by Rye Hart
“You have to, Declan,” she said, her eyes were wide and pleading, tears filling them. “I'm not going to live much longer, I know that. I love that little boy, but I know I can't take care of him. He needs somebody who can. Somebody who can do right by him and raise him. He needs you.”
“I'm not exactly father material, Crystal,” I muttered.
I adjusted the child in my arms, and he whimpered. I feared he might start crying – and if he did, then what? I wasn't sure how to handle a screaming baby. I knew nothing about feeding them or changing diapers. I didn't know the first thing about raising a child. I was clueless and afraid. I knew if she made me do this, I'd fuck it all up. I would destroy this kid without meaning to.
I tried handing Jack back to Crystal, but she shook her head.
“No, Declan. I can't. You have your brothers, your entire family,” she said. “They can help you. I have no one. He's better off with you.”
She dropped a bag onto the sidewalk and gave me a wan smile. She turned and took off, running down the street like the devil himself was chasing her. I took a few steps after her but running with a baby in your arms is no small feat. Jack started crying, and I stopped. I stared after Crystal my stomach in knots, no longer seeing her in the distance.
She'd turned a corner and was gone.
I had a son.
I was left standing there with no fucking idea what I was going to do.
~ooo000ooo~
“Fuck, man,” Seth said.
We were sitting in his car and I Jack in my arms. No car seat. Nothing. I was currently staying at Seth's place, sleeping on his couch. I couldn't take a kid back to that shitty apartment riddled with beer bottles, bongs, and trash all over the place. It was a bachelor pad, not a place for kids.
I had nothing for this kid but what Crystal had left me. I had nothing, except for the small diaper bag that had a couple of diapers and bottles, and just one container of formula. That was it. Nor did I have the first clue what I needed to get.
Neither Seth or I knew the first thing about babies, but I knew someone who did.
We were sitting outside of my brother's house. I couldn't recall the last time I'd spoken to either of my brothers. It had probably been at our dad's funeral. I wanted nothing to do with most of my family and what they were caught up in and intentionally kept my distance from them.
But, there I was, out of options.
“Did he ever respond?” Seth asked.
I nodded and looked at my phone. My older brother, Killian, had told me to come on over. I hadn't exactly explained that I had a child with me – my child, no less. I figured I'd leave that talk for when we were face-to-face. It seemed like a conversation better not had over text messaging. I put my phone away and opened the car door.
“Want me to come in?” Seth asked.
“Nah, I got this,” I muttered.
Seth would run through a wall for me, but he looked relieved to not have to come inside for that. He was a good friend, but this was incredibly far outside of his comfort zone. I knew that and didn't blame him. Neither of us had ever mentioned settling down and having kids. It just wasn't something on either of our radars. We enjoyed women – we enjoyed fucking random women a lot.
Fucking was one thing. The idea of having a family with someone one day? Nope. Neither my best friend or I had ever thought that far ahead. Now, suddenly, I had a kid and that changed everything.
Killian lived in a large house – practically a mansion – on the outskirts of Chicago, in the suburbs where the upper middle-class folk tend to live. The two-story house had the front porch light on, and there was light streaming from the front window. He was still up and waiting for me, but the rest of the house was dark and silent. His wife and kids must have been in bed, which was good. Killian's place was your typical upper-middle class home, and nothing about the house would have set off alarm bells for anyone or made them look askance at it. It was your typical McMansion – with faux Victorian accents like the front porch that wrapped around the house, to the grandiose turret on the front side, with the bay window and my brother's office tucked away inside.
I'd been to that house many, many times and was well familiar with all of it. After all, it used to be our father's house. Killian took over most of my father's business, along with help from our brother, Rory. The two of them ran what looked like your typical Irish pub in downtown Chicago. The pub was always booming and brought plenty of money the legal way, sure. It was a good business. But, that had never been enough for my family. They had always yearned for more. Dad had started the family's other business – selling guns and drugs out the back of the pub when we were just young troublemakers knocking around the neighborhood. Now that our father was dead, my brothers controlled the empire. Early on, they'd both tried to get me involved in the family's little criminal empire. They'd pressed me hard, but, I'd declined every single time. I had no desire to live that kind of life.
Killian was the only one who could help me now, though. The only person I knew with kids – who knew anything about kids. He and his wife, Meredith, had raised babies of their own, and he'd done well at it too. They had three little ones – all healthy and doing well in school. My two nephews and a niece. A beautiful little family, just not anything I ever expected to have for myself.
Letting out a long breath, I knocked lightly on the front door, and Killian answered instantly, as if he'd been waiting just on the other side of the door anticipating my knock. He was almost a mirror image of myself – we both had the reddish-brown hair, while Cody somehow ended up with our mother's honey blonde locks. Genetics never made much sense to me, truthfully.
Killian was about half an inch taller than me but had a thinner frame. I was built from all the fighting and working out I did, while Killian was lean. I knew I could take care of myself if it came down to it, but my brother relied on other means of protection.
