by Chloe Walsh
"Oh, please," he countered with a wave of his little hand. "You have no power over me. Dad left the reins to Lucky." Smirking, he added, "And Lucky loves me. He would never ground me, right, Luck?"
"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Casey, ever the wise one, interjected.
"Oh?" Cash turned his glare on his twin brother. "And why is that?"
"Because he loves Hope the most," Casey replied, and his words caused my heart to jackknife in my chest. I looked at Hunter for some sort of divine intervention, but all he did was wink back at me. He was laughing at my brothers and thoroughly enjoying the conversation unfolding between them. "It's so obvious," Casey continued, scooping up a spoonful of cereal. "Right, Luck?" he asked, looking up at him with his big blue eyes.
I watched as Hunter tried to smother his laughter before saying, "I love all of you guys."
"See," Cash scoffed. "He loves all of us, Case."
"Whatever," Casey muttered with a shake of his head. "I still say he loves her most."
"That's gross, Case," Cash grumbled. "Lucky doesn’t love girls. He's cool."
"They smooched," Casey shot back. "I saw them."
"We did not smooch!" I blurted out, red-faced and mortified.
"Smooched," Hunter snorted.
"You're not helping," I hissed.
"Smooched," he repeated, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.
"You did too smooch," Casey countered calmly. "I saw you."
"When?" I gaped in horror at my baby brother. "When did you ever see me and Lucky smooch?"
"At Mom and Dad's Halloween party last year," Casey replied innocently. He turned his attention to Cash and said, "He was in her bedroom, and you know what Colton said?"
Cash paled and nodded grimly. "Girls invite you in their room when they want to smooch." He looked at Hunter with an expression of disgust. "You kissed my sister? That's fucking gross, dude."
"Watch your language, Cash Carter," I hissed, flustered, as I desperately tried to plot my way out of this one.
"I've got this," Hunter interjected, saving me. "Boys, did Colton ever explain to you that boys and girls can be friends without – dear god, I can't believe I'm saying this – smooching?"
Both Cash and Casey looked at Hunter like he was talking a foreign language. "No," they said in unison, shaking their identical little heads.
"Of course, he didn’t," Hunter muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. "Do you have a best friend at school?" he asked then. "A friend you like spending time with? Someone who makes you happy and you want to be around all the time?"
Both boys nodded.
"Well, your sister is my best friend," Hunter explained, and again, my heart jackknifed in my chest. "And I was in her room that night because we like to hang out together." He looked over at me and smiled. "She makes me happy."
Casey nodded, seemingly mollified by Hunter's explanation, but Cash continued to gape in horror. "But she's so boring," he stated. "And a girl!"
"Boys and girls can be friends, too, Cash," I heard myself say, jumping on the friendship bandwagon. It was so much easier to explain away. "Girls can make great friends, too, you know."
"Ugh," Cash muttered with a shake of his head. "Rather you than me."
"Come and say that to me in about eight years, kid," Hunter said with a grin before hopping down from the table.
He walked over to where I was standing and inclined his head towards the door.
Wordlessly, I followed him outside.
"Your father called me late last night," Hunter announced in a low and oddly serious tone when I joined him on the porch. "Your grandfather's sick and his attorney applied for a probation hearing based on compassionate terms."
"Compassionate terms?" I gaped. "David Henderson doesn’t have a compassionate bone in his body."
"For what it's worth, I agree with you," Hunter replied. "But apparently, the man's dying with cancer and the court approved his application for early probation." Shrugging, he added, "Your Mom and Dad have gone up there to fight it. Derek went with them."
Pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, Hunter lit up a cigarette and took a drag before saying, "They didn’t want to worry you or your brothers with this, so they called me to come and stay with the boys." He exhaled a puff of smoke and said, "Your uncle's flying in from England to support your father's objection to the appeal."
I gaped. "Uncle Mike is coming home for this?"
He nodded.
"What about Noah?" I asked. "He's David's son, too."
Illegitimate, but still.
"Noah doesn’t know anything about it," Hunter said. "Your father wants him protected from this just as much as you guys."
"Oh god, this is bad, Hunter," I muttered, pressing my fingers to my temples as I tried to comprehend what I had just learned. "My grandfather is a very bad man."
I didn’t remember the last time I'd seen my biological grandfather, Dad had kept him away from us when we were little, but I knew all about the day he and Noah's mother, Kelsie Mayfield, kidnapped me from my crib and held me ransom.
Even thinking about it caused me to shiver violently.
My father had given up everything that day to keep me safe and protect my mother. He had signed over the hotels and his money… everything!
The boys might not remember the struggles and poverty of our youth, but I did.
I remembered it all.
How hard Dad worked, juggling a dozen jobs a day just to keep a roof over our heads, and it had been all David Henderson's fault.
I remembered the midnight hushed conversations between my parents, and the countless nights my father sat at our kitchen table and worried himself to death about the overflowing pile of bills he couldn’t keep up with.
As a child, I remembered looking at my dad and thinking he was the one who hung the moon. This big, strong, invincible giant of a man who could keep me safe from everything.
