AVERY (The Corbin Brothers Book 2)

by Lexie Ray

  “Where are you going?” Jake asked, setting the joint on the ashtray in front of him. The smoke spiraled toward the ceiling, looking poisonous.

  “I can’t stay here,” I said, heading for the door.

  As high as he was, it surprised me how fast Jake moved.

  “Do you think you can maybe give me another chance?” he asked, seizing me by my elbow before I could walk out the door.

  “For smoking weed?” I asked. “If it were up to me, you’d never smoke it again.”

  “I mean, overall,” he said. “Christ, Blue, I’ve done nothing but try since we met for brunch and you’ve kept me at arm’s length.”

  I searched my heart, looking for the truth in his words even as I knew they were undeniably true.

  “You ignored me for the majority of my pregnancy,” I said. “What makes you deserve another chance at being there for me? Being there for my child?”

  “It’s our baby, Blue,” Jake said, his eyes shimmering. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I want to make it right.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” I said. “You’re going to have to accept that.”

  It was too close to my due date to be doing something like this, but I didn’t care. I didn’t know where the right place to go was anymore. I wasn’t wise enough to make these kinds of decisions. I just wasn’t.

  I looked up into the sky, slices of gray that I could only see through the other tall buildings. It began to rain, fat droplets that soaked my hair and dress.

  Perfect. Just perfect. Just what I needed. A rainstorm in the middle of the city and I didn’t have a place in the world to go.

  My breath caught in my throat. There was one place I could go. One more place to try.

  Knowing it was the worst decision to make, I set off across the city.

  Chapter Nine

  There was no girdle that was going to hold me in at this point, I realized as I walked across the city, wrapping my arms around my big belly to help support it. And where I was headed would hold no sort of refuge for me now.

  But something inside of me wanted to see Mama’s nightclub again—just for the simple fact that it used to be my home. I had belonged in it at some point, and I wanted to experience that again, even if it was only an illusion.

  I’d thought I’d belonged with Jake, once, and then Dan. Those were even more hurtful farces.

  Jake’s apartment was miles away from the seedy part of town that housed the nightclub, but pounding the pavement took my mind off of my problems.

  How could I have not realized that Dan and Jake were brothers? They had the same last name, for God’s sake. I should’ve known the moment that Dan had introduced himself at the nightclub.

  But, distracted with my entire life falling down around me, I’d moved forward blindly, throwing away everything to be with Dan. And to carry Jake’s baby to term.

  And to lose everything.

  The constant crush of people around me was, on the whole, impersonal—just commuters trying to get to their jobs or tourists trying to get to their next destination. Each one of them, though, had a purpose—a set of motivations and reasoning’s that were driving them toward something. When someone jostled me, it reminded me that I didn’t have anywhere to go. I walked in the overlap of umbrellas, then didn’t, not minding the warm rain. I didn’t care if I got soaking wet. I didn’t care about anything.

  I was on a pilgrimage, of sorts. I was going to go see what I used to call home. I probably wouldn’t see any of my old friends, and only God would save me if I saw Mama. She’d probably murder me on the spot the moment she saw my big, pregnant belly.

  I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  At this time of the afternoon, it should’ve been quiet in front of the nightclub. It only got interesting after opening, when people would line up, sometimes around the block, to try to get a table and the attentions of one of Mama’s bevy of beautiful girls.

  But now, in the middle of the afternoon, there were cars pulled up in front of the nightclub, blocking the entrance. The entire area was cordoned off with yellow tape, and I noticed flashing lights.

  Jogging up—or at least attempting my version of jogging, which was more like waddling at that point—I grabbed the shoulder of the first person I reached.

  “What’s going on here?” I demanded. “What happened?”

  He was scribbling something on a pad of paper and looked up at me briefly before finishing whatever he was writing.

  “Vice raid,” he said. “Nightclub was a front for a brothel. If you want the rest of the story, you’ll have to read it. It’s big shit. Bunch of city officials knew about it. This is just the beginning of everything.”

