by Alex Grayson
Katelyn Monroe is seventeen years old and is set to graduate next year. She’s brilliantly talented when it comes to art. She’s so good that several people in town already have her paintings hanging from their walls. Layla actually has some up in the living room. Layla feels Katelyn can hone her skills and become even better if she’s given the opportunity to attend an art school. The only problem is, the school Katelyn dreams of attending is in Europe. Parsons School for Design is one of the top art institutes in the world, but her parents are reluctant to let her go so far away. I can’t say I blame them. It’s hard to let a child go, especially halfway around the world, but if she were to get accepted, her future could be so much brighter.
“I think so, too. I just hope she’s given the opportunity.”
I pour Layla a glass of wine and hand it to her. Taking my bottle of beer, I pop off the top and take a long pull, regarding her around the glass.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I notice her unfocused eyes on her wineglass.
Her smile is half-assed at best. “I’m just worried about Holly. You remember her, right?”
I nod. She’s the woman she’s been talking to for a couple years that she met in an online grievance forum.
“She hasn’t been answering my emails, and I don’t have any other way to get in touch with her. I thought about trying to get in touch with the admins of the group, but I highly doubt they’ll give me her personal information.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine. Just give her some time. If you don’t hear from her soon, I’ll see what I can do.”
Her shoulders sag, and she smiles in relief. “You’re a good man, Judge. Thank you.”
I grunt and take another chug of my beer.
She takes a quick sip of her wine, sets it down, and walks over to me. As she moves her hands to my chest, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her to me. I lean back against the counter with her wedged between my thighs and her bottom half plastered to mine.
As I stretch my head down, she reaches up until our lips meet. She tastes sweet, like the wine she just drank.
“Mmm…,” she moans. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My tongue darts out and licks across her bottom lip. “Me too,” I whisper.
I tug her bottom lip between my teeth, then slip my tongue inside her mouth for a better taste. It’s been two weeks since I’ve had Layla. I’ve missed her. I always do. Just like I miss the other two when I’m not with them.
Come next Monday, I’ll be staying with Jamie for a week. The week after that, I’ll be with Gillian. I’ll repeat the same schedule the week after that.
Yes, I have three mistresses. No, I don’t give a fuck if people care or not. It’s a system that works for all four of us. I care about all three women. I’d give my life to protect them. I even love them. Just not in the forever kind of way. They don’t love me that way either. They each know of the others, and they’re even close friends. I treat them with the respect they deserve, and I give 100 percent of myself to the one I’m with that week, in mind and body.
They each have a house of their own with their name on the deed. One I’ve provided for them and one they’ll keep if our arrangement comes to an end. They have jobs they enjoy, not because they have to work—I would happily provide for them if they chose to stay home—but they’re independent and choose to work. They don’t wait on me hand and foot. Yes, they enjoy cooking for me, but I return the favor by cooking for them some nights too. In almost every sense of the word, we act as happily married couples do.
My only hard limit is children. It’s not that I don’t like kids, I just have no intentions of settling down. I like the arrangement I have with Layla, Jamie, and Gillian, but I know it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring a child into that kind of life.
My cock hardens beneath my slacks, and I grind it against Layla. Her nails bite into the flesh of my pecs. Breaking our kiss, I grab her waist, hoist her up, spin around, and set her on the counter. Her legs open, and I step between them.
“How long before the food is done?”
Her legs lock around my waist and I’m tugged closer until her tits press against my chest. My hands rest on the counter on either side of her.
“A couple of minutes,” she answers throatily. “Are you hungry?”
Layla’s a beautiful woman. Shoulder-length blonde hair, wide light-brown eyes, olive complexion, nice sized tits, and a round ass. She’s also highly sexual.
“Hungry, yes,” I answer. “For food, not so much.”
Her breath fans across my lips when she giggles. “Give me a minute to turn the stove off and put a lid on the pot. Meet you in the shower.”
I nip her lip once before stepping back and helping her down from the counter. My gaze lingers on her ass, clad in a pair of tight jeans, before heading toward the stairs, working on the buttons of my shirt as I go.
Chapter Two
JUDGE
I LOOK UP FROM MY COMPUTER when Beverly pops her head inside my doorway.
“There’s a woman here to see you. She says it’s important.”
“She give a name?”
“No.” She takes a couple of steps into the room and lowers her voice. “But I’ve never seen her before, and she seems kind of agitated.”
I lift a brow and wait for her to elaborate.
“She appeared bothered when I told her I had to see if you were available.”
“Hmm….” I gently close the lid to my laptop and push it to the side. “Send her in.”
With a nod, Beverly turns on her heel.
Irritation mixed with curiosity has me straightening in my chair. I don’t like surprises, and I don’t like when outsiders come to Malus unannounced. We’ve got too many secrets here that could cause a lot of problems if they were ever uncovered. Whoever she is can march her ass right back out of Malus.
