My Way Series: Books 1-3

by H. J. Bellus

  Tripp makes up for it at dinner time. He always makes sure to bring home dinner, or at least the groceries to fix a meal for his family. I find myself working late at The Shop more and more lately. I recently started to make wedding cakes about six months ago and have definitely picked up an ample amount of new clients. Word has really taken off that Cree’s little sister can actually do something worthwhile. On those few late nights, Tripp would fix me a plate and place it in the microwave. He also would leave a note on the counter.

  Hey Sis, make sure you eat your veggies. Can’t accept a weakling for a sister. I’m proud of you. Keep your chin up and show life who’s boss.

  Your Hot Hunky Brother,

  Tripp

  His notes of encouragement always make me giggle out loud and feel all warm and gushy inside, just like Momma used to make me feel. Deep down, I know Momma sent Tripp into my life for the sole reason of being my new foundation and to protect me from myself. Cree still has his place, and I know we’ll get through our rough patch.

  Decorating cakes has been ideal therapy for me and a perfect time sucker. I dedicate every Monday and Wednesday to taking my Annie girl to dance, doing homework with her, and wrestling around with her and her brother before bed time.

  Most nights, I escape before Cree can get ahold of me. He desperately wants to fix me and my situation. He acts as if I’m a tractor he can just whip into shape and get into perfect running condition. His intentions are straight from the heart, but his delivery is always just enough to piss me off. More often than not lately, his famous last words to me are “You can’t be a bitch the rest of your life, Willow.” I respond with, “Watch me, asshole.” Milly starts to cry and yell at us. I slam the door hard enough to prove a point, but not wake the kids. Wash, rinse and repeat every Monday and Wednesday.

  The rest of my time I hang my head low and work. I get lost in it, actually. I get sucked into little tasks to avoid living life. Tripp and Lacey have caught on to my not so stealthy tactics and kidnap me on occasion me from The Shop. Our rendezvous typically consist of shopping, eating, and getting new tattoos. My time with them is easy and relaxing, nothing is forced or expected, and for that I try to tone down my bitchy level with them. Let’s be honest, though—no one does bitch better than Lacey.

  It’s the nights I sneak into Rose’s room and watch her sleep that I allow myself to think of all the what if scenarios. What if Greyson loved me more? What if my body worked harder? What if I wasn’t so plain looking? And there are nights that I can’t help but pick up that perfect little bundle of blonde hair and rock and cry. I cry for the door slammed shut in my heart and cry for all the what ifs. And some nights I even cry for the Willow who actually lived and didn’t simply survive.

  I’ll never forget the night Tripp walked in while I was rocking his sleeping daughter. He went to ask a question and then noticed my tears. Instead of lecturing me to move on or scolding me to be tough, he simply sat on the ground next to the rocker and placed his large caring hand on my leg. He let me have the night. He gifted me Rose just for the few sacred hours that I could pretend I didn’t lose everything. We never spoke of it. Instead, we live it with every escaped sigh of relief, hidden sign of hope, and our bond of brother-sister.

  The roller coaster of life is a real bitch. Some days, I float through life lite as a feather, able to enjoy the little things like the delicate cracks in the sidewalk or the crisp taste of my coffee. On days like these, I find myself texting Cree, laughing at his jokes, and even dreaming of happiness again one day. These moments are rare and hard to find, but I definitely relish every single second of them. My soul is a barren, cracked surface, and these happy days are an abundance of water that runs off me, unable to soak up any of its joy. I really want to know the secret ingredients that mingle together to create this magical concoction within me, but just like magic, this feeling vanishes in a poof. Like clockwork, the ever familiar companion of darkness takes up residence inside me.

  Let’s talk about this darkness for a minute. Have you ever experienced such darkness that you have the gun loaded and on standby? And by that I mean you can see yourself pulling the trigger, you can feel the trigger on your finger and finally see the end of your story. The final chapter where happiness and darkness can no longer play you like a fiddle. The end that holds the power to cease the heaviness on your chest and end the rage that fills you from head to toe. In times of this darkness, I really have to focus on the tiny sliver of light in my life—my family. My family that drives me shit ass crazy. The ones trying to fix me their way. The ones I want to choke more than hug at several points during the day. They are all I have to get me through this.

