by Jenika Snow
The Arrangement
A Real Man
Jenika Snow
THE ARRANGEMENT (A REAL MAN)
By Jenika Snow
www.JenikaSnow.com
[email protected]
Copyright © April 2020 by Jenika Snow
First ebook edition © April 2020 by Jenika Snow
Cover design by: Lori Jackson Design
Content Editor: Kayla Robichaux
Image provided by: Adobe Stock
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This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
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Contents
Synopsis
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
About the Author
Lenora
He hated me.
I loved him.
I had feelings for Beckham for so long it was a part of me now. But because his father married my mother, I knew there was no chance of us ever being together. We couldn’t cross that line. I wouldn’t for fear of ruining our relationship.
But then my mother betrayed his father, destroying our family and ripping Beckham from me.
Hurtful things were said, things that broke my heart.
I never thought I’d see him again. It was an unmeasurable pain.
And six months later, I found myself having to turn to him, the man I loved.... the man who hated me.
He agreed to let me stay with him until I was on my feet again. But what arrangement did he have in mind? What did he want as payment?
Beckham
She thought I hated her.
She couldn’t be further from the truth.
I was so in love with her that no one else mattered. But I screwed that up in one moment of pain, in one second of hurt.
It wasn’t even her fault, but I’d taken it out on Lenora. And I regretted it every day since. I wanted to call her so many times. I’d driven by her house like a stalker, wanting to talk to her, to beg for forgiveness.
But now was my time to make things right.
Now was my chance to prove to her I’d do whatever it took to have her forgive me... to have her love me too.
Chapter One
Lenora
I wondered if I was making the biggest damn mistake of my life. But desperation had people doing crazy shit, and moving in with my stepbrother, the one I’d wanted since the first day his father married my mother and he joined my family, was pretty high on the list of insane shit.
The cab pulled up in front of the house, and all I could do was sit there looking at the small two-story structure, wondering if I could have gone another route. I hadn’t spoken to Beckham in almost six months—well, hadn’t talked to him up until I called him last month and all but begged for his help.
Jobless, nearly penniless, and refusing to call my mother for help, I knew he was the only other person I could rely on.
My life had gone down the shit drain, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Months ago, our parents divorced when it was revealed that mother had a longstanding affair with one of her students at the university. I’d never seen hatred from Beckham before, but that day... I’d seen pure rage from him reflected toward my mom, and me as well.
Like I had something to do with it.
But I supposed I might have felt the same way if the roles had been reversed, angry that our family unit had been broken up by infidelity, that a broken home was our story now.
So I got it, and that’s why it had been so hard for me to call Beckham and ask for help, to see if I could stay with him until I got my shit in order.
Did he still project his anger at me because of what my mother had done, how she’d shown no remorse over her actions? A part of me hated her for that too, and that’s why I’d barely spoken to her since… because she truly didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.
“Miss?”
I glanced over at the driver. He was staring at me, this expectant look on his face, the unspoken “can you get the fuck out of my car?” expression on his face pretty loud.
He was probably wondering what in the hell my problem was, why I was just sitting here staring at my destination and not getting out of his damn car.
I reached in my pocket and grabbed my money, giving him what I owed and climbing out. He popped the trunk, not even bothering to help me with my bag, and as soon as I grabbed it and closed the door, he was driving off, leaving me there to face this myself. I looked at the house again, my heart in my throat.
As I stood there for long moments just staring at Beckham’s house, a part of me wanted to just turn around and start walking, to not look back, to not worry about what all this meant. I replayed the last thing he said to me on the phone when I had to beg—humiliate myself in asking for help.
“Oh, don’t worry, Lenora. I’ll think of some way for you to repay me.”
His voice had been so deep and coaxing, and I pictured him smiling, a shit-eating grin playing across his too handsome face as he spoke those words. I didn’t know what kind of payment he was referring to, but I knew it wouldn’t be the monetary kind.
Beckham hated me, and I knew he’d make me pay in more than one way.
And that scared me most of all.
Chapter Two
Beckham
I saw the cab pull to a stop at the curb, and I stood there, looking out the window, watching as Lenora stayed in the vehicle and stared at my house. Even from a distance, I could tell she was nervous, afraid.
And I didn’t blame her.
We’d left on fucking awful terms six months ago, and that was all my fault. I’d been so angry and hurt, using that to fuel my emotions and projecting them onto her, because she’d been right there. God, I’d been a bastard that day, and it haunted me ever since.
