’re so damn hungry you can make something yourself.”

  I whipped around, my belly knocking the pretty candle holder I’d picked up for only fifty cents at a garage sale off the counter. It fell to the floor and broke into pieces, but I didn’t bother stopping to clean up the mess. I kept going, snatching my purse off the couch on my way to the door.

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “I’m going to my prenatal class, jackass! And by the time I get back, you better have checked your mood, or so help me God, you’ll be sleeping in your truck tonight!”

  I slammed the door behind me with a satisfying bang and stomped over to my car. I’d give him this time to cool the hell down and take it for myself to do the same. I knew we’d be fine once I got home, but I was going to make him suffer for a bit, then grovel a lot before I let him off the hook.

  Only, he wasn’t there when I got home.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but those were going to be the last words we’d say to each other for a very long time.

  Jensen

  Twenty-two years old

  I sat on a stool in some shitty hole-in-the-wall bar, clutching my whiskey and nursing a steady buzz, all while feeling like the biggest asshole in the world for how I’d treated Shane earlier. That wasn’t me. I didn’t treat my woman like shit. But my old man had taken it on himself to come into the shop today with the sole purpose of getting under my skin, and like the dumbass I was, I’d let him.

  “You really think you’ll give that girl a good life like this? You’re a grease monkey, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Always knew you’d never amount to much, but you’ve still managed to exceed my expectations.”

  “She’d be better off if you just disappeared from her life.”

  I’d let it get to me. Wanting to prove I’d changed, I stood there with my hands in my pockets as he dumped all that shit on my head. He wanted me to lose it. He wanted me to blow, and I was determined not to let that happen. But by holding back, I’d allowed the hatred and rage to fester. I let the doubt and uncertainty creep in and infect me, letting it twist into self-loathing as he landed one verbal blow after another, until Banks finally came out there and sent his ass packing with the threat of using his fists to rearrange the bastard’s face.

  Then I did the worst thing I could possibly do. I went home and took all the pain and animosity and fury I felt toward him out on the woman I loved.

  “Christ, I’m an asshole,” I grunted under my breath before lifting my glass and downing it in one gulp.

  The moment the glass hit the bar top, someone slammed into the back of me, jamming my ribs into the edge of the counter. I looked over my shoulder at the drunk asshole who’d just run into me. “Watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

  The guy wobbled, leaning heavily to the left before finding his balance. “Chill man. It was just an accident.”

  I should have let it go. If it had been any other day I would have, but I was no longer in control. I’d let the anger take over. It was like all the changes I’d worked my ass off to make since Shane came into my life had been pointless.

  I turned all the way around “Usually when you ram into someone you apologize, dickhead.”

  “Yeah?” Drunk guy grinned sloppily. “Maybe I would’ve if you weren’t bein’ such a cunt.”

  I slowly rose to my feet, temples pulsing and my forehead throbbing as red coated my vision. “What did you just call me?”

  “You heard me, asshole. You’re actin’ like a little pussy. Why don’t you just sit the fuck down and shut up?”

  I felt my lips curl up in a vicious smile that didn’t feel at all like me. “Yeah? How about you make me?”

  The stupid son of a bitch actually swung. It was sloppy and slow, and I easily dodged it, but it was exactly what I’d been hoping for, what I’d been craving like an addict.

  My first punch broke his nose. My second sent him to the floor. I punched over and over, the burn in my knuckles, the splitting skin, the feel of flesh slamming into flesh, it gave me a familiar rush I hadn’t felt in way to fucking long.

  And just like that, I was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Shane

  It was late Wednesday morning and I was completely over my flu so I took advantage of finally feeling like myself for the first time in d
ays, loaded Brantley up, and we hit the grocery store. It was probably my least favorite errand, but my kid loved to go with me, so we made it a thing.

  “So what are you thinking?” I asked, looking at the top of my son’s dark head as he followed along beside me, gripping the side of the cart I was pushing with his short, stubby fingers. “Fruity Pebbles or Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

  He turned to look up at me, his gray eyes big with hope. “Both?”