  I stared at the scene unfolding in front of me. Cops were milling about. I wondered if the guy standing next to me—still jotting things in his notebook and evidently a reporter for one of the city’s many media outlets—knew that Mama’s nightclub had also hosted very privileged clientele, including the chief of police, right alongside some of the most notorious criminal bosses of the city.

  “Where will they all go?” I wondered aloud, thinking of the rest of Mama’s girls.

  “To hell, if we’re talking biblically,” the reporter joked, not looking at me. “But to jail, on this plane of existence, if proven guilty in a court of law.”

  How many of my friends had been arrested? How many of them would do jail time?

  How many got away?

  No less than three cops burst out of the front door of the nightclub, dragging an extremely irate Mama. She was cussing a blue streak, her hair as wild as her eyes, her arms and legs akimbo.

  “You let me talk to Johnny!” she screamed. “Let me talk to your boss, you sons of bitches!”

  The reporter next to me sucked in air through his teeth, writing for all he was worth. Mama had just given the tabloids fresh meat. Johnny French was the chief of police of New York City.

  After a considerable struggle, and salacious action for the photographers and videographers gathered around, the cops were able to shove Mama into the back of a squad car.

  When they slammed the door shut, something slammed shut in me. It was the same feeling I got watching the police officers with Child Protective Services take my brothers and sisters away. It was the sound of a significant portion of my life ending.

  I’d known walking all the way over here that I wasn’t going to stay. But where was I going to go now? What had I given up in the process?

  Had I ever made even one right decision? A single wise choice in my entire existence?

  “Blue as the sea,” I muttered, my chest heaving, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Blue as the sea.”

  My little meditation trick was no use. There was too much right beneath the surface of that sea—neglect, abuse, betrayal, confusion, anger, and love. Too much.

  Right there outside of Mama’s nightclub, sirens wailing and New Yorkers standing around, I launched into a panic attack. My stomach seized up and I cried out, unable to keep myself from doing it. I latched onto the reporter’s arm, halting his incessant writing, and gritted my teeth.

  “You okay?” he asked, cocking his head at me.

  I hyperventilated, unable to get a good breath. This was the worst attack to date. All of my friends, gone. My former home, gone. Nowhere to go. Everything was gone.

  My knees buckled and I gave a keening wail again. My stomach hurt terribly. I grabbed it, putting my arms around myself, and the reporter helped me sink slowly to the ground.

  “Are you going into labor?” he asked. “Should I get an ambulance?”

  The worst of the stomach pains subsided. “No,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s just a stupid panic attack.”

  But then the pavement beneath us was wet and the front of my leggings were soaked.

  “Your water always break when you have these panic attacks?” the reporter asked sardonically. “Yo! I need an ambulance over here!”

  A cop ducked under the yellow tape and helpe
d clear the crowd from around me. I hoped inanely that Mama wouldn’t see this mess, wouldn’t realize that it was me, in apparent labor, who was causing this side drama from the nightclub. It was hard to fathom the fact that Mama was about to go far out of reach. She wouldn’t be able to touch me—or any of us girls—again.

  “You wanna call someone?” the reporter asked, unzipping my purse for me. “Tell them to meet you at the hospital? Your family? Father of the baby?”

  The reporter’s deft, knowing fingers located the phone and pushed it into my hand as another horrid cramp made me curse luridly. I clutched the phone, staring at the screen, before unlocking it and scrolling to my contact list.

  Dan Fraser.

  Jake Fraser.

  One right before the other.

  Why I hadn’t even realized it when I’d had both their numbers saved was beyond me. How blind had I been?

  But now I had to make a decision. Did I want to call the father of my baby, Jake? We’d shared a fiery passion, no one could deny that. And he was my baby’s biological father. He’d promised that he’d changed, swore to me that he was ready to be a daddy, ready to take both me and his child into his life.