  Instead of the pistol, I have created a mask. This mask keeps everything locked tightly behind the door in my heart. Any mask is likely to crack at any given minute, and I know that when it does, it won’t be pretty and there’ll be lots and lots of carnage. You’ll never find this particular technique in a book of medicine, nor recommended by any doctor or sane person because it is my way. My way to cope, deal, live day to day and just be. I guess somebody has to set a bad example, so with my mask, door to my heart locked tightly, and new life motto, “No fucks given,” I’ll battle my way through this thing called life one moment at a time.

  Chapter 2

  Ding

  “Go make me a sandwich while I provide opportunistic nutrients for my child via my big titty,” Lacey yells from her recliner.

  I give Lacey the you talking to me, hooker face, and tell her to shut it.

  “Make me a sandwich, bitch. You need your practice, because one day, I promise that you’ll find a man worthy of making a sandwich for.”

  I shake my head and begin to tell her just how foolish her statement is.

  Lacey interrupts, “You know this one time I was making Tripp a sandwich, and I decided to put the mayo on my—”

  “Oh. My. God. Shut up. I’m going to make your damn sandwich…please remember he’s my brother!”

  Lacey cups her hands around Rose’s ears, and that’s when I knew I should have run for cover.

  “Yes, I know he’s your brother—your brother with the very big and beautiful dick, although it is a little crooked, it’s still one beautiful cock. I mean, like a nine incher that does all sorts of tricks.”

  I don’t know if it was the look of disgust on my face or a memory of hers, but Lacey burst out into laughter. I run as fast as I can to make her damn sandwich before I escaped to work for the day.

  ***

  That damn doorbell is going to be the ever loving death of me. Milly still tells the story about that same exact bell dinging the day Cree walked in and she almost cut off her finger. She refuses to get rid of the annoying piece of metal. Every time the asshole goes off I cringe inside, and my butt literally puckers with anxiety. Half of me hopes it’s Greyson so I can sneak a peek at him and the other half of me fears it’s Greyson. I have no control of that bleating little fucker of a doorbell.

  I keep my head down and continue adding the final touches to the five tiered, neon pink and orange wedding cake. One of Milly’s part time high school girls is running the coffee part of The Shop, so she can help the customer. It would be so easy to lift my head and sneak a peek, but instead I choose to get lost in forming the delicate flowers out of icing that trim the cake.

  “Willow,” squeaks out the timid voice of Leah, the high school help.

  She’s a nice enough girl, but for the love of God, she needs to leave me alone. I’ve made it clear to her that I don’t want to be friends or her role model. Hell, I’ve made that point abundantly clear to the world. I have my family, and the blaring no vacancy sign flashing on my forehead should be enough evidence for most idiots.

  “Um, I need your help,” Leah squeaks a little louder this time.

  Gripping the icing bag with a little too much force, I manage to get out, “Just a freaking second.”

  Letting my temper get the best of me, I slam down the bag of icin
g, forcing a solid stream of neon orange sailing straight into the air. My eyes follow the stream of icing and my ears hear the squeal of Leah’s voice. When my eyes finally land on her, she is perfectly decorated in orange icing. The heartless bitch in me giggles out loud without remorse.

  A low grumble draws my attention from Leah to the gorgeous hunk also decorated in orange frosting standing next to her. The dark haired, stubbly bearded stranger has frosting dripping from the front of his tight white T-shirt. My eyes are absolutely in love with him. He’s a walking advertisement straight from the wrong sides of the tracks. I mean, his face is that of a Greek god, but his look and dress screams bad boy—the type of bad boy you want to ride off into the sunset. To hell with that, he’s the kind you want to ride all night.

