The men are silent then. What are they going to say?
But no words come. Instead, they merely look at me, contemplative, blue eyes taking in everything.
Oh god, have I miscalculated? Have I thrown the best thing that ever happened to me away? And all on the word of a sick girl?
But I had to say it. I had to tell them the truth, that I don’t know what’s going to happen now. And turning to the side, my shoulders hunch, taking the steps one by one like a frail old lady.
Because the Morgans’ spell is already cast, writhing and twisting with devilish green light. If I don’t get a dose of goodness, a fresh shot of vitality and energy, I’m gonna end up just like Heather. Dead to the world. A pale, waxen figure, with raccoon eyes and a mind living in the past.
I won’t let that happen to me, I refuse. But what next? I’m a teen girl living in a luxury apartment with seven men. They pay all my bills. I’ve dropped out of college, my parents barely talk to me anymore. I’m caught in their web, and there’s no escape. Slowly, my limbs move into bed, arms and legs stiff, soul numb.
Because I love them still. I crave their bodies, the incredible energy that emanates from the alpha males. So it’s hard to reconcile what I witnessed today with the powerful billionaires. Or maybe that’s the thing. They’re powerful billionaires because of their innate ruthlessness, the way they take what’s theirs with no mercy.
And turning my face into the pillow, hot tears begin to roll, staining my cheeks before dropping wetly into the soft cloth. Because I love the brothers so much … and yet there’s no path forwards now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Macy
The boys are gone for the day by the time I manage to talk myself out of bed. There are no notes of apology. No flowers. Not that I’d have expected any. These are the Morgan brothers, so I don’t expect them to act like awkward teen boys, tripping over their feet. But still, it would be nice.
Hauling myself out of bed, my feet stumble downstairs. I’m a mess for sure, and decide to make some scrambled eggs to start the day. The runny yolk always makes me hungry, but this time, the opposite happens. Looking at the dark yellow slime, my stomach heaves and then bleeeeech! Vomit splatters in the sink, green and brown and ugly. Oh god, oh god. It must be true. I must be pregnant.
After some dry toast and a ginger ale, I haul on some sweats. There’s no sense in hanging out here any longer. I’m not gonna cook, I’m just going to mope and drive myself to new levels of confusion, locked in this beautiful apartment. So instead, I drive myself to Grandma Patty’s house.
As usual, the old woman takes one look at the bird’s nest on my head, the sleepless, haunted eyes, and sits me on her petite floral sofa with the lumpy stuffing.
“What’s wrong honey?” she says, stroking my curls. “What’s wrong?”
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.
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