And the story comes boiling out then, interspersed with sobs, violent cries, and gallons of hot tears. I lay my head on her shoulder and tell her about Heather. How she was a shell of a woman, a scarecrow with barely any life force because of the Morgans.
“They just left her, Grandma Patty. She used to be healthy and beautiful and they turned her into dust. It makes me sick,” my voice wails. “What do I do?”
My grandmother takes my hands in hers and looks at me thoughtfully. “It’s hard to say,” she replies. “I’m an old woman,” she begins slowly, eyes faraway. “These new-fangled situations are strange to me. Seven men? This Heather woman was with seven men?”
Now it’s time for the big admission.
“Nana,” I say slowly, blinking my eyes hard to stop the tears. “I’m not sure if you heard me. Or even if you heard me, I want to make it crystal clear. It’s not just her. It’s me too. I’m with seven men, Nana, I’m in love with seven men. It’s wrong, it’s awful, because they’ve turned out to be monsters! So what do I do? What do I dooooo ?”
The pathetic wail is terrible, ringing loudly in the living room of my grandma’s small cottage. But I can’t help the despair and fresh tears flow once more, choking me. “What do I do?” are my broken words. “What happens now?”
Nana is kind, patting my hand, those withered fingers soft.
“Seven is different,” she says slowly. “Back when I was a girl, even two or three was a lot.”
“Two or three?” I gasp. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that Nana knew something about ménage.
But my grandma’s eyes spark mischievously.
“Oh sure,” she murmurs. “I was around during the Sixties, honey. It was all swingers and free love, expressing your true self. You have to remember that in those times, society was breaking free, shaking off its chains. Young people didn’t want to be held back, so I saw it all,” she winks.
I nod slowly. That makes some sense
“But I always thought you were family-oriented,” I say slowly. “Like raising Mom and all that.”
“Who said I’m not family-oriented?” asks Nana playfully. “You can have a family and also have a life. There are lots of ways to be happy.”
And words escape me then. What is Nana saying? What is she hinting at?
Patty can tell I’m confused, and continues.
“Back to you, honey,” she says candidly. “It’s not as if the Morgans lied. They were honest with Heather about the terms of the relationship, and about what they needed from her.”
Again, I’m dumbstruck.
“What?” I exclaim. “They left her for not being able to have a child. She has nothing now. The woman’s like death warmed over.”
Patty pulls her expression into a wry look, lips twisting slightly.
“I don’t know about that,” she says slowly. “I’ve lived a long time, seen a lot of things in this world, and through it all, I’ve learned that nothing is black and white. Nothing is totally right or totally wrong, because there are always shades of grey. Those men have all agreed that they want to share the responsibility of parenting one child, of loving one woman. It’s non-traditional, to be sure, but it’s their choice to make for their own lives. And that young woman knew what they wanted when she embarked on that particular journey.”
I sit back in my seat, laying my head against the couch and closing my eyes to keep from crying.
“They mutilated her with all those treatments,” I cry desperately. “She’s a skeleton. There isn’t much left of her, all because of what they did.”
A slight giggle escapes from my grandma, and I bolt up straight on the lumpy couch.
“It’s not funny,” comes my voice tightly. “If you saw what I saw, you’d have second thoughts too.”
But Nana is unperturbed.
“Oh honey, don’t be so dramatic,” she admonishes. “Mutilated? That seems a little far out. After all, Heather did it willingly, yes? She wasn’t tied down and forced to go through the fertility treatments, right? No one told her to stop living altogether.”
“I gu- guess not,” comes my stammer.
Patty clucks then.
“See? She had a choice. And so did they. They tried and tried and when they found out that what they wanted was impossible, the men moved on. Furthermore, it sounds like they tried to do right by her.”
“No, that’s not it,” I say slowly. “What the Morgans did to her was wrong. They left her with nothing.”