  Or did I want to call Dan? Maybe we didn’t have as much scorch to our relationship as Jake and I had, but there was definitely a slow burn, a deep, comfortable passion. Would it last forever, or would he get tired of me eventually? Would he someday come to the realization that he was too good for me, with his degree and job and success?

  Who did I call? Dan? Or Jake?

  Jake? Or Dan?

  Medical personnel I hadn’t even noticed approach lifted me onto a gurney, strapping me in securely.

  “Good luck,” the reporter said, patting my knee as I was wheeled away.

  “You calling someone to meet you, sweetheart?” a kindly EMT asked me.

  A third pain—no, they were called contractions—hit me, but the straps kept me from doubling over. I squeezed the older woman’s hand and rode it out.

  Was I calling someone? Yes, but who to call? Jake, the hip, red-hot DJ, rightful father to the baby getting ready to come into this world, or Dan, the stable, successful uncle of my child, who’d believed in me long before I was ever wise enough to believe in myself?

  “Sweetheart?” the woman prompted as soon as I’d loosened my death grip on her hand. “You calling someone?”

  “Yes,” I said, and hit send.

  Chapter Ten

  “Blue? Baby?”

  I slowly came back to myself, feeling like I was swimming through syrup.

  “I think I’m on some serious shit,” I slurred. “Gimme a second. Jesus.”

  A low chuckle sent shivers down my spine. I knew that laugh from anywhere.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  My eyes focused on the handsome face in front of me.

  “Thanks for coming, Dan,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  His hurt look cut me to the core.

  “You can always call me,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. I called Jake. To let him know what was happening. He’s here. He said you got upset with him. You don’t have to see him, if you don’t want to. I can go, too.”

  “Don’t go,” I said, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. “Please. I’m sorry, Dan.”

  We were spared from saying anything else as a nurse entered the room.

  “There she is!” the nurse chirped. “There’s Mommy!”

  It took me a few seconds to realize that I was Mommy. It hit me like a sledge hammer—the pain, the pushing, the wailing, and Dan being there the whole time, urging me on, telling me to be strong, promising me that I was doing so well and that it’d be over soon.

  “Oh, Dan,” I sobbed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry for leaving.”

  My perfect little daughter sobbed with me as I cradled her in my arms for the first time, looking at her precious blue eyes and dark hair.

  “I’m sorry for everything, too,” Dan said, his voice cracking as he kissed my forehead, first, and then my daughter’s forehead. “You’re going to hate me, but as soon as you left the condo that morning, I called Jake.”

  “I figured you did,” I said. “There was no reason for him to call me out of the blue like that. You told him to man up, didn’t you?”

  “I wanted you to have a father for that baby, even if it wasn’t me,” Dan said. “You deserved someone to support you. I wanted my brother to do the right thing. It’s my fault if he didn’t treat you right.”

  “He’s kind of a child himself,” I said, touching my baby’s face, letting her suckle on a finger, then doing what seemed the most natural. I bared my breast, guided her tiny mouth to my nipple, and gave her sustenance. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment, Dan stroking my hair as my daughter drank from me.

  “What are you going to name her?” Dan asked softly.

  “I’m going to name her after her mommy and her daddy,” I said. “Sandra Danielle.”

  When Dan sobbed, I broke down, too. We held each other, letting little Sandra nurse. A light knock on the door made us part.

  It was Jake, looking stricken. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But would it be okay if I just—if I just saw her? Just once?”

  I sniffed, holding my hand out. “I hope it’s not just once,” I said. “You can come visit her at the condo as often as you like, as long as it’s okay with Dan.”

  “It’s more than okay,” Dan said, patting his brother’s shoulder as Jake approached. “You did good, little brother.”

  “No, you did good,” Jake said, rubbing Sandra’s head gently. “God, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “As beautiful as her mother,” Dan said, his eyes drinking me in.

