“Second?” I ask.
“That’s my business, Charlotte, not yours,” he says sternly.
“Ah—well, since you’ve brought that up, I should remind you that my personal life is none of your business.” I pull my hand away.
“You’re my girlfriend, Charlotte. Everything about you is my business,” he states, grabbing my hand again.
“On paper, Mitch!” I snap, although one would think I’d slapped him in the face. “You have say over my body and my time—nothing else!”
I watch as his facial expression changes from hurt to just plain pissed. Before I can say another word, Mitch yanks me by the hand, turning my whole body. He pulls my panties down and slaps my ass several times, then releases me and turns to sit on the edge of the bed. I scoot over to the other side, far away from him.
I’m ... I don’t know what I am. I want to say something, scream maybe, but I can’t control my rapid breathing to form either of those actions. I feel shocked, pissed, and oddly, a little turned on. I study his posture. He’s slumped over, his head in his hands. Me? I’m fighting the urge to comfort him, slap the shit out of him, and for the grand finale—fuck the crazy out of him.
Mitch takes a deep breath and straightens up before slapping his knees upon exhale. He stands and pulls his jeans on. “Get dressed, baby. We’ll leave in ten minutes.” He keeps his back to me.
If a bubble magically appeared above my head, it would say “What the fuck?!” I think he senses my thoughts, because he sits back on the bed in defeat and clears his throat.
“My mother died of breast cancer when I was nine, because suffering from MS wasn’t enough. My dad—well, ‘the sperm donor,’ really, since he stopped being my dad when I was five and he couldn’t cope with my mother’s illness—decided that drugs were more important than us. The only thing that man gave me that I will cherish ‘til my last breath was my wonderful grandparents and the opportunity to be raised by them. They took care of my mother and me once she got real sick. He gave up parental rights to me when she died and my grandparents, per my mother’s will, were granted guardianship.
“While he’s spent the past thirty-four years in and out of rehab and jail, I’ve spent it doing everything I could to make them proud enough of me to wash away some of the disappointment they felt in producing such a menace to society. My grandfather was an amazing man. I looked up to him and had—or have—such a deep respect for him that I’ve always felt honor in carrying the Colton name. If he were my mother’s father instead of my father’s father, I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could have. That’s why I know your kids will probably want to have a different name. Your dad sounds like the same stand-up kind of guy my grandfather was, and your kids would probably find it an honor to have the O’Brien name.”
“Mitch ...” My voice shakes as I interrupt him.
“I’ll leave.” He stands up.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, knowing the answer. He wouldn’t have made “his” business mine if he wanted to leave. He knows he screwed up—again. I know he was looking to earn a Get Out of Jail Free card. Not that he was looking for pity, and not even that he just wanted the card. It’s more. More? Crap ... more. Imagine the power in such a small word, like a few other four-letter words. I know I’m right, though. He wouldn’t have gone into detail like that if I wasn’t.
“Jesus, baby, do you even have to question it?” he asks in disbelief, laced, I think, with embarrassment. “Are you okay?” he adds, and I hear guilt added to the mix.
“I’m fighting quite the internal battle over here,” I say, then continue speaking when he says nothing. “I’m pissed off. I’m just not sure if it’s because you spanked me, or because a part of me was turned on by it,” I say, not hiding an ounce of my confusion.
“We’re a perfect fit, baby, for many reasons. But as far as the bedroom, as you said, you like me to have control over you. I think it’s because you have to manage so much on your own outside of the bedroom that you’re relieved to relinquish it. I like having that control over you because I know it’s the only place I can.” He throws his shirt on.
“So you don’t trust me?” I ask, reaching for my dress.
“I want to, but I’m fighting quite the internal battle myself. Charlotte?” He finally turns to look at me. “I’m sorry I spanked you.”
“Are you?” I ask as I finish pulling my dress down.
“No.” He smirks. “I’m just sorry I did it while I was angry. I promised I wouldn’t, and I did. I just ... I didn’t like what you said. I thought we got past that today.” He walks around the bed and sits in front of me. “Every time I think your wall is coming down, you throw it right back up.” His hand reaches up to my face and I pull back.
