The Halo Series Boxed Set

by Kimberly Knight

  I tried thinking about the game—anything to get my dick to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t working. I watched as Brooke changed, putting on jean shorts and some sort of multi-colored blouse. She was gorgeous, and her legs—her fucking legs—even though they were short, they still made my cock hard when I thought about them wrapped around my waist.

  Jesus Christ, I was pussy whipped. I always joked with Avery about being controlled by the pussy, and lo and behold, I was. I would do anything Brooke wanted.

  Brooke fidgeted with the skin around her fingernails and stared out the window as we drove to my parents’ house. She really had nothing to worry about, but I suspected meeting the parents and daughter was a big deal.

  “Baby, they’re going to love you,” I said, taking her hand in mine.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Why do you think they won’t?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, looking over to me. “What if I cuss in front of them? What if they think I’m not good enough for you? What if Cheyenne thinks I’m trying to be her mom?”

  “First off,” I laughed, “cuss all you want in front of my parents. They are just as bad. We don’t have filters except in front of Cheyenne. Second, I don’t really care if they think you’ll be good enough for me. I think my mother already loves you—”

  “What? How?”

  “When I talked to her about you, she got all excited.”

  “But she doesn’t even know me.”

  “I know you. We didn’t hold anything back on the cruise and plus, it’s kinda a big deal that I’m bringing a girl over. They never thought I would really date again.”

  “You didn’t, either.”

  “I know and that’s why this is huge. If I love you, they’ll love you, too. I promise.”

  “What about Cheyenne?”

  “She’s never really said anything to me about replacing Dana, but I see how she is around her friend Courtney’s mom—I know she wants a mother or at least someone to talk with about all the woman shit you women go through. And seriously, I need you. I thought I was having a heart attack when she told me she had kissed a boy.”

  “You’re probably right. She’s probably not at that stage where she hates her parents, so there shouldn’t be a reason to hate me.”

  “Exactly.”

  The more I thought about Cheyenne meeting Brooke, the more I thought that everything would be okay. If I had introduced Cheyenne to someone right after Dana died, she would have hated me. No woman has been right until now—until Brooke.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  She sighed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  I took her hand as soon as I rounded the car. The closer we approached my parent’s front door, the more nervous I became. I wasn’t expecting to be nervous, but shit, my peanut was meeting my girlfriend. I squeezed her hand a little when I placed my hand on the doorknob and she looked up at me. I saw terror in her eyes, the same look she had when we walked into the hospital for her biopsy.

  “Baby, they’re going to love you,” I said once again because it was true. I leaned down and kissed her cheek, then opened the door.

  “Jimmy, they’re here,” I heard my mom scream to my dad from the kitchen.

  Brooke tensed a little and then relaxed. Maybe it was because of her broken home and she never had parents growing up? I wasn’t sure, but I would bet money on it. Shit, maybe I should have fucked her before we left the house so she would be relaxed!

  “Baby, this is my mom, Jane.” I gestured to my mom who was wiping her hands on a dishtowel and coming from the kitchen.

  “Brooke, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” my mom said, engulfing her in a hug.

  Brooke looked a little taken back, but then I saw her relax and embrace my mom. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Crawford.”

  “Please, call me Jane. Jimmy!”

  “I’m coming! Jesus Christ, can’t a man take a shit in his own hou …” My dad stopped in his tracks when he saw us. “Shit, I’m sorry, you must be Brooke?” he asked, sticking his hand out to shake hers.

  “Yes, it’s nice to meet you as well—Jimmy.”

  “Cheyenne is up in her room. Breakfast is almost ready.” My mom turned toward the kitchen. “Brooke, I have orange juice or coffee if you’d like some.”

  “What? You cooked breakfast for once?” I teased.

  “You know I can cook, Easton. I just prefer when you do it.” She patted my cheek. “Plus, we need to leave soon for Chey’s game.”

  “Let me go check on Peanut.” I kissed the top of Brooke’s head.

  “Brooke, I’ll show you where the glasses are. Make yourself at home.” Mom gestured for Brooke to follow her.

  “So, Brooke, East tells me that you live in Boston. Are you a Red Sox’s fan?” my dad asked as he walked with Brooke to the kitchen.

  I stopped mid-stride on the stairs, listening for her response, but I couldn’t hear. I knew she watched baseball, but I wasn’t sure if she was a diehard fan. I almost feared for her life with my dad, but I figured he would let it slide—for now.

  I went upstairs to Cheyenne’s bedroom. Since she spent most Friday and Saturday nights at my parents, she got own room, and she loved it because it meant that she could have two of everything.