  “As beautiful as her mother,” Jake agreed.

  What a strange family we made, watching that little baby, all of us together after everything, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. This was how it was supposed to be. It was as simple as that because it had to be.

  Epilogue

  “Oh my God, is that baby going to stop growing anytime soon?” Cocoa hollered, screaming with delighted laughter as Sandra toddled over to her, holding her chubby little arms out. Cocoa swooped downward and swept my chortling daughter into her arms, blowing a raspberry on the baby’s belly.

  Dan and I laughed as we got closer, having let Sandra go ahead. Cocoa delighted Sandra.

  “Baby, don’t slobber all over Aunt Cocoa,” I scolded as Sandra popped Cocoa’s dangling earring into her mouth.

  “You know I love it,” Cocoa said, beaming before she planted a big kiss on my cheek. “It’s good to see you, Blue. But we’ve gotta get together more often. I’m afraid the next time I see this baby, she’s going to be dating already.”

  “Oh, God,” Dan groaned. “Please don’t put that thought into my head. I can’t handle it.”

  “You going to meet them at the door with a shotgun, Dan?” Liam, Cocoa’s husband, asked, pumping Dan’s hand up and down.

  “Is there anything bigger than a shotgun?” Dan asked, grinning. I beamed at him. Dan was so protective of our little girl, following her everywhere throughout the house or on the playground, pushing on long after I was exhausted from doing the exact same thing. We hated even to see her fall down when she was learning how to walk.

  “Here they are!” Cocoa exclaimed, pointing excitedly. The big diamond that Liam had proposed to her with glinted in the sun, catching Sandra’s big blue eyes.

  “Watch it, Cocoa,” I said. “That kid has a thing for shiny stuff.”

  “Every little girl should love shiny stuff,” Cocoa crooned, handing me my daughter. I hugged Sandra to me, burying my nose into her neck. Nothing smelled better than my little girl. Dan slipped his hand around my waist as we watched the other couple approach.

  When I’d last seen Jazz, she was a ball of hurt, just barely holding it together at Mama’s nightclub.

  Now, she was healthy, f
it, and laughing on the arm of her husband, Nate.

  “Look at all this,” Jazz said, her eyes shining. “Look at all these pretty girls!” She tickled Sandra’s tummy before giving me a peck on the cheek.

  “You look great,” I said, returning the peck. “You and your writer make a handsome couple.”

  “She’s the hot one in the relationship,” Nate said glumly before laughing. Cocoa had told me that he’d had cancer, but was doing much better—a miracle, the doctors had called it. He had apparently been all but certain that he wasn’t going to make it.

  “We’ve got some exciting news,” Jazz said, glancing up at Nate. They were so cute together, always looking for cues from each other. As petite as she was and as tall as he was, they moved as one—in the way old, married couples do after they’d known each other through and through. I’d read the book he’d written for her. Their love belonged in a fairy tale.

  “Spill it,” Cocoa said.

  “The cancer’s in remission.” I thought Jazz’s smile was going to split her face in two.

  “That’s great news,” Cocoa gushed, hugging them both.

  We got an outdoor table, enjoying the fragile warmth of spring and the people walking by on the sidewalk. Dan bounced our daughter on his knee even as she reached out for Jazz.

  “Has anyone heard anything else about the nightclub?” Cocoa asked us. The entire lurid trial had been all over television.

  “I’ve heard from some of the girls,” I said, holding up my phone. “Not all of them, but maybe they’ll keep coming forward.”

  “I hope everyone’s okay,” Jazz said, her face pensive as she let Sandra snag one of her fingers and squeal. Jazz grinned at my baby, making a silly face to make Sandra laugh.

  “They’ll need help,” Cocoa remarked.

  “And they’ll get it,” Jazz said. “Blue, send them my way. They can stay at the shelter for as long as they need to get back on their feet.”

  “Done and done,” I said. “Cocoa gave me your number weeks ago.”