  “Hello,” the stranger says, as he waves his hand in front of me.

  As he waves, I notice a dab of icing delicately hanging from his strong jaw line. My traitorous body that has vowed off all forms of the other gender is suddenly on fire. My tongue has the sudden urge to attend to that frosting to make it disappear.

  “Uh, you have you frosting on your face,” I whisper, pointing to it.

  He reaches up to his face and drags his finger through the thick creamy frosting, leaving behind a smeared trail.

  “Oh, this,” he asks, as he tastes the frosting on his finger.

  Hold the phone, the dirty boy is making love to the frosting on his finger. He’s finger loving, making out with my frosting right in front of me. My jaw drops open, my panties melt, and I think, just maybe, my heart beat again because this stranger just mouth humped my frosting.

  “Did I get it?” he asks.

  I can only nod my head and try like hell to put out the passion that has just been fired up in my body by this man. Greyson, the baby, and my control issues fire right up and take control of the situation.

  “So, are you here to order a wedding cake? Let me guess, you need to wait for your boyfriend to make the final decision on colors?”

  Yep, that did the trick. He thinks I’m a bitch, and I ice all my feelings.

  “Actually, I’m here to inquire about renting the apartment. My boyfriend went to Denver today to pick up our matching butt plugs. Oh yeah, and he definitely had to get his resized to accommodate me,” he replies, not missing a beat and grabbing his crotch for added effect, just in case I had missed his clear message.

  That hand. That crotch. My eyes lock on both. The man is not only grabbing his crotch, but squeezes the bulge for added effect. Leah immediately turns and runs when another customer enters.

  “So, how about that apartment?” he asks, still holding his junk.

  I promptly close my mouth and peel my eyes from that hand. “It’s my sister-in-law’s, but I have the paper work you can fill out. You’ll need to pay first and last month’s rent, and five hundred deposit. Monthly rent is seven hundred fifty.”

  “I’ll take it,” he quickly responds, as he lays heaps of hundred dollar bills on the counter.

  Stunned into silence, I simply nod my head up and down very slowly, stopping to take a brief moment to stare at his crotch.

  “I’ll call Milly down, and she can get you all settled up.”

  “Thanks, crazy girl.”

  My jaw immediately drops. What the hell did he just call me?

  “Excuse me?”

  “See ya around, crazy,” he says, as he winks and struts out of the shop.

  My effin’ traitorous eyes follow his body. The man is built. Not gym built, but backyard built. He definitely lifts and operates heavy machinery. The scruff covering his face is delicious and those big blue eyes are masked with the thickest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. I do believe I want to lick that beard of his.

  Oh hell! The asshat climbs into a sexy as hell black car. The car rivals his good looks. But the combination of him sitting in it with his head thrown back and his large adam’s apple exposed is enough to set me completely on fire. The man really made my heart beat again and I’m not quite sure that I’m okay with that.

  Fifteen minutes pass by the time Milly arrives to settle up with the stranger. He packs one box upstairs and doesn’t come back down.

  “Willow, let’s go eat. The fam damily is all meeting up at the brewery for dinner.”

  I had managed to escape the last three family dining adventures. I know that I have no chance in hell of avoiding this one. In the few seconds of delay, Milly picks up on the fact that I’m trying to weasel my way out of it this time, but I’m not fast enough with my excuse because she grabs me by the wrist and drags me out to her car.

  “But Milly, the cake…” I try.

  “Not gonna work on me, Willow. You might be able to fool your brother with burying your head in your work. You forget that I’m the queen of ‘fake it til you make it.’ I pulled it off for several years while growing up and when I was married to the Bastard. You want to be a drunk bitch? Then you’re going to be a drunk bitch surrounded by the people who love you most.”

  “Fine, momma bitch,” I say, trying my hardest to keep a straight face.

  “What did Lacey teach us the other day when someone calls us a bitch? Oh, that’s right,” Milly says with a huge shit-eating grin on her face.