“Nothing by whose standards?” Patty asks sharply. I open my eyes to see her raising an eyebrow at me. “They bought her a house, a nice one at that, and furnished it. The men pay her bills, her bank account’s overflowing. How many women have all that? Not many. If you ask me, I think this Heather woman needs to suck it up and move on.”
What? That’s some straight talk and my head whirls.
“I’m not sure,” comes my stammer. Could my grandma be right? “I’m not sure,” come my weak words once more.
But Patty is adamant.
“They couldn’t give themselves anymore,” Patty says. “So they gave what they could. They tried, and that’s what counts.”
I sit, stunned and silent. My grandmother has seen a world war. She was on the front lines for women’s rights in the workplace. To hear her take the Morgans’ side is flabbergasting and downright strange.
“Nana,” I try again, taking a deep breath. “Even if I can get past this, what if I can’t give them the baby they want? Will I end up banished somewhere? Wasting away? Forgetting who I was before they came along?”
Patty gives me a keen, eagle-eyed appraisal. “I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be an issue, now is it?”
I turn sharply, sucking in a shocked breath.
“What?”
But Patty nods knowingly.
“I’d say you’re a couple of months along, sweetheart, so it seems like your fears are unfounded. Am I right?”
My nod is soundless, eyes wide, almost daring not to breathe.
“It’s the glow, darlin’,” Patty chuckles. “I’ve been around a long line of pregnant ladies in my years and I can see it from a mile away. Your skin is bright; your hair is shiny. Expectant mothers just glow.”
Tears prick at my lashes. Patty puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me dead in the eye now.
“This world is complicated and messy sometimes,” she says seriously. “People have agendas, they play politics. They mess with each other to be cruel, or to get ahead. But those boys have been honest with you. They were honest with that Heather. And due to no fault of her own, she lost the men she loved. Sometimes things don’t work out. But that’s just life, and you have to live your best one. Yours , not hers.”
But that can’t be true. This is my business. This is how I’ll be treated if I can’t produce.
“I don’t agree,” come my slow words. “This is everything to me.”
Patty looks at me closely then, weighing her words carefully now.
“Honey, I never wanted to say this, but you’re not turning out to be very smart.”
At that, I jump in my seat, literally jerking backwards until my head bumps the wall painfully.
“What?” I gasp, eyes wide, whirling on my grandma. “What?” Nana’s never called me names before.
“Just sayin’,” she shrugs her thin shoulders. “I thought you were different from Marsha, but you’re not showing any promise.”
“What?” my voice almost screeches now. “What are you talking about?” It’s a nightmare to be compared to my mother.
“Haven’t you heard of leaving the past in the past?” Patty says forcefully now. “Move on! This woman is in their past. If I had a dime for every ex your grandfather had, I’d be a millionaire.”
I bite my lip. Of course. I shouldn’t be digging in my lovers’ romantic history, but still.
“Okay,” I say tightly. “Okay, I’ll try to put it behind me.”
“That’s right,” says Patty,
nodding her head with approval. “You can’t help Heather anymore. And she shouldn’t be your business.”
Man, that’s an honest way of putting it. Slowly, I nod my head once. But Patty’s not done yet.
“Besides, you seem to be using them as well,” she tosses out casually, cocking her head once more. “You know, using goes both ways honey.”
I bolt up straight once more.
“What?” the shocked gasp escapes my lips. “What in the world? Of course I’m not using them!” comes my outraged sputter.
Because has Patty gone insane? What’s with these accusations and finger-pointing? I came to her house looking for comfort, not to be hurled into the fire.
But Nana continues.
“You’re using them too, honey,” she says calmly. “And you and I both know it.”
That’s not true.
“How am I using them?” I demand, hands balled on my hips. “How am I, a teen girl, using seven men? That’s preposterous,” is my vehement statement.
But Nana shakes her head wisely again.
“Marsha told me how you dropped out of college. She told me how you want a baby, even though you’re eighteen. She told me how you want to be a cook on TV, with a line of cookbooks to your name.”