Beverly appears back in the doorway and gestures for the woman to enter. The first look I get of her leaves me speechless. Not because of her stunning beauty, although she is quite beautiful, but because she has a face I haven’t seen in nearly twelve years. A face I never thought to see again, except in the rare dreams I have of her. One I knew like the back of my hand at one point in my past.
“Hello, Judge,” Ellie Carter says, coming to stand directly in front of my desk.
I clear my head of the memories trying to force their way to the surface and come to my feet.
“Ellie. It’s been a long time.”
She nods. The impassive expression she came in with morphs into one of displeasure. “It has.”
“How are you?” I ask, stepping around my desk and stopping several feet from her.
Her lips twist into a mocking smile. “Don’t pretend like that question matters. We both know you don’t care about the answer.”
She’s wrong. I do care. I cared twelve years ago, and I still care today. I’ll care until the day I die. But that’s something she can never know. It’s better that way. Better for her, not for me.
“Judge, you should—”
I cut Beverly off. “That’ll be all, Beverly.”
“But—”
I turn my head away from Ellie and look at her. “I’ll let you know if I need anything. Close the door on your way out, please.”
“Actually, I’d prefer if it were left open,” Ellie says.
I’m already looking back at her when Beverly walks off.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask courteously, already knowing the answer.
“No.”
Her tone is short. Not that I blame her. The last time we were together, I treated her like shit. She has every right to be angry with me.
I incline my head toward the couch. “Why don’t we take a seat and you tell me why you’re here.”
“I’d like to stand, if you don’t mind.”
I shrug. “If that is your wish.”
As I wait for her to tell me the reason she�
��s here, I take a moment to look over the woman who tore me into knots twelve years ago. She’s changed, but the differences are subtle. Her black hair is shorter than it used to be, reaching just past her shoulders. Her hazel eyes don’t hold the innocence they once did, but instead seem much older than I know she is. Her figure has matured and become curvier. She’s short and dainty compared to my six-foot-three frame. She was twenty-two when we were together and was in design school. She was determined and smart and was one of the only people who could make me laugh. We were together for six months before I put an end to it.
“I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t necessary, but I had no other choice,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts.
I have no doubt she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t have to be. I’m sure her hatred toward me hasn’t lessened in the slightest.
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I perch on the edge of my desk and regard her, my curiosity more than piqued.
“What do you need?”
For the first time since she entered my office, she looks hesitant. It’s a contrast to the Ellie I once knew. She was confident and never let anything sway her.
She pulls in a heavy breath, straightens her spine, and meets my eyes. This is the Ellie I remember.
“I have a daughter in stage four kidney failure and have no way to continue to pay for her treatments.” Moisture forms in her eyes, but she blinks a few times and it’s gone. “I have no one else to turn to, or I wouldn’t be here.”
I stand up, shocked at what she’s telling me. Not only the fact that she has a daughter, one with kidney failure, but also because she came to me for help when I know I’m the last person she would choose to ask. This is hard on her. I can see it in the wariness in her eyes as she looks at me imploringly. I can see it in her slumped shoulders. She’s putting on a brave face, but looking closely, I see past the bravado. She obviously cares deeply for her daughter, just as any mother should. The situation must be very dire.
“Tell me more,” I demand. An ache forms in my chest for the child, right alongside the anguish building for her mother. I’ve always had a soft spot for children. I may never want one of my own, but any child suffering triggers a deep-seated need to fix whatever’s ailing them.
Ellie clears her throat and switches from one foot to the other. Then crosses her arms over her chest protectively. She’s nervous or scared. I can’t tell which, but the thought of her feeling either has me on edge.
“She developed an infection after having strep throat. The infection caused her immune system to overproduce antibodies, which damaged her kidneys. It can normally be treated with medication, but her kidneys are too far gone. She’s currently undergoing dialysis, but the doctors aren’t hopeful.”
“What do you mean, they aren’t hopeful? What’s her other options?”
“She needs a transplant,” she answers, her voice low. “If she doesn’t get it, she’ll die.”
Her voice cracks on the last word. I lock my knees in place to keep from going to her. I may be a bastard to most people outside of Malus, but Ellie’s always been able to get to me. From the very first moment I laid my eyes on her beautiful gray ones, she had me mesmerized. And fuck if they still don’t captivate me. Even when they’re filled with pain.
But I lost the right to offer her comfort twelve years ago when I ended things with her the way I did.
“Where’s her father?” I ask, keeping my tone even. I want to hunt the guy down and beat the shit out of him. Either he’s an asshole and not in the picture, dead, or a worthless piece of shit that can’t provide for his family. I didn’t notice a ring on Ellie’s finger, so I’m banking on one of the first two.
“He’s uh… never been in the picture,” she says, her gaze sliding away from me.
I eye her. There’s something she’s not telling me.
“What about your parents? If I remember correctly, they were more than capable of taking on your daughter’s medical expenses.”
Her parents were snobby Catholics who never associated with anyone who didn’t believe in the same faith. I only met them once and never wanted to see them again.
“I haven’t spoken with them since they disowned me. They’ve never met Maisy and never wanted to.”
Anger on Ellie’s behalf has my hands balling into fists. I really fucking hate people sometimes.