It was only in the dark of the night, when I crept out of bed to listen at my parents' bedroom door, that I would realize my father was human. The sound of him crying in my mother's arms had stuck with me for many years. Or when my brother got sick, and we didn’t have the money for his wheelchair.
That was all on David fucking Henderson.
My dad worked so hard to win back everything that had been stolen from him.
I was just shy of thirteen years old when my grandfather was finally sent to prison for the crimes he had committed against my family. I had always assumed he would die in there.
Evidently not.
Shaking my head, I staggered a little, feeling completely overwhelmed. "If that man is released, he's going to come looking for us." Anxiety churned inside of me as reality hit me like a wrecking ball. "He's going to try and seek revenge against my father."
"Let him try," Hunter shot back. "He won't get far."
"You don’t understand," I urged, trembling now. "You think JD Dennis was bad? My grandfather is twice as smart and ten times more ruthless."
"Hope –"
"I'm serious," I choked out. "If they let him out…" I flinched, unable to cope with the fear growing inside of me. "He's a cancer on our family, and he won't stop until he destroys everything my father has!"
Everything bad that had ever happened to my parents had been at the hands or the orders of that man.
My mother had been shot because of him.
My father, stabbed.
My aunt Camryn was in the ground because of him.
Because he'd twisted and manipulated Rachel Grayson into a weapon of mass freaking destruction…
I either hadn't realized Hunter had moved, or I had been too consumed in my thoughts to notice, but when his arms came around my body, I felt myself sag against him.
The strength of his arms comforted me.
Having him close, and knowing just how capable he was of keeping me safe, settled the anxiety in my heart.
He was bare chested, with a cigarette poki
ng out of his mouth, and all I wanted to do was cling to his strength and have him never let me go.
"Nothing's going to happen to you," he whispered. "The boys aren’t the only ones your father asked me to keep an eye on."
"What are you saying? He asked you to babysit me, too?"
"He asked me to keep you safe," he corrected, tone soothing, as he held me tight. "And I told him I would. With my life."
I believed him.
Every word.
It was more than just believing him; I trusted him.
With everything I had.
I didn’t need to ask him to promise, because it wouldn’t matter.
He had made it very clear that I was important to him, and in this crazy and unpredictable world, it was comforting to know I was in the arms of a man who was strong and brave and equally as wild as the shit that was thrown at us.
It was when I was wrapped up in his arms that I realized why my father entrusted his youngest sons into Hunter's care.
He was a solider.
An unlikely one, but a solider nevertheless.
"I need to call my parents," I announced, breaking away from the hug I had been enjoying far too much for my own good. "I need to find out what's happening."
"Okay," he replied calmly. "Do you want to come back inside to do it?"
Yes! "No, you've got everything under control here." Shaking my head, I took a safe step away from him and forced a smile. "I'm going to go. If you need help with the boys, you know my number." Having said that, I swung around and hurried down the porch steps towards my truck.
I needed to get away from here.
Away from Thirteenth Street.
"HC?" Hunter called out when I reached my truck.
Reluctantly, I swung around to face him. "Yeah?"
He was frowning at me, like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite work out. "It's going to be okay, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," I agreed, forcing a smile. "No judge in their right mind would let that man into the world again." I didn’t believe it, though. He was smart and cunning and manipulative enough to sway even the most righteous of men.
"True," Hunter agreed, brows still furrowed. "But I wasn’t talking about him." He flicked his cigarette away and rested his hands on his hips, his beautiful face still etched with concern. "I've got your back. In everything."
"Thanks," I whispered, swallowing down the huge lump that was forming in my throat. "I appreciate it."
Jordan
"I don’t how you can trust me to be around him," I muttered, several hours later, as I bounced Ryder on my knee. "I'm a train wreck waiting to happen."
That was the understatement of the century.
Our trashed living room was a prime example of how erratic I could be.
If it weren't for Annabelle returning when she had, the chances of the rest of the house remaining unscathed were low.
"What you are," Annabelle countered heatedly. "Is a good man." She leaned across the table and covered my hand with hers. "I see you, Jordan Porter," she added, blue eyes locked on my face. "I see the compassionate, decent, wonderful person you bury deep down inside." She released my hand and leaned back in her chair. "And so does he." She inclined her head to where Ryder was grinning up at me. The sight of him, so innocent and perfect, caused the ice around my heart to melt.
I loved that baby from the minute he came into the world and the doctor's placed him in my arms. I'd made a vow to him that day; a vow to protect him from all of the horrible shit in life that I hadn't been protected from. I made a vow to his mother, too. A vow to always be there for them both.
Honestly, I wouldn’t be sitting in this kitchen tonight if it hadn't been for Annabelle Walker; my therapist turned best friend. She'd been saving my life from the day she walked into it. And even today, when I had fucked up beyond repair, she waded in and helped me make sense of things. She made me see things clearly. I wasn’t able to do that on my own sometimes. I got lost in my head a lot. She was always the one to draw me back out, and guide me back to reality.
"Do you know what you're going to say to her?" Annabelle asked.
I shook my head, at a loss. "Figured I'll start with sorry and go from there."