I stare at my grandma.
“Well yes,” I say. “My ambitions are different from what my parents want for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m using the Morgans! It’s totally separate, a completely different issue. What does that have to do with anything?”
Nana looks at me closely once again, her gaze searching before shaking her head.
“Not very smart,” she clucks slowly. “Real slow, I would never have guessed.”
Now I’m truly angry, bolting to my feet.
“Tell me how I’m using them,” comes my angry demand, eyes spitting fire. “Tell me how I, a teen girl, am using seven adult males who are billionaires. Come on Nana. Spill it.”
And my grandma sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. But she’s totally calm.
“Who’s paying for your lifestyle?” she asks rhetorically, fixing me with a stare. “Who’s giving you that baby? Who’s going to pay for your baby after he or she is born? Tell me, Macy. Who’s using whom, just to be clear?”
And suddenly, I see what she means. Because I wanted out of my old life. I wanted to be a different Macy, one with professional ambitions that didn’t include school, tests and problem sets. I wanted to get pregnant. I wanted to separate from my parents without checking myself into a halfway house for stranded single mothers.
And the Morgans are how I’m doing it.
I’m living in the lap of luxury, courtesy of the brothers.
There’s life growing in my womb, thanks to them.
All my allegations of using people?
That finger’s turned right back at me.
Because one look in the mirror tells me that Nana’s right. I’m using them just as much as they’re using me. But is that okay? Is it right? Because I love the brothers desperately, so it’s not “using” per se, right?
“Nana, what do I do?” come the words trembling from my lips. “I thought I was caught in their web, but maybe it’s the other way around.”
Nana chuckles in her throat then, a wheezy, gaspy sound.
“That’s my smart girl,” she nods approvingly. “That’s the Macy that I know.”
And suddenly, I have to go. I have to tell Will, Tim, Trent, Ford, Smith, Sam and Matthew that I was wrong. Completely wrong. That I fucked-up beyond belief. I have to apologize and tell them that I want a life with them going forwards. The past is the past, and we have to leave it at that.
Plus, these revelations about me are astonishing. Yes, I’m a teen girl. Yes, I dropped out of school without a penny to my name. But I’m going after what I want, and the Morgans are helping me do it. Them using me or me using them, I’m not sure it matters anymore. Because I’ve been living my best life, happy and satisfied as a clam, until Marsha ruined it all.
So I have to turn this ship around. I’ve made a huge mistake, and hopefully it’s not too late. I love the Morgans, and they love me, and we have to make it work, some way, somehow.
“I’m so sorry, Nana, gotta go,” are my rushed words, hair flying as I fumble around for my keys. “Gotta go, urgent.”
She pinches my cheek and looks me straight in the eye then.
“Look, young lady. You are an adult and you can make your own decisions. That other young lady’s got nothing to do with you. She has choices too. She could just as easily choose to wake up and hit restart, take that money and make something of herself. And your mama can’t tell you what’s right for you. Only you can. So make the choice that makes your heart happiest. Okay?”
Tears start pooling once more, and I reach for my grandma’s frail shoulders. We hug for a long time as I cry once more, tears soaking her silk blouse. Maybe I’m silly for acting such a fool, but the heart wants what it wants no matter what.
Because can I make this choice?
Can I make this work for me?
For my baby?
For us?
My mind spins the entire drive home, and once in the kitchen, I run my hand over the cold marble of my custom kitchen counters, remembering the hours I’ve spent in this room already, cooking and putting on shows for the seven men I love.
And I adore them completely. Somehow, sexy Matt Morgan saw me that day at my parents’ house. He saw my ill-fitting bikini and found me attractive. He saw me stammer over my words and struggle with the way my body looked, and somehow he found that sexy. And six more Morgan brothers fell in line behind the first, appreciating me in a way I wasn’t sure any man ever truly would.