  At my arched brow, he grinned wide and mischievous. He had his playful little grins, but this was the first time he hit me with the exact same one I’d seem from his father a million times.

  The older my kid got, the more Jensen started to come out in his features. It had started when he was three. Brantley was sitting at the coffee table, building a castle with his Legos, and I was walking past with a basket of clean laundry. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a profile that belonged to a face I hadn’t seen in years and was so startled I dropped the basket right on my big toe.

  Now, at five, he was basically all Jensen. The man’s little carbon copy, and now they also shared the same smirk. The girls in Redemption were going to be in so much trouble.

  “You’re pushing your luck,” I said in mock warning. Every week I told myself I was going to start doing better as a mom. I was going to cut down on my kid’s sugar intake. I was going to make him eat vegetables. I was going to start making balanced meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And every day, work and exhaustion and the million and one things I had to do in such a short twenty-four-hour period got in the way. Which was why I found myself smiling and caving at my son’s exaggerated puppy-dog eyes. “You grab one box, I’ll grab the other.”

  He pumped his little fist in the air and reached for the Cinnamon Toast Crunch on the lower shelf while I got the Fruity Pebbles off the higher one.

  We tossed the boxes into the cart and started down the aisle. “Where next?” Brantley asked, grabbing hold of the handle once more.

  “Produce section,” I answered, injecting authority into my voice as I said, “I let you get your junk, and in return, you’re gonna eat some green beans.”

  He came to a stop and looked up at me, dead serious. “Two green beans,” he bargained.

  “Twelve,” I countered.

  “Four.”

  “Eight.”

  He sighed heavily, like dealing with me was doing his head in. “Six.”

  I held out my hand. “Deal. Pleasure doing business with you.”

  We shook, me winningly, him begrudgingly, and started back down the aisle. I lifted my head to make sure I wasn’t at risk of running anyone over with my cart and jolted to a stop. An instant chill coated my skin at the sight of the woman standing only feet away, dead center at the end of the aisle.

  Dressed in a pair or crisply ironed, cream linen pants, a soft, blush silk blouse, and bone-colored slingback heels, the woman looked like she should have been heading to brunch at the country club in her fancy subdivision, not standing in the middle of a small-town grocery store. In fact, I was shocked to see Cordelia Rose in here at all. It didn’t jive with the heinous bitch I knew her to be. The Roses didn’t do their own grocery shopping, cooking, or cleaning. They had people for that.

  “Mommy?” Brantley asked, his soft, inquisitive voice pulling me from my stupor. “Who’s that?” he asked, tipping his head in the vile woman’s direction.

  Cordelia’s eyes shot to my son, her expression shifting into something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. She looked almost wistful while taking a step closer, as if to approach my boy, and I could have sworn she was about to say something to him, but I didn’t give her the chance. Over my dead body would this foul woman or her toxic husband be allowed to speak to my child. I immediately moved, placing my hand over his to keep his grip tight on the handle of the cart as I executed a U-turn.

  “No one, honey. Let’s go.”

  “Shane, please,” Cordelia spoke then as she rushed after us. “He’s my—”

  I whipped around so fast my hair went flying, smacking me in the face. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I hissed, my eyes narrow and my voice a harsh whisper as I leaned in so close I could smell the cloying, powdery fragrance of Chanel No. 5 coming off of her. “He’s not your anything, you understand me? I know what kind of woman you are. I know what kind of mother. If you think for a second that I’ll let you anywhere near him, you’ve got another think coming.”

  I started to push away once again when she reached out and grabbed my arm. “Shane, please. I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

  “If you don’t take your hand off me right this second, I’ll get security to drag you out of here.” I wanted to do it myself. I wanted to rip the woman’s bleached, pin straight hair out by the roots, but I had my boy with me, and I needed to think about him. Only him. This woman wasn’t even a blip on my radar.

  Not one to draw negative attention to herself, Cordelia quickly released my arm and took a step back.

  “Mom?” Brantley called again once we were several aisles away. “Who was that lady?”

