Daddy's Baby

by Landis Lain

  Daddy’s Baby © 2016 by Landis Y. Lain

  Brown Girls Books, LLC

  www.BrownGirlsBooks.com

  ISBN Ebook: 978-1-944359-34-8

  ISBN Print: 978-1-944359-44-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.

  First Brown Girls Publishing LLC trade printing

  Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It is reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.

  Table of Contents

  August – Two Months Later

  Damon

  SASHA

  SEPTEMBER

  BRIELLE

  DAMON

  Sasha

  Brielle

  Damon

  Sasha

  Brielle

  Sasha

  Damon

  Sasha

  Brielle

  Sasha

  October

  Damon and Brielle

  Sasha

  Brielle

  Damon

  Brielle

  Damon

  Sasha

  Damon

  Brielle

  Sasha

  Damon

  Sasha

  Brielle

  October

  Brielle

  Damon

  Brielle

  Sasha

  Damon and Brielle

  November

  Sasha

  Damon

  Sasha

  Brielle

  Damon

  Damon

  December

  Sasha

  Damon

  Brielle

  Damon

  Sasha

  Brielle

  Damon

  Sasha

  Damon

  Damon

  Brielle

  Brielle

  Damon

  Brielle

  Sasha

  Damon

  Brielle

  January

  Damon

  Brielle

  Damon

  Damon and Sasha

  Damon and Ricky

  February

  Damon and Brielle

  Brielle

  March

  Damon

  April

  Brielle

  Damon

  Sasha

  Brielle

  Damon

  Damon

  Damon

  May

  Sasha and Damon

  Brielle

  Brielle

  Brielle

  June

  Brielle and Damon

  Gasping for breath in the grip of a maniac was a terrible way to end a school day. If he could have squeezed enough oxygen into his asthmatic lungs to get to his brain, Damon Hamilton would have had just that thought. He was slowly dying from lack of breath and fear so his thoughts were tattered and flickering like a broken neon sign.

  “Stay away from my woman!”

  One second Damon was meandering down the hallway of Lansing Southern High School, open book in one hand, engrossed in the wonders of Greek Mythology. The next, Craig “Dragon Dog” Frazier had him slammed up against the locker, elbow jammed against Damon’s Adam’s apple and a knife blade pressed to his belly. Students scattered like Damon’s books, except the students disappeared with the class bell and the books were on the hallway floor. Gold wire rimmed glasses were knocked off his face. Through his hazy vision Damon could see several Death Lord Gang members hang back, not involving themselves in the altercation, and making sure nobody else did either.

  “Punk! You been talking to my woman,” said Craig, spraying spit.

  The Dragon’s snarling lips were so close that Damon could feel hot breath and the droplets of warm spit run down his cheek. He moved only his eyes. Damon had read some place that showing teeth or moving suddenly in the animal kingdom was some sort of threatening gesture. Since he was definitely dealing with a new species of sub human in Craig Frazier, Damon didn’t want to do anything to spook him.

  “She says she in love with you.”

  Taken individually, Craig’s hard-planed features shouldn’t have been so menacing. Café au lait skin covered an aquiline nose and full lips. Somehow, the features converged into a mean reptile face, mouth surrounded by a bristly five o’clock shadow that brushed ever-so-slightly against Damon’s smooth cheek.

  “Who?” Damon mumbled. “I don’t even know your woman.”

  Wild with fear, Damon could feel the stiletto sharp point of the knife touching his ribs through his shirt. Although Craig was slightly shorter, he was at least two years older, strong and thick. He also liked to fight and was as vicious as a komodo dragon, intent on protecting his territory. Gossip had it that Craig had been kicked out of every other school in the city.

  “You want to talk to my new lady? Do it now,” said Craig. Damon cut his eyes to the girl standing in the hall in front of him.

  “Craig,” said the girl, in a high, distressed voice. “Stop it. All he did was say hi. It wasn’t about nothing.”

  “I thought you said you was in love with him,” said Craig, still spitting as he talked. Damon didn’t raise his hand to wipe the side of his face. He turned his head slightly and met Craig’s eyes.

  “I only said he was cute, baby,” said Sherry.

  “Your observation is about to get your boy here gutted,” said the Dragon. “You want to see that Sherry, baby?”

  “No, please, don’t,” said Sherry.

  “Sasha used to be my woman,” murmured Craig. “You like a brother’s sloppy seconds, huh?”

  “Naw, man,” said Damon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Craig was seriously crazy.

  “I kicked her to the curb,” said Craig. “If I want her back, she’s mine. Once my property, always mine.”

  “All right,” said Damon. Sasha was history, what did he care?

  “You get one warning,” said Craig. “You understand?”

  “Yeah,” said Damon, feeling his chest tighten ominously.

  In desperation, he grabbed Craig’s hand to drag it away from the chokehold at his neck. He wheezed in. Where was school security when you needed them? MIA, that’s where.

  “Craig,” said Sherry. “He can’t breathe. Let him go.”

  “That means don’t speak to her, at all,” said Craig, mean piggy eyes narrowed to slits.