They opened me like a blooming flower, showing me how beautiful my body is, and what freedom feels like. And I do feel free when I’m with them. Free to explore, free to be myself, free to do what I want. The seven alphas give me everything I could ever desire, without making me feel trapped.
I got a good hand. Better than so many others. So should I feel bad that Heather Mastricci had this same hand and lost it? I don’t know. I guess it makes me human to care about someone else’s welfare. But my grandmother is also right – they tried. The Morgans tried to give her a head start on a new life, and Heather just won’t take it.
So life isn’t perfect. The Morgans aren’t perfect. I know that now. They’re gruff and demanding. They’re a bunch of workaholics, obsessed with wealth management and protective of the company they’ve built. And they have a past. Like all complicated human beings, they didn’t spring from the Earth like a blank page. They’ve led full lives, full of good and bad, and I’m a part of that pattern now. The past is the past. I care about how they make me feel, and that’s wanted. Cherished. Cared for.
I’m going to have to get used to the gossip, the looks. There will always be whispers of “slut” or “whore.” Or even horrified looks of, “Seven? At once?”
Women will probably try to lure them away or make me feel ashamed because I’m with seven men, all brothers.
But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I choose them and they choose me. And together, we’ll raise a child that will have an amazing life.
As Patty told me time and time again, life has good parts and tough parts in equal spades, and I’m ready to face all of those with the seven men that I love.
Suddenly, I can’t wait for the billionaires to get home … because I have something special planned.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sam
I get a text from Macy asking me to get my brothers home early for a family meeting. She hasn’t spoken to us in two whole days and just seeing her name on my phone makes my heart jump. I don’t know what the little girl’s been up to, but we’ve been biting our nails, wondering when she’s gonna snap out of it. Imagine that. Seven billionaires asking “how high?” when Macy orders us to jump.
Because she’s something else entirely. Sure, there’s the curvy bod, with the genero
us breasts and constantly wet pussy. But also, it’s her shy smile and the way she’s looks at us from under her lashes while talking. It’s her sexy cooking videos and the delicious food on the table each night. She’s a prize and we all know it.
Because we miss her desperately. These two days have been fucking painful. The brunette was made for us, little Macy Jones from next door. Fuck her stupid family and their moral high-ground. Fuck them for making her feel bad about herself, for calling her a whore. Women have the right to choose what to do with their bodies and that curvy body was made for us. She’s wet and ready all the time and that old bat of a mother of hers probably needs a fire hose to keep that dry snatch lubed.
So yeah, stuff it. We’ll take better care of Macy than any dumbass banker or lawyer or whatever asshole they envisioned her with. They can go fuck themselves.
My brothers and I aren’t particularly gushy or emotional. But we’re not exactly subtle, either. We want what we want and we take it when we want it. But little Macy, she’s under all of our skins. She’s in our heads, taking over our hearts.
In fact, we love her so much that we’re willing to let her figure out what she wants for herself. Sure, we want her in our lives. We want her in our beds. We want her to be the mother of our child. But what is she looking for? Only Macy can say for sure.
And damn Heather for causing these problems. Do I feel bad for her? Of course, but not bad enough that I regret finding Macy. It’s just how the chips lie. I’m a believer that if something’s meant to happen, we can make it happen. And that shit just didn’t take fire with the other woman. It’s not Heather’s fault but, shit, were we just supposed to give up on what we wanted?
Finally, we’re all in the apartment. As usual, Macy has prepared dinner. She’s dressed sweetly, in a pink dress with a v-neck that spills those creamy tits out for full view. I’m pretty sure there are seven hard-ons under the table, straining and achy.
“So,” she says, biting that luscious lower lip of hers, “I’ve called you all here to tell you that I’ve done a lot of soul-searching these past two days.”
“Hold on,” I say, putting up a hand. “First, let me tell you that we support whatever decision you want. We’re not great at sharing feelings and shit, but we need you to know that we love you, Macy. We love you enough to let you go, if that’s what you want.”
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