But seeing my father’s heart break because the love of his life—her mother—had been having an affair had been the hardest thing I’d ever witnessed. And I’d taken it out on Lenora.
And as soon as I said the hurtful things, as soon as that shit spewed from my mouth, I wished I could have taken it back. I’d wanted to go back in time and repair the damage I caused between us.
Every day, I wanted to call her up and apologize. The things I said had made tears well up in her eyes... things that made me feel as if I were nothing more than a piece of shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe.
But my anger and the betrayal made me a prideful bastard. And I hadn’t apologized, I hadn’t said anything to her since then.
Six fucking months of me being a worthless fuck and too afraid to confront her had ruined my happiness and any hope I could repair the damage.
And every single day, I hated my fucking self even more because of it. So when she called me just last month, asking for my help, I knew I had to make
things right. It had to be fate that had her coming into my life once more.
I had to show her I’d been wrong, that what happened wasn’t her fault, that no matter what, no matter how things ended, she’d always have me in her life. I’d always have her back.
I watched as she finally started walking toward the house, her nervousness, her fear, clear on her face. I thought about her phone call, how she asked for a place to stay and that she’d pay me back. And I told her we’d find some way that she could.
I didn’t even know why I said it, didn’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to end the conversation on that note. She probably thought I was some dirty bastard, that I would be cruel to her. I didn’t blame her for thinking that. It wasn’t like I’d shown her anything different.
Because the truth was... I loved Lenora. I always had. Ever since my father married her mom and we moved in together. Ever since I saw how sweet and kind she was, how smart and beautiful she was.
Ever since I realized my life would never be the same without her in it.
And I’d fucked it up.
But now was my chance to make things right. We’d made the arrangement for her to live with me until she got on her feet. But what she didn’t know, what she’d find out sooner rather than later, was that I wasn’t going to let her leave. I would show her she was meant to be mine. Always.
I’d show her how wrong I’d been, that if I could take it back, I would.
I’d show her that even though I’d fucked up, I could make things right.
I’d fall to my hands and knees and beg for forgiveness.
But the wound it caused her was no doubt deep, and whether she believed me or not was another story.
Chapter Three
Lenora
My heart was thundering as I knocked on the front door and then took a step back, as if that foot of space would have some kind of shield, be some kind of wall to protect me. For six months, I replayed Beckham’s words in my head over and over again, this broken record that dug into my heart. They not only hurt because I cared about him, because he’d been part of my family—my life—but also because of how I felt for him on a more romantic level.
Because I was in love with him.
To this day, I still remember the progression of my feelings for him, how at first I’d noticed how attractive he was, then got to know him and loved his personality. He put on a good show of acting like he had no worries or cares, almost this aloofness about him. He was charismatic, and although he’d been the new guy at school, everyone had flocked to him. He was important.
And he always put me first, always made me feel as if no one could touch me, that I was better than anything that was negative and thrown in my way.
And as the years passed and we grew from teenagers to young adults, I found myself falling for him—maybe an inappropriate reaction because of what we were to each other, but a reality nonetheless.
But his words and anger had touched me, broken me. They’d crumbled and ruined the love I hoped—imagined—having with him one day.
But here I was, destiny and circumstance throwing a wrench in the mix and threatening to open up the wound in my heart once more.
And when that front door opened, I felt like everything around me froze, time standing still. My heart was the only thing in motion, beating rapidly against my ribs, painful and loud. Would he be able to hear it? I felt beads of sweat along my temples and gripped my bag tighter. Inside were my basic necessities. Everything else I accumulated over the years was in the storage facility, one that had been prepaid. One that only had one more month left. After that, I’d lose everything.
But I hoped while staying with Beckham and saving up money that I’d been able to find another place. Then I’d be able to figure out what I was going to do with my life.
Until then, I’d stay out of his way, mind my business, and keep my head down.
He held the door open with one hand, his other one extended as he braced it on the door frame. He said nothing as he stared at me. And I couldn’t read his expression, because he was stoic, silent.
I tipped my head back slightly to look into his face. Beckham was a big guy, tall with a muscular build. But he wasn’t too bulky, not like a bodybuilder, but more powerful than a swimmer. And seeing him again after six months had me feeling like I’d fallen right back down that rabbit hole of emotions.