I don’t consider myself an overly friendly person. The only people I allow to get close to me are my brothers, Mae, and my women. I care for the people of Malus, consider them friends and family, and would do damn near anything for them, but I keep a wall between me and most people. Besides Dale when he was alive, Ellie has been the only other person I’ve allowed myself to open up to.
As soon as she said she needed help taking care of her daughter’s medical expenses, it was hers. It’s the least I can do after putting her through what I did when I broke things off between us. And it’s not like I can’t afford it.
“There’s more,” Ellie’s whispered words has my eyes focusing back on her.
She starts picking at her nails, a habit she had twelve years ago when she became anxious, and I become suspicious.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“She has a rare blood type. One that isn’t easily found among organ donors.”
“Is she already on the donor list? I’ll see what I can do about speeding up finding her a kidney.”
Instead of answering, she takes several steps back until she’s standing in the doorway. It’s not until then that her eyes leave mine. She looks to the left outside my office and holds out her hand.
“Maisy, come here, sweetie.”
I clench my jaw. Up until then, I’ve managed to ignore the tiny voice in the back of my head whispering shit about being jealous of the man who gave Ellie a child. Who gave her something she dreamed of having one day. I’ve pushed those thoughts away so far, but I’m about to be forced to face them, and I don’t know how I feel about it. Part of me desperately wants to meet her daughter, knowing she’s a big part of Ellie. Another part wants to stop it from happening. I’m man enough to admit it scares me shitless, because giving Ellie a child was something I greatly wanted to do. It was just never something I could offer her.
I look away from the doorway to give myself another moment, but when I look back, I realize there’s not a damn thing I could have done to prepare myself for what I see. She’s older than I expected, and there’s no mistaking she’s sick from the pallor of her skin and the frailness of her body. All of that barely registers though. What I’m fixated on is her face. She has dark brown hair and bright green eyes. The same exact eyes I look into in the mirror each morning. The same eyebrow shape as my own. And if that’s not fucking telling enough, she has a small indent in her chin, exactly like I do.
As the girl stands at her mother’s side, my accusing eyes shoot up to Ellie’s. What in the ever-lovin’ fuck is she playing at here? This girl, who looks to be around ten or eleven, is mine. If the striking resemblance didn’t tell me so, the look in Ellie’s eyes screams it. She has her arm protectively wrapped around Maisy’s slender shoulders, and she’s looking at me with guilt and resolve. Something else lurks in her gaze. Bold defiance, maybe? Whatever in the hell it is, it pisses me off. What I did back when we were together is thrown out the window in the face of her deception. I may have been an asshole then, but that’s no excuse for keeping my daughter away from me.
“Do you want to explain to me what exactly is going on here?” I ask calmly.
It takes super human effort to keep from exploding. No matter how hot my blood’s boiling right now, Ellie’s explanation doesn’t need to be made in front of my… daughter. Fuck, that’s something I never thought would ever happen.
Ellie’s lips form a straight line when she answers. “I will later. For now, I’d like you to meet Maisy.” She removes her arm from around Maisy’s shoulders, grabs her hand, and takes several steps forward. They sto
p only a couple of feet away. “Maisy, this is my old friend, Judge, who I was telling you about.”
Old friend, my ass. We were lovers. Of course, she can’t tell Maisy that.
I drop the animosity I feel toward Ellie and look down at the little girl in front of me. Something cracks inside my chest. She looks even more sick up close. But underneath her worn down and tired appearance is a beautiful girl. Through the paleness of her skin, I notice a small scattering of freckles running across her small, pert nose and cheeks. Her eyes, which droop with fatigue, slant slightly. I can tell she once had a natural tan. Her hair, which surprisingly shines, is wavy and goes halfway down her back.
She’s staring up at me with curiosity, and the look melts my heart. I drop to a knee in front of her. Even at this level, I’m still taller than her.
I hold out my hand for her to take. “Hi, Maisy. It’s nice to meet you.” I clear my throat when the words come out husky. I’m so far out of my element here.
Her cool hand settles in mine and it surprises me how small it is compared to mine. She’s so delicate, her illness making it more pronounced.
“Hello.”
Her voice is soft and graceful and damned if it doesn’t bring a smile to my face. It’s hard to keep it in place when her hand begins to shake in mine. Worry snakes its way inside, reminding me how sick she is.
Fuck.
I reluctantly release her hand—I want to hold on to it and somehow send healing vibes through our connection, which is fucking stupid and impossible—and stand. Tearing my eyes away from my daughter, I look back up at her mother. Her jaw is still stubbornly set, like she’s worried I’m going to rail at her at any moment. I want to, and I damn sure will. But it’ll be done in private, away from Maisy.
“We were going to stay here in a motel for a couple of days, but it seems Malus doesn’t have any,” she remarks.
“No,” I say tightly. “Malus has no need for motels. You can stay with me.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but wisely shuts it again at the look in my eyes. She doesn’t want to test me right now. I’m already barely holding on to my temper as it is.