  Pushing away the sick, twisted feeling that had my stomach in knots, I tipped my head down and pasted on a cheery smile. “No one you need to worry about, kiddo. Promise. She’s just some old lady.” He still looked unsure. Wanting to erase that uneasiness from his precious face, I placed my hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Now, how about we go find those green beans?”

  The concern disappeared and my boy was back, making a dramatic retching sound before declaring, “Yuck!”

  By the time Brantley and I finished in the store and were loading the trunk of my car, I’d all but forgotten about my run-in with Jensen’s mother. At least until my son tugged on the side of my shirt to get my attention and stage-whispered, “Momma, that old lady’s back.”

  My head flew around, and sure enough, Cordelia was heading right for us, coming as fast as her expensive heels would allow. “Shane, please,” she called. “I really need to talk to you. It’ll only take a minute!”

  “Brantley, get in the car and close the door,” I ordered as I grabbed the last bag from the cart, tossed it in the trunk, and slammed it closed.

  My kid’s grip on my shirt grew tighter as he burrowed against me. Fear coated his words as he whispered, “Mommy?”

  I turned back to him and bent at my waist, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, baby. I promise. There’s nothing to be scared of, but I want you to get in the car for me, okay? I’ll buckle you into your booster in just a second. For now, you can pick what we listen to on the radio.”

  That seemed to appease him. “Okay.” He quickly scuttled around and hopped into the back seat, and as soon as the door closed after him, I wheeled around and stomped the two steps that separated me from Cordelia Rose.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I hissed, getting in her face. “You make an approach that ends with me threatening to call security and somehow you think it’s okay to chase after me in the parking lot? Have all those pills finally caused your brain to deteriorate?”

  “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t appropriate—”

  “You’ve got that goddamn right,” I snarled. “Now, I don’t know what you have to say, and I really don’t care. If you get anywhere near me or my son again, I’ll file a restraining order.”

  I turned on my heel and started back for the car as she cried out, “Please, Shane. You have to listen! He’s going to take everything!”

  I knew I shouldn’t, but I found myself slowing at the desperation in her voice. “What are you talking about?”

  “Jensen. He’s going to take it all. He found out his father took the money from the account he set up for you, and now he’s demanding it all be paid back. We’ll lose everything! Please, you have to talk to him. Make him see reason. I know he still loves you. He’ll listen to you.”

  I stared at her in flabbergasted amazement for several seconds be
fore my head fell back and I let out a loud, booming laugh. “You can’t possibly be serious right now,” I said through my hysterics. “Let me get this straight. Your husband, the abusive, evil prick, stole money Jensen had set aside for me and his son. He found out and is now demanding the miserable prick pay back the money he had no legal right to, and you’re here asking me to convince Jensen not to? Did you honestly think this would work?”

  “You don’t understand—”

  On that, I lost it. “Oh I understand perfectly!” I snapped, charging the woman until we were barely an inch apart. “You and your piece-of-shit husband took from me and my child for years. Because of you, I’ve had to work myself to the bone just to keep a roof over our head and food on the table. My boy hasn’t had a chance at the life he deserves because you”—I jabbed my finger into her chest, forcing her back a step—“took it from him! And you think I’ll actually advocate for you? I hope you lose everything. I hope you’re left with absolutely nothing. It won’t even come close to what you two deserve for what you did to your own child, but at least it’ll be a start.”

  I was done. I’d said everything I wanted to say, so I started back for my car, intent to never think about Cordelia and Whitman Rose again.

  But she wasn’t finished. “Do you know why he left?” she yelled, all decorum thrown right out the window in the face of her desperation. “Do you know the truth?”

  “Move away from my car, or I swear to God, I’ll run over you.”

  “He had to leave because he almost killed a man!” My hand stopped on the door handle before I had a chance to pull it open, and sensing my hesitance, she hurried on. “It was the Army or prison, all because he couldn’t control his anger and nearly beat someone to death in a bar. That’s the kind of man he is. That’s the kind of man you’re allowing around your child. He’s dangerous, Shane! He’s going to hurt you, and he’s going to hurt that boy!”