“You’ve been doing the same thing,” I say, quietly.
“I know. Looks like maybe we’re both experiencing some feelings neither of us signed up for.”
“More,” I murmur. He nods. “You don’t do the kid thing. You hate them.”
“Whoa—I don’t hate kids! I love kids.” He defends himself.
“You don’t want all of the bullshit.”
“I’m growing fond of your bullshit ... it’s got a nice scent to it.” He chuckles.
“That is the weirdest line I’ve ever heard!” I grab a pillow and smack him with it. “Besides, you’re the one dishing out most of the bullshit around here.”
“True,” he concedes after laughing. “I won’t blame you if you want me to leave, but you should know that the money will still be in the account every month for you.”
“Even if I’m not with you? Why?” I look up at him sharply. I’m taken aback.
“Because the idea of any other man touching you makes my blood boil and every hair on the back of my neck stand.” His eyes glaze over with anger at the thought.
Do I want him to leave? No. Do I want another man to touch me? No. Do I have any idea whatsoever as to what I’m doing? Hell no!
“Where are we going?” I finally raise my white flag. Mitch grasps my face and pulls me to kiss him, but I lean back before his lips land on mine. “Let’s get one thing straight.”
“What, Charlotte?” he breathes.
“You are my boyfriend, therefore, your personal life is my business as well.” I look him straight in the eye and bite him back with his own words.
“You are my personal life.” He smiles. “Can I kiss you now?”
Satisfied with his comment, I nod.
“Remember, we have to be back at three-thirty so I can get the boys.” I glance over at him quickly as I set reminders for myself for the next day. Mitch is too preoccupied with glancing at Brooklynn, who is trying to sing to The Wiggles. The laugh lines around his eyes deepen. He merges onto I-93 South then starts bopping his head with her to “Hot Potato.” Brooky giggles with delight. Mitch is grinning like an idiot and sings the chorus with her (now that he’s got it down pat and all). I stare at him in amazed—but delighted—disbelief. He glances at me, quickly stiffens up, clears his throat, and turns his attention to the road.
“Mittt!” Brooky bellows out. He glances at her in the mirror, then me.
He shrugs. “Hot potato, hot potato!” he sings out, bouncing his head again. Brooklyn gets lost in a sea of giggles, and I join her.
After another twenty minutes of Wiggles and giggles, Mitch gets off at the Andover exit.
“We’re going to your house?” I ask, but then quickly realize he’s going a different way.
“The house I grew up in,” he says, then makes a final turn and pulls into the driveway of an old colonial.
“C’mon, baby.” He cuts the engine and gets out, then opens Brooky’s door and helps her out of her car seat. “What?” he asks as I stare at him. Brooklynn goes to him like she’s known him her whole life. I turn my focus back to the garage in front of me. I’ve got the oddest feeling of panic coming over me. “Charlotte?” Mitch opens my door with his free hand. “Are you okay, baby?” He feels my
head. “Jesus, you’re clammy. What’s the matter?”
“I don’t feel so well.” I fan myself.
“Stay right here. I’m going to get you a drink,” he says and heads off to the house with Brooklynn.
“Hi, Mitch!” Maggie smiles. “Who’s this little angel?”
“My girlfriend’s daughter. Can I have an OJ to bring out to Charlotte? She’s not feeling well,” I ask, crooking my neck around to see where Gram is.
“She said to expect you three.”
I turn to her. “I didn’t tell her I was coming.”
“She also said Charlotte was going to have a panic attack.” She raises a brow and hands me the OJ.
“Ugh—I hate when she does that!” I shake my head and walk toward the door.
“Here, let me have your stepdaughter.” She holds her hands out.
“She’s not my stepdaughter.” I sigh, handing her over before walking out the door. I swear I hear her murmur, “She will be.”
Just as I get outside, I find Charlotte walking up the path with a sickly look about her. What is wrong with her?