  “It won’t happen again.” Damon hated himself for begging but fear made it impossible to do anything else.

  Damon knew that Sherry was kicking it with Craig because he was always manhandling her in the hallways. He stopped short of actually hitting her, but did a lot of looming and grabbing her arm. Damon hated to watch it but would never intervene. Sherry could tell that he’d felt sorry for her, because sometimes, when she thought Craig wasn’t looking, she’d give Damon a small, sad smile. Everybody in school knew how ruthless Craig Frazier was. She continued to beg Craig to be reasonable.

  Just when Damon thought that Craig was going to actually stab him, one of Craig’s boys yelled, “Yo, man, Five-O.”

  Everybody scattered, like a fan cutting through smoke. Pressure on his throat was abruptly gone. Damon dropped to his knees. Tears of relief welled. He fumbled in his back pocket for his inhaler and took two puffs, dragging in ragged breaths. He stuffed the inhaler back into his pocket. He ignored the come-lately security guard w
ho asked him if he was okay. Seething with humiliation and rage, Damon gathered up his books. He found his undamaged glasses – OMG, mama would be ticked if I broke another pair - and scrubbed the side of his spit and tear stained face with the back of his hand. He stumbled out of Southern High School for the last time.

  August – Two Months Later

  Damon

  The stalker and the death threat made him decide to change schools. New school. Fresh start. New attitude.

  Damon smiled a blinding white smile at his reflection in the mirror as he walked by on the way out of the bathroom into his bedroom. Braces were a seriously fabulous invention. He’d had his removed this summer and still wasn’t used to his gleaming white smile. A scant year and a half ago he was a walking cliché. A fourteen-year-old bona fide big footed, four-eyed, bracket mouthed, scrawny, asthmatic bookworm geek. Nobody noticed him.

  At sixteen, according to his mother, Damon ate a steak, got rained on, and the next morning a body snatcher had replaced her baby boy. He catalogued his features. His smooth, muscular chest topped very respectable broad shoulders. Tightly curled brown hair, smooth teak coloring, full lips with just a little dirt growing above to show that he was a maturing young man, long nose with slightly flared nostrils and slanted hazel eyes that girls seemed to go nuts for. But to Damon, it was just a face.

  “Get out of the mirror, butthead.”

  Barely dressed in boxer shorts and sleeveless t-shirt, Damon whirled around, and groaned. His little sister, Jada held the bedroom door in a half open, half closed position.

  Damon grabbed a pair of jeans off his bed and held them in front of him.

  “Can’t you ever knock?” he snapped.

  “I saw it all before in the bathtub when we were little. You haven’t changed much,” said Jada, in a bored tone of voice. She leaned against the door frame.

  “Get out of here.”

  “Mama said hurry up.”

  “I don’t know why I need to go,” he said. “I’m not some little kid. All she’s going to do is get what she wants anyway. We’ll be out shopping all day. I already bought my stuff.”

  “Did you tell that to Mama?” she asked.

  “No,” said Damon. “You tell her for me.”

  “I’m not your messenger,” said Jada.

  “You get on my nerves,” said Damon, with narrowed eyes.

  “I guess I couldn’t get through life if I cared,” said Jada. “By the way, some girl called for you?”

  “Who?” asked Damon.

  “How am I supposed to know?” Jada replied. “She had the nerve to ask me, ‘who is you?’”

  “Who is you?” asked Damon, frowning. “Did she call on the house phone?”

  “Nah,” said Jada with a smirk. “Your cell.”

  “Why were you answering my cell?” Damon asked, ticked.

  Jada rolled her eyes. “You left it in the kitchen. The mindless ghetto head was blowing it up all day, so Mama said to answer it.”

  “Oh,” said Damon. He was not about to tangle with his mother about answering his phone. She didn’t believe anybody had the right to privacy in her house. She was also the champion of the straight arm and body block take down when she got ticked off.

  “What did you say to her?”

  “I told her that I was your sister. She called me a liar,” said Jada. “I told her not to call back until she got some manners.”

  Damon groaned.

  “I don’t know why they like your weird behind, anyway,” said Jada.

  She stomped off down the hall. Damon pulled the jeans over his boxers and padded in bare feet down the hallway to the kitchen to pick up his phone. He scrolled through his calls and found thirty-four from Shawn. He’d been at a party with Stump and Ephraim when she’d walked up and programmed her number into his phone. He called her once. Shawn didn’t pick up. Damon hadn’t been interested enough to pursue her.

  Damon looked up as his oldest friend Ephraim opened the side door and stumbled in the doorway.

  “Man, get your clumsy behind together!” The deep baritone voice belonged to his second oldest friend, Stump.

  “Sorry,” said Ephraim, righting his tall slender body.

  Stump pushed Ephraim the rest of the way through the door and came in, closing the door behind him.

  “Was’sup, D?”

  “Nada,” said Damon. “Getting ready for the first day of school tomorrow.”

  “So, you ready?” asked Ephraim. Ephraim was a worrier. They all knew about the Dragon Dog situation. Staying out of the gang’s way was not that easy in a small city like Lansing.