He also lacked the tattoos that I did, instead choosing a clean-cut, business professional look. His hair was cut short to his head, his face freshly shaven, and even at that hour, was still in nice dress slacks and a button-up shirt, looking as if he'd just stepped out of a meeting with investors. He hardly looked like someone who would own a pub. But, then again, he didn't actually deal with the pub's business nor did he work there personally. He preferred to stay behind the scenes and handle the money.
My own scruffy hair and beard made me look like a vagrant as I stood there next to my brother. My arms were covered in full tattoo sleeves – some of the ink held meaning for me, while some of it was gotten while I'd been incredibly drunk with Seth.
“Long time, no see, brother,” Killian said.
His blue eyes fell on the bundle in my arms, and he cocked an eyebrow. Still, he waited for me to say something.
“Yeah, I know. I'm sorry about that,” I said. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” he said.
He stepped aside and held the door open for me to enter. His gaze never fell off the child in my arms, however, and the light of curiosity shone bright in his eyes.
“And who do we have here?” he asks. “Tell me you aren’t so hard up for cash that you kidnapped a kid for the ransom ?”
While it was meant to be a joke, I was sure, it was hard to take it that way knowing my brother's business sometimes actually did involve kidnapping. I grimaced and looked away.
“No, actually, it's – my kid,” I said, my voice soft.
I pulled the blanket back and showed off the head covered with red hair. Killian let out a deep whistle as he looked at the baby.
“My little brother, Declan O'Shea – a father,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I never thought I'd live to see the day.”
The two of us walked through the foyer and stepped into the living room. Family photos lined the wall and the mantle above the fireplace. A couch, a love seat and several oversized chairs filled the massive room. There was a flat-screen TV tucked away discretely into the wall ab
ove the fireplace, but my brother was rarely one for television. The walls were painted a light blue, very soothing and very comforting, and the furniture was all white. It was hard to imagine having white furniture with three kids, but they must have employed some damn good housekeepers. Either that, or they bought new couches every time one of their kids got it dirty.
Must be nice to have that kind of cash, I thought.
The open floor plan allowed me to see into the dining room, and past that, the kitchen. Large French doors opened to a patio where there was a giant yard, and a pool with a hot tub. The home had everything an upper middle-class family would need. There was a stairwell that led upstairs, to the kid's rooms, and the master bedroom was tucked away on the first floor near the back. Meredith would be sleeping, so I knew we needed to be quiet.
“I only found out about half an hour ago myself,” I muttered.
Jack squirmed in my arms and let out a squeal, the tiniest and most pitiful of sounds and I nearly dropped him in my panic. I had no idea what it meant or what to do about it. I looked up at my brother, feeling my eyes grow wide and my heart thundering in my chest.
“I have no fucking idea what I'm doing,” I admitted.
“I can see that,” Killian said.
He reached out and plucked the child out of my arms, holding him like a pro. Killian smiled down at the tiny bundle, rocking him gently in his arms.
“And what's my nephew's name?”
“Jack,” I said, scratching my head.
“A good, strong name,” he said. “Father would have been happy.”
I groaned inwardly at the mention of my dad. Coming from strong Irish stock, my parents always wanted a big family. They ended up with just us three boys but had no girls. Not that dad thought that was a problem. He just wanted more sons, and later grandsons, to help continue on with the family business.
“He's probably hungry,” Killian said. “Do you have anything to feed him?”
I handed over the diaper bag and let my brother sort through the items. He shook his head and frowned.
“This all she left you with?” he asked.
“Yep. And Crystal took off before I could stop her,” I said, shrugging. “No idea where she's at. She just appeared like a damn ghost, dropped Jack off, and disappeared again. Just like that.”
“Probably for the best, Crystal was always a little – ”
Killian stopped and studied my face. In the past, I knew I'd been pretty defensive whenever somebody brought my former girlfriend up in conversation and wouldn't dare let anyone talk shit about her. Not in front of me.
Things had changed though. In fact, everything had changed.
“Flighty?” I answered for him.
Killian chuckled, a deep, low sound. “Yeah, something like that,” he said, clearly wanting to say something far harsher. “Come on, let's go into the kitchen and make this little man a bottle.”
“Thanks, man,” I said. “You have no idea how much I need you right now.”
“What are brothers for?” he said.
Truthfully, I knew I needed a lot of help. More than just feeding the kid. I had nowhere to go, no bed for him to sleep in. Nothing. Not even a stable job that would let me provide for him. I had nothing to my name, no source of income besides fights every weekend – if Seth could manage to get them booked. Even in the ring though, my pay was decreasing gradually. I wasn't that big of a name anymore, as Tommy had just proven to me.
I needed to do something, and fast, though. Whether I liked it or not, I might have to ask Killian for even more help – help I loathed the idea of taking on. But, I needed to suck it up do what needed to be done for the good of my kid.
At least, until I figured shit out on my own.
CHAPTER TWO
KARA
“Jesus Christ, Dad,” I muttered to myself as I stepped over the pile of beer cans sitting by the couch.