“Baby,” I say, putting my arm around her, “take a sip of this orange juice.”
“Is it laced with something?” She tries to smile.
“Of course it is. Now drink up so I can take advantage of you.” I put the cup up to her lips.
“Jesus, Mitch.” She grabs the cup. “I’m not a baby.” She drinks.
“You’re my baby.” I kiss her temple. She rolls her eyes at me. Actually, I’d roll my eyes at me. Why am I suddenly turning into mush around her? I guess it’s not sudden at all, really. Right from the start, I felt this pull. I found it easy to be myself around her—a playful side most people don’t see.
“Mitch, is Brooky by herself?”
“Yes, Charlotte. But don’t worry, I made sure to put some knives on the floor for her to play with or stick into the sockets. I also gave her a pair of scissors and told her to run around with them.” I take the cup from her.
“Good. I wouldn’t want her to be bored.” She smiles as we walk in.
Gram looks up at us as she bounces Brooklynn on her knee. I can’t remember the last time I saw her look this happy. I sign “hello” to her. She immediately asks Brooklynn’s age and name. Just as I’m about to tell her, Charlotte signs the information. I’m floored.
“You know sign language, baby?”
“Yes. I signed with all my kids, but I became fluent with Bennett because that was the only way we could communicate for two years.” She signs our conversation, which I know Gram is probably thoroughly appreciating right now. She can’t stand when people who can sign stop mid-conversation in front of her. She says it’s the equivalent of someone talking English, then suddenly switching to another language that not everyone understands. It’s rude.
Gram beckons Charlotte to sit in the chair next to her wheelchair and shoos me away. Reluctantly I comply, but first I lean down near Charlotte’s ear. “Don’t let her freak you out, baby. I’ll make us some lunch.” I kiss her ear.
“A light one, Mitch,” she says. I nod.
I head to the kitchen, silently swearing to myself. Not the most brilliant idea to leave her with Gram. At ninety years old, Gram has not lost her psychic abilities, but her filter for delivery has been permanently removed.
Maggie walks in and smiles. “I’ll fix you two something, honey.”
“Maggie! You left her alone with Gram?!” The panic sets in at full capacity.
“Honey child ... you don’t pay me enough to try to keep up with them two! Their hands is flying so fast, I got dizzy just watchin’ ‘em!” She shakes her head and grins as she heads over to the fridge.
Maggie’s originally from the South, and though she’s been in New England for over thirty years, she hasn’t lost her Southern charm or the Southern pace in life. It’s calming, though, to watch someone take their time with everything.
She’s been with my family since before my mom died. Gram and Pop kept her on to help with the house and me. Her children are like brothers and sisters to me. We did everything together, mainly because Maggie’s husband abandoned them. Well, that, and we all adored them.
Maggie has always been good to our family and worked hard. My grandparents lost a lot of friendships over her because they refused to see her color or pay her accordingly. As a matter of fact, they paid her more than the going rate for white help. That was unheard of then. People didn’t like it. I remember questioning Pop about it when I was eleven.
“Pop, doesn’t it bother you that your friends aren’t your friends anymore because of Maggie?”
“Let me tell you something, Pally—” (I miss hearing him call me that) “—those ‘friends’ were not real friends in the first place. If it weren’t for Maggie just being Maggie, I would’ve never known. As you grow older, Mitch, you’ll find that you have an inner circle of friends and an outer circle of friends. The inner circle is the most important, so you have to be very careful about who you allow in. They need to be loyal, supportive, and dependable. They’re like family, and family takes care of each other. Maggie is family—she’s in our inner circle, Mitch. Damn it—she’s president of it, and if no one else in our inner circle appreciates or accepts her, then they don’t belong there! It’s that simple. Do you understand what I mean?” I could see his passion and irritation all mixed together on his face.
“Yes, Pop.” I was pretty certain I did.
“While we’re on the subject, Mitch, I know I don’t have to worry about it, but I need to say it.” He tapped the top of his desk in the study.
“Yeah, Pop?”