  “Man, it’s just a new school, not the army,” scoffed Stump. He grabbed Damon’s phone out of his hand, squinting at the name and number.

  “So, who is Shawn?” he asked.

  Damon shook his head and turned to walk back down the hallway to his bedroom, his friends trailing.

  “Whoa! Shawn called thirty-four times, man?” said Stump, his tone incredulous.

  Ephraim snorted. “Only your pretty behind would have a babe blowing up your phone like that.”

  Damon rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

  Stump said, “Damon should write a book and call it ‘Stalker Girls Never Keep A Man,’”

  They all laughed. Damon grabbed the phone from Stump. He thought about Sasha in a moment of déjà vu, shuddered and deleted Shawn’s calls and blocked her number. Shawn was starting out on the same wrong foot that Sasha had ended.

  “Maybe we can write the book together,” said Ephraim.

  “Yeah, you can write the pitiful dude trying to get a babe chapter,” joked Stump. He shuffled over to the bed and sat down on it. Then he leaned back against the pillows and surveyed the other two.

  Ephraim suggested, “D-, you should start with the break-up chapter because you did it so ruthless.”

  “Not happening,” said Damon.

  “Man, you totally messed over that girl and she still came crawling back,” said Ephraim, dragging the desk chair around backwards and straddling it. “Much respect.”

  Damon sighed. “Naw, I tried to be nice but she wouldn’t take the hint.”

  “You think?” asked Stump. “Weren’t you still hitting it?”

  “Dude,” said Damon. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”

  That was his father’s mantra and Damon trotted it out, even though his boys knew the whole story.

  “You know a gentleman?” asked Stump.

  “It wasn’t like that,” protested Damon.

  “Oh, yeah, it was,” said Ephraim. “She was still crying and begging to get with you even after you told her to be gone.”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” said Damon. “She was crazy and the whole situation freaked me out after a while.”

  “I used to be kind of jealous of the way girls come at you, man,” said Stump, “but some of them are straight up nuts.”

  “I don’t see you turning anybody down,” said Ephraim.

  “You know this,” said Stump, and laughed.

  They fist bumped, but Damon knew that Stump had a girlfriend who he had been with since they’d been in diapers and wasn’t nearly the player that he liked to pretend he was. Damon was a player by default. Ephraim fell in love every other week with a different girl who usually wouldn’t give him the time of day.

  Stump suggested that one of them should design some underwear that served as anti-stalker wear and would buzz whenever the wearer got within ten feet of a girl who had stalker potential. They spent the next few minutes laughing and coming up with ridiculous suggestions on how to detect a stalker.

  Finally, Ephraim said, “Nobody but Damon needs that stuff. He’s the one who attracts the Fatal Attraction types.” His voice rose in a cracking falsetto.

  “Oooh, Damon, you so fine.” He batted his eyelashes.

  Damon smacked him on the side of the head. Ephraim retaliated with a punch to the ribs and they wrestled for a few minutes before Damon’s mother
yelled down the hall to knock it the heck off before they broke the furniture. Smothering laughter, they moved on to the newest video games.

  To be in pimp status one had to be fly. Toeing the invisible line of cool rules was crucial for junior year. All decisions had the potential to make or break a sister’s reputation. Fall short of the latest trend and be relegated to the world of nerds and dweebs. Stumble across the line and become an outcast, may as well hang with the Goths and meth heads. And since Brielle Bronson was six feet one, wore a size eleven shoe and had very long monkey toes to boot, according to her less attractive twin sister Kyzie, (at least in Brielle’s opinion) she had to be very careful indeed. Hence the last minute wardrobe enhancement shopping trip. She and her sister Kyzie had been out all day long and were finishing up by looking for school supplies.

  “What color binder are you getting?” asked Kyzie.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Brielle was standing in Target, looking at all of the different loose-leaf binders that lined the shelves in front of her. She had a red basket dangling over her left arm filled with other supplies and was staring down at her school supply list.

  “I was thinking about purple, but then I’d have to look for all purple notebooks and they’re hard to find. Then I thought maybe turquoise, but that’s a hard color to match-,”

  “Aw, forget it,” said Kyzie, in disgust. “Only you would make a major production out of picking a loose leaf binder. We’ve been shopping all day. I’m tired.”

  “Well, I have to carry this for the whole year,” said Brielle. “It should coordinate with most of my new outfits.”

  “Hello,” said Kyzie, waving a hand in front of Brielle’s face. “They are school supplies, not a fashion statement.” She, too, had a basket over her arm and was indiscriminately grabbing the first notebook or pencil she came to that fulfilled her class requirements.

  Brielle cast her sister a look of acute dislike.

  “Like I’d listen to you,” said Brielle. “Goths have better taste.”

  Kyzie looked down at her black Capri pants, grey and white Michigan State tee shirt, and black and green polka dot ballet flats. Her natural hair was twisted in the front and pulled into a simple bun on top of her head. “My taste is eclectic and stylish.”

  “Yeah, if you are from the planet Pluto,” said Brielle, and turned her attention back to the shelves of binders.