  “Peanut,” I said, knocking on her door. It had a sign that read No Boys Allowed and I stared at it as I waited for her to open the door or tell me to come in. She had just told me that she had kissed a boy a few days prior, so I prayed that the sign held true. I needed to talk to my dad—we needed to go to the shooting range and practice.

  “I’m almost ready,” she said from inside the door.

  “Okay, Brooke is here and we’re having breakfast. Hurry up.”

  “I know, Dad!”

  I was in for a ride when she became a teenager. I just knew it.

  My mom made banana chocolate chip pancakes (Chey’s favorite), bacon and a side of strawberries. Of course, bacon was involved; Crawfords couldn’t have a meal without bacon. We sat around the formal oak dining room table that we normally only used for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but my parents had a breakfast table in their kitchen with only had four seats. Usually, it was just the four of us and if Avery came over, one of us would sit at the breakfast bar.

  Cheyenne came down the stairs and plopped into the empty chair across from me. “Well, hello to you, too,” I said. “Cheyenne, this is Brooke.” I reached my arm across Brooke’s shoulders and tugged her lightly towards me.

  “Hi,” Cheyenne said, barely looking at Brooke as she grabbed a pancake.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Cheyenne. Your dad has told me a lot about you.”

  “Uh huh,” Cheyenne replied, squirting syrup on her stack.

  Why does she have an attitude?

  “I like your uniform,” Brooke said.

  Cheyenne’s uniform was white with the word Lightning written in blue script and a yellow lightning bolt behind it. She’d followed in my footsteps and wore the number thirty-five.

  “Thanks.”

  “What position do you play?”

  Cheyenne finally looked up at Brooke. “I don’t know. Ask my daddy, he’s the coach.”

  “Cheyenne, that is no way to speak to our guest,” my mother scolded her.

  “It’s okay. My sister was the same way at ten.” Brooke gave smiled at Cheyenne.

  “Fine, Grandma,” Cheyenne huffed. “I want to play shortstop and third base, but my Daddy said that I’m starting on third today.”

  “I played Rover when I was your age,” Brooke said.

  Rover was the tenth position was created for young players. It was mainly in the back of second base on the grass line, but used as a floater and could play in the outfield or infield as needed. Rover was used because most kids Cheyenne’s age couldn’t catch or throw well, so the player was used to shorten distance between the defense. Since Cheyenne had started at a later age, she would only be on the team for one year that used Rover. The next year,
she would be with the faster thirteen and under group.

  “What did you play when you got older?” Cheyenne asked.

  “I actually played a lot of positions, but my favorite was third.”

  “Really?” Cheyenne’s eyes lit up.

  I squeezed Brooke’s knee under the table. I knew softball was the key to open Cheyenne up.

  “I did. My favorite part of playing third was diving for a line drive and catching the runner trying to steal home.”

  “Wow … I’m not that good, yet.” She frowned.

  “You will be,” Brooke told her.

  “Maybe you can teach me?” Cheyenne asked Brooke.

  Brooke tensed a little. I knew what was running through her head—her tumor. “Sure. Next time, I’ll bring my glove.”

  “Awesome!”

  “Eat up, Chey. We need to get you to your game,” my dad said.

  I squeezed Brooke’s knee under the table and she smiled up at me. My two girls were already bonding and it went better than I thought it would have.

  We took my parent’s Escalade to the field. A game was already in progress and Cheyenne’s would start shortly after that one finished. It was good for Cheyenne to watch others play. I saw Phil standing on the third base side and we walked over to him. Cheyenne ran to Courtney as soon as she saw her, hugging her as if she hadn’t seen her in a year. “Hey man,” I said, shaking his hand. “This should be fun.”

  “Yeah, always is. Hey, before I forget, we’re going for pizza after the game if you and … Cheyenne want to come,” he said, looking at Brooke standing next to me.

  “Yeah, that sounds good. This is my girlfriend, Brooke.”

  They exchanged handshakes.

  “I’m going to go sit with your parents.” Brooke gestured to where my parents sat.

  “Okay, I’ll see you after the game.” I kissed the top of her head.

  She left to sit with my parents in the bleachers. They were sitting at the top; the best seat in my opinion. My parents were pros at watching games and always brought padded bleacher chairs, an umbrella to shade the sun, and an ice chest with drinks and snacks.

  As I turned to go over to Phil, I saw Avery and Nicole enter the gate of the park. I didn’t know they were coming, but I knew Cheyenne would be very happy to see them. I walked over to Cheyenne and Courtney; they were throwing the ball back and forth, warming up.