“Never judge someone by how they look—skin tone, ethnic background, et cetera. You judge them by their heart and their intentions. If they have a good heart, chances are their intentions will match.”
I took what Pop said to heart and follow this advice, along with all the other guidance he ever gave me, because he was the man I hoped to someday become. He was my role model, while other kids worshipped superheroes, athletes, astronauts, and rock stars. My role model never changed as I got older. It was always Pop, and ‘til my dying day, it will always be Pop.
“Mitch, honey ... you all right?” I focus back on Maggie’s voice and her hand at my head.
“Sorry.” I smile. “I was thinking about Pop. He would’ve loved Charlotte.” He would’ve ...
“Do you love, Charlotte?” She crooks her head at me.
“So!” I clap my hands. “What are you making us?” I rub them together. She smiles at me, head tilted to the side suspiciously, knowing I’m trying to change the subject.
“I made some of my famous chicken salad earlier. You go fetch me the crackers, baby.” She turns to the fridge and pulls out a bowl.
After a few minutes, I walk back into the living room with a plate of Maggie’s chicken salad on crackers. She wasn’t lying; Gram and Charlotte are signing like they’re trying to win a competition. Oh, Christ—Gram pulled out the fucking albums!
“Must you torture her on her first visit?” I sign and roll my eyes.
“Oh, don’t pick on her!” Charlotte smacks my thigh and takes the tray from me. “You were so cute, baby,” she adds.
“Were?” I ask, pouting. She giggles, and her glee hits her eyes.
“I am a little disappointed in these pictures, though.” She sighs. “Not one picture of you in a bow tie—what kind of a nerd are you, anyway?”
“Apparently,” I say, leaning down to her ear, “a sexy one.” I nip at her lobe. Gram smacks me. I stand back up and she reminds me that she’s deaf and I don’t need to whisper to Charlotte.
“Gram, sometimes I forget because you’re so damn loud!” I tease her. Her hands wave nonsense at me.
Charlotte gets up and pecks my lips. “Have a seat with your Gram. I’m gonna grab the backpack for Brooky’s sippy cup,” she says before walking down the hall.
I settle in the seat.
“So, what do you think?”
I eagerly ask Gram. She clasps her hands together and shakes them while looking up to God. She brings her gaze back to me and a few tears fall down her cheeks. “Gram?” I grab her hand.
“Mitch, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen this look in your eyes. She was worth the wait. I love her already ... just like you.” She pats my hand.
“Gram, don’t start!” I sign quickly. “Don’t rush me into feelings I’m not sure I’m having. We’ve only just met!”
“You don’t want to leave tonight. The idea of being away from her is killing you inside.” She gives me a sympathetic look.
“Gram, knock it off. You don’t know what you are talking about!” I roll my eyes and shake my head before grabbing a cracker.
“Don’t I?” She arches an eyebrow in the “I know my shit” way. “You can trust her, Mitch ... she’s inner-circle material.”
I hold my palm out and bring my hand down hard in a karate chop to make her stop.
Charlotte laughs. “You teasing him again, Gram?”
“Don’t call her that.” I shoot Charlotte a look.
“Sorry ... she told me to. What should I call her, Mitch?” She treads lightly. Christ, she can read me already. She knows I’m about to explode.
“Sorry.” I rub my face, trying to snap out of it.
Charlotte goes about setting a place for Brooklynn at the coffee table with her lunch. “Can you scooch?” She taps my arm, making me stop. I give her a half smile, nod, and move over to the left of the armchair. She squeezes into the small space and, crossing one leg over the other, leans back into my arms. A perfect fit.
Charlotte giggles as I begin my usual ritual of closing my eyes while running my nose up and down her neck, smelling her skin. Jesus, I’m going to miss this smell.
“I’m delaying my flight until tomorrow,” I say out of nowhere. Charlotte’s breath hitches in surprise. I can’t say I blame her—I’m a little surprised myself. Damn that grandmother of mine.
Under Contract (The GEG Series) Page 11