"Sorry is a good a place as any to start," she replied with a smile. "And flowers. They're good, too."
"I'm so damn mad at her," I admitted, locking eyes with her. "I trusted her and she went running with my secrets." I shook my head and released a shaky breath. "Makes it impossible for me –"
"To trust her again?"
"Yeah." I exhaled heavily. "Impossible to trust her again and thankful I didn't trust her enough to tell her …" I broke off, unable to put into words what Annabelle already knew.
"Jay," she sighed. "Hope's young and green. She didn’t mean to hurt you. She probably didn’t even realize how badly you would take it. You've said it yourself, she's led a sheltered life. But she loves you. She's here and she's trying, and she really does love you."
"I didn’t want her family knowing," I bit out. "I don’t want to see that look in their eyes every goddamn time I see them." That's what would happen now. I was sure of it. That's what always happened.
"I guess you have a choice to make," Annabelle said after a long pause. "Try and move past this with your wife, or go back ten steps and continue to live your life in the shadows."
"You know I want to be with her," I choked out. "More than anything."
"Then be with her, Jord," Annie shot back, tone thick with emotion. "Just be with her!"
"Just like that, huh?" I whispered, then shook my head. "You know it's not that easy for me."
"I do know it's not easy for you," she agreed. "But guess what? Hope knows that, too. And she's still willing to fight for you. So, the question is, are you willing, Jordan? Are you willing to fight for her?"
Chapter Forty-Four
HOPE
When I let myself inside Jordan's house later that evening, I was surprised to find the place in pristine condition. Seriously, there wasn’t a book out of place.
Confused, I trailed into the living room, searching for evidence of our earlier argument, and couldn’t find any.
With the exception of the missing television and the dent in the wall from where he'd thrown it, it looked as if nothing had happened.
Feeling depressed and anxious, I padded upstairs to our room and slipped inside. Whipping off my clothes, I pulled on one of Jordan's t-shirts before sinking down on the bed and grabbing my phone to dial my father's number.
It rang three times before his familiar voice came down the line in the form of a clipped one-word answer, "Carter."
"Dad," I whispered, gnawing on my bottom lip. "It's me."
"Hope." His voice noticeably softened then. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
"Yeah." I kicked my shoes off my feet and sat cross-legged on the middle of the bed. "But I'm not sure you are."
Dad was quiet for a few moments before exhaling a frustrated breath. "Fucking Lucky," he grumbled. "What did he tell you?"
"Everything," I admitted hoarsely.
"Of course, he did," Dad muttered. "Sunk, son of a bitch."
"Is it true, Dad?" I asked, hating the way my voice wobbled. "Is David getting out?"
"Not while I've got air in my lungs," Dad shot back angrily. "You've got nothing to worry about, Angel. I've got the court tied up in so much red tape it's gonna take them weeks to sort through."
"And when they do?" I breathed. "Sort through the red tape. What happens if he gets out?"
Dad was silent then and his silence only encouraged the anxiety rising inside of me.
"Dad?"
"I'm doing everything I can to stop that from happening," he replied, his tone a weary sigh. "I'm trying real fucking hard to fix this, Hope. For your mother… and for all of you."
"This isn’t your fault, Dad," I shot back heatedly. "You didn’t choose him to be your sperm-donor."
Because that's all David Henderson was to my
father.
A sperm donor.
My Dad had grown up in foster care. He was tossed into the system at the age of three when his mother committed suicide. He was an orphan.
We were the only family he had ever known, and he protected us like our lives depended on it. And sometimes, they did…
"He can't hurt her anymore, Dad," I heard myself say, desperate to comfort him. I knew what was going through his head. It was the same thing that always went through his mind.
My mother.
"Lucky said he's dying of cancer. He'll be dead soon."
"Not soon enough," Dad bit out.
"No," I agreed sadly, knowing it was a horrible thing to wish on anyone, but wishing it all the same. "Not soon enough."
"All this pain because of Frank Henderson's inheritance," I half-laughed, half-sobbed, wondering if my great-grandfather had realized the trouble that would befall on my father when he left him everything in his will all those years ago.
"Do me a favor, Hope," Dad said then, drawing my thoughts back to the present.
"Anything," I promised.
"Don’t let on to your mother or brothers that you know any of this…" he paused and I heard him exhale heavily down the line before saying, "She's not sleeping again, and when she does, she wakes up screaming. I don’t need the boys losing their heads and running into this all guns blazing. Your mother has enough on her mind without worrying about them, too."
Oh god.
"The nightmares are back?"
"With a vengeance."
My heart sank, and all my earlier irritation towards my mother evaporated into thin air.
"She's struggling," Dad added, voice torn and laced with pain. "She's been blaming herself for what happened to Jordan. It's been eating her up, and now this?" He exhaled another heavy sigh. "I need to keep her –"
"Safe," I filled in, already knowing what he was about to say.
"Yeah," Dad agreed. "And life isn’t exactly working in my favor right now."
"I won't say a word, Dad. I promise."
"You're okay, though, right?" he asked then. "You're dealing with… everything?"