I’d pushed down how I felt for him from all the hurt and anger. It had been a survival tactic, I supposed. But now I felt it rising up violently to the surface. I swallowed it down, bit my tongue to stop from crying—that pain a wakeup call—and reminded myself why I was standing at his doorstep.
Because I was desperate.
I didn’t miss how he eyed me up and down, his gaze raking over my body and making me feel bare. I didn’t know what I expected, but the slow smile that crept across his face wasn’t one of them. I supposed I expected him to be cold and have nothing but an attitude. But he said nothing as he stepped aside and pushed the door open even more, allowing me to enter. Maybe he could see the desperation on my face, the complete hopelessness I felt. I’d hit rock-bottom, and how sad was my life, how lonely and pathetic was I that the one person who hated me the most was the only person I could turn to?
Once I was inside with my back to him, I heard the door shut. I didn’t even know if I could speak right now, but I did turn around, facing him. He wore a blank expression on his face, and I didn’t know why that made me as nervous as it did.
After we parted ways so horribly, and after the hurt had settled, I felt anger, wanting to curse him out, ask how he could treat me like shit after all those years, after how close we’d been... or how close I thought we’d been. But I’d taken the high road, kept my mouth shut, kept my distance, and just let that hurt and anger fester inside me. That’s all I could do.
“Thank you again for letting me stay here.” I cleared my throat, my voice low, scratchy. I swallowed roughly and just stared at him as he watched me. “Believe me,” I said when he had yet to respond. “I wouldn’t have called you if I wasn’t at absolute rock-bottom.” I was humiliated admitting that to him.
I ran my free hand down my jeans, willing it not to shake.
“You’re fine, Lenora. Everything will be fine.”
I cleared my throat. I wanted to believe him.
“How is your mom?” There was no accusation in his voice, just genuine curiosity. Or maybe he was just trying to start a conversation. Although that was the last thing I wanted to talk about, and I’m sure it was the same for him.
I scoffed before I could stop myself. “The same,” I said with disgust. “But I haven’t really spoken to her since that all....” I stopped myself and cleared my throat. Although my mom did reach out every now and then, she was far too consumed with her own life to care about much else other than herself, even if that something else was her only daughter.
And as Beckham stared at me, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have even went on about it. There was this thickness hanging between us, this never-ending pressure. And as I stared into his amber-colored eyes, I found myself whispering, “You weren’t the only one she hurt, Beckham.”
After my mother’s infidelity had come to light, the fact that she had a lack of remorse, even her arrogance over it, had shifted everyone’s life for the worse. At least I felt this shift inside me for the worse where she was concerned. She’d never been a very present mother to begin with, throwing herself into work, away more time than she was present.
Hell, I hadn’t even been a planned pregnancy, but instead a wrench thrown in her young life after she’d had a short fling with a wealthy, much older man. And the latter had been the only piece of information she’d ever given me about who my father was.
Self-absorbed—my mother’s picture would be under the definition in the dictionary.
I suppose that’s why she found herself in the situation she was, in a torrid affair with one of her univers
ity students, who she was currently still seeing and living with in another state. Her affair had been quite public, very messy, yet she refused to apologize, to even acknowledge that she’d done anything wrong.
And her moving away hadn’t just been about her wanting to have this whirlwind romance with her new beau. It had been a scandal. She’d lost her position at the university, and she’d been humiliated.
She’d never admit it, but she’s the one who lost the most.
But the truth was—and it was depressing to admit this about my own mother—but her being gone was a blessing in disguise. It gave me freedom. It let me breathe for once in my life.
Even if said life was currently up shit creek and I didn’t have a paddle.
Beckham gave a short nod, and I pulled myself back to the present. I saw his expression soften a bit, but neither of us spoke. Maybe he saw the look on my face, knew where my thoughts had gone.
He finally cleared his throat and lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Let me show you where you can stay.” He walked past me, and I got a smell of the cologne he wore, the scent reminding me of when we lived together, of all the memories I shared with him.
I missed him.
I loved him.
I followed Beckham down the hallway, looking to my left as we passed the bathroom, and to my right were two smaller bedrooms. The room he took me to was at the end of the hall on the left, and he pushed the door open and stepped aside, letting me walk in.
This house had been one of the rentals his father owned, one of three properties they had before his father married my mom. I wasn’t surprised Beckham now lived in one of them.