My father was sitting up, but his eyes were closed, and his mouth was hanging open. A rivulet of drool slipped from his mouth and spilled down to his chin. He let out a sudden snore that caused me to jump, startling me, and sent my heart racing. I shook my head and walked over to my father, gently nudging him down to his side. He grumbled and muttered in his sleep as I pulled the ratty blanket he kept at the foot of the couch over him and left him alone.
A line of white powder was on the coffee table, unfinished. Dad had gotten his check today, which meant he'd gone on a binge. Drugs, alcohol; whatever he could get his hands on. The mail was also sitting on the coffee table. I picked it up and sorted through it, grumbling myself when I saw what was probably a shut-off notice from the electric company buried in with it all.
Dad hadn't opened it, he never did look at the bills. He didn't do responsibility very well. I sighed and grabbed the envelope tearing it open, my eyes nearly popping out of my head when I saw the amount owed. It was going to take pretty much every last dime I had on me to keep the lights on.
At least tomorrow was payday, because we needed money to get some food in the house.
“Goodnight, Dad,” I groaned.
My body hurt from working a double. I was thankful for the hours, God knew, I needed them. But, I wasn't so thankful for the pain in my legs and feet. Working twelve hours straight at a bar, where the only breaks when you got gave you just enough time to run to the bathroom for a quick pee and nothing more enough to wear me out and make me hurt from head to toe.
I needed to sleep for at least twelve hours to feel human again, but that never happened. Sleep was a luxury I was not afforded in this life.
Even though I'd just come off a double at the bar, I had to pick up another shift at the diner. It was an afternoon shift, at least, so I wouldn't have to get up super early. It was only a five-hour shift too, which made it more bearable, and the tips were badly needed. Working two jobs, back-to-back, made me feel like I was twice my age already. I wasn't even twenty-five yet, and there I was, struggling to even get through a day without everything on me hurting like hell. I felt like a hunched over old crone, not a girl who was supposed to be in the prime of her life. No, instead of being out, partying with friends, and enjoying my youth, I had to work ungodly hours just to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.
My father snorted in his sleep, and I turned toward him, tamping down the wave of anger that washed over me. I remembered a time when we were a happy family. Loving. That was before Mom died. A part of me held onto the dream that my father would one day find his way out of his own darkness and pain and come back to me. It was the only reason I kept caring for him all this time.
My mom's death had done a number on us both and we both handled our grief in our own ways. Unlike my father, I didn't turn to drugs and booze to numb the pain. To ease my own suffering, I apparently just had to stay busy. To numb my own pain, I worked my ass off, pushing myself until I was exhausted and on the edge of dropping, too tired to even focus on anything but getting through the day.
I opened my bedroom door and stepped inside, kicking my shoes off and stripping my grimy shirt off me. Closing the door behind me, I walked through my bedroom to my dresser, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eyes were ringed by dark circles and my skin seemed extra pale. The eyeliner around my eyes was dark and starting to run.
I normally hated to wear makeup but working it at the bar made it almost mandatory. We had to look sexy – and in the case of certain girls, borderline slutty – in order to earn our tips. We had to doll ourselves up and put ourselves on display, so all the drunks could hit on us, pretending they had a chance to date us, just to keep the booze – and cash – flowing.
I grabbed a makeup removing wipe from my dresser and wiped away all the layers of gunk caked upon my skin. When I looked at it, I grimaced, as the wipe was mostly black from mascara and eyeliner. It looked darker than a piece of coal by the time I threw it away, but at least, the face looking back at me in the mirror looked more like my actual self.
The
face looking back at me was something I was more comfortable with, at least. I stared into my large brown eyes and at the chocolate brown hair that fell in waves around my face and shoulders. I looked a lot like my mom these days, and as much as it hurt me to see her face staring back at me in the mirror, it also made me proud.
My mother had been a beautiful woman – easily one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. I thought to look like her at all was a good thing.
I wiggled out of my short black skirt and left it on the floor near the dresser. I'd pick it up later, I was too tired to take it to the laundry room tonight. I was going to have wash it tomorrow to have it ready for my next shift. At least I didn't have to work at the bar tomorrow since they were closed. Thank God for Sundays.
I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Slipping into my comfy clothes always made me feel better, more at peace with the world. I desperately needed a shower, but my body craved rest first. Working the last seven days straight, some days up to twelve hours, had taken its toll on me. I was sure I smelled, and I definitely felt grimy, but I was about to drop from exhaustion, and besides, it's not like I was trying to impress anybody. I flipped off the light, crawled into bed, and collapsed, letting out a groan and feeling a rush of pleasure that rivaled any orgasm I'd ever had.
Even laying down though, my body ached all over. The pleasure of finally getting off my feet didn't last, as my legs cramped up on me. I stretched them out, tossed, turned, and couldn't get comfortable. I was beyond eager to fall asleep but was in too much physical pain to do so. Rolling over onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling and let out a frustrated growl.
This was my life now. Once upon a time, I'd had dreams of going to college. I had thoughts of being more than just a bartender or waitress. But, there I was doing both just to survive with no way out of that rat race in sight.
All just to keep my father alive.