  She then grabs her crotch with both hands and says, “You think I’m a bitch? Then get your ass on your knees and lick my lady locker.”

  Yes, the other night Lacey was instructing us on how to defend ourselves. It has been a little over three months since her accident and Rose’s birth, and all of her wild fire and crazy personality hasn’t skipped a beat. Milly is still struggling with some of the catty women on the PTA, and well, me—I’m just a hunk of problems. She gave us several lines to use and the hand gestures to go with them. In true Lacey fashion, she did all of this while standing on the island in the kitchen. It was more of comedic stress reliever than teaching, but we let Lacey believe she was bettering us. Milly and I really lost it when Tripp walked in, shook his head, and hollered he surrendered.

  “So, what do you think of that, you bitch?” Milly fires back, pulling me from my memory of Lacey.

  “I think you oughta get acquainted with my lady locker,” I say, as I perfect the hand gestures back to her.

  A sound catches my attention and to my horror I have an audience. An audience of one. And I can only stare at his crotch.

  “Uh. Miles, right? Do you need something?” Milly asks.

  “Was just gonna do a li’l exploring and find some grub. Didn’t mean to interrupt your little show, ladies.”

  Milly, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare invite him. Please, God, don’t let her invite him. Please. Please. Please. I’ll give up Pop-Tarts for the rest of my life. I’ll never look at his crotch again. Please, for the love all things…do not invite McDreamboat to dinner.

  “You can join us. Hop in. We’re heading to dinner now and you can meet the whole family. You’ll be seeing them around The Shop. We’re all a little crazy, so you can get a heads up on all of us.”

  “Well, thank you, ladies. I’d love that,” he replies instantly.

  The man makes his way to my side of the car. I instantly freeze. He opens my door for me, then brushes up against me, urging me to climb in, and bends down to whisper in my ear, “I really, really liked your little performance, and I fucking adore lady lockers.”

  It’s official. I want to rip off his clothes and have my way with him.

  “Hey, ho-bag, are you getting in anytime today?” Milly yells at me.

  Forced from my mind fucking of McDreamboat, I gather my composure and take a stand. Standing on my tip-toes, I whisper right back into his ear, letting his beard tickle my chin, “Fuck off, this lady locker is closed to all bricks.”

  I climb in, mentally beating the shit out of Milly. She picks up on my mental ass kicking and turns up Miranda as we drive in silence to dinner.

  “Where’s Annie?” I ask, as I pick the seat across from Miles.

  “I let her spend the night at a
friend’s house,” Cree replies without making eye contact.

  “Glad that I made an effort,” I sarcastically reply.

  “Jesus, Willow. I need a couple beers before you start your shit,” Cree mumbles.

  “Fuck off,” I say loudly, and push away from the table to get some fresh air.

  Tripp grabs my hand and pleads with his eyes for me to stay and try.

  “Just grabbing some fresh air. Order for me,” I ask, and place a quick kiss on the top of his head.

  I just set a new record, telling two people to fuck off in a matter of minutes. Grabbing two whiskey sours, I make my way outside to enjoy a few minutes of silence. Actually, this is all I really wanted tonight. Silence. And the only place I seem to find that is at The Shop. Anywhere else I go, I seem to pick fights and get pissed with everything. Cree is such an easy target for me. I need to learn to cool it around him. Milly’s earlier words ring so true, “Fake it til you make it.”

  I silently toast to myself and drink away my worries and problems. Lighting up a cigarette, I hear someone approaching. Yep, it’s McDreamboat. I’m pretty sure he’s poison to my eyes, but I can’t look away.

  “What? Did they send you out here to fix me?” I ask.

  “No. Just thought some fresh air would be nice. That Lacey chick is sharing stories from a recent anniversary camping trip, and I tapped out when she went into great detail.”

  “Yeah, that’d be Lacey,” I mumble to myself.

  “Milly acted like she was taking very serious mental notes, and your brothers were just talking shop like it was perfectly normal table talk.”

  “Yeah, that’d be my family,” I mumble again.