  “Uncle A is here,” I said to Cheyenne.

  “Awesome!”

  “Don’t forget to stretch.”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  Phil and I planned what position each girl would play. There were twelve girls on the team, ten would play the field at one time and each girl would bat. After we’d decided which girls would start and then rotate in, we planned the batting order.

  I missed playing. I didn’t regret not going to college and playing; possibly playing in the major leagues—I got Cheyenne out of the deal and she was my world. Things have a way of working themselves out. If I were in the major leagues, I would probably be married to a gold digger bimbo that got pregnant on purpose to trap me.

  The game that was underway when we arrived at the field finally ended and Phil told the girls who would start. Each girl ran onto the field once it was raked and ready for the next game. Phil hit grounders to the infield, warming them up and I threw balls to the outfield for them to catch. Balls rarely went far into the outfield, but we wanted our girls ready for anything. Phil and I both were trying to form all-stars.

  We were home, so the other team batted first. Courtney played first and Cheyenne started at third. Another girl wanted to play third, so she and Cheyenne would switch off. Cheyenne would also switch off with the girl at shortstop, so she could determine what position she wanted to play.

  I was fine with whatever, but I knew she would choose third. Dana played third and so did Brooke. Brooke could teach her things that I couldn’t. It would be good bonding for my girls.

  My weekend with Easton and Cheyenne went better than expected. Cheyenne played extremely well, always getting on base when she would bat and only missed a few balls between her legs. I was proud of her. Easton had told me so many stories that I felt already close to her.

  After the game, we went for pizza with Courtney and her parents. Nicole and Avery joined us. I felt more comfortable having Nicole there. I really liked Jimmy and Jane, but at least they could talk to Avery and not just me. Avery was like their second son and reminded me of how I was with Nicole’s parents. Over the last few years, life got in the way and I wasn’t around them much except Thanksgiving and Christmas. Nicole’s parents didn’t take me in when I was growing up, not until Nicole and I met our freshman year in high school. Those four years were the best of my life.

  Cheyenne had seemed to warm up to me a little in the short time that I was with her. I understood her hesitancy, but if I just talked her language then she was fine with me, and her language was softball. When Bailee was ten, she was into Barbie’s. That girl loved her dolls, so I bought her a Barbie Mansion for her eighth birthday. I’d had to save up for six months working as a hostess at the diner, but she’d loved it and that was all that mattered. She played with her Barbie family as if they were real. They were her world. Barbie and Ken were married with kids and I knew why. I tried to tell my mother that Bailee needed her more, but my mom needed sex more than she needed us.

  I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell my mom about my tumor. Does a mother who pretty much only gave birth to her daughter, deserve to know that she may have cancer? Yeah, my mother gave us money … a hundred dollars a week to buy food, but a kid needed love—I needed love.

  I went to another doctor for a second opinion the Wednesday after New York at the request of Dr. Bloom. He, of course, said I needed to have the tumor removed. By the time I made it back to work, Dr. Bloom’s office had called me to schedule my surgery. He had a cancelation the following Friday and I took it. Everything was happening too fast. I wanted the pain gone, but I was scared of having the surgery. I was scared that I might have cancer.

  I hadn’t told Bailee about my tumor. I didn’t want her to worry. Finals were only a few weeks away and I needed her to focus. I had Nicole and Easton to take care of me and they were doing a good job so far.

  My MRI was brutal. Not being able to move for what felt like an eternity was hard. They told me that it would only be forty-five minutes, but I was in that thing for an hour and a half. A few times the lady came out and let me move a little because she needed to get a different angle. The doctors told me that my tumor was “unique” because of the location. The second opinion doctor suggested going through my back to get the tumor out and Dr. Bloom wanted to go in through my right side. The third alternative would be to go through my chest cavity.

  I decided to take the week off before my surgery because all I could think about was my tumor. I told Ian that the doctor wanted me to prep for surgery and not stress—which was true. Ian wasn’t happy. I would be out of the office a month and a half for recovery and I was his only paralegal.

  Lucy and Mike were more supportive than Ian. They told Ian that they would do their own paralegal work or they could hire a temporary replacement. Ian, being the cheap bastard that he was, decided not to hire anyone, so Lucy and Mike were stuck doing my work, too. I felt bad for them, but they understood. They actually cared for me, unlike Ian, and they promised to sneak me in a few cheeseburgers so I wouldn’t have to eat nasty hospital food.

  Easton and Avery hired a few more bartenders so they could be in Boston for my surgery. I tried to tell them I would be fine and I would see them when I got out, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Friday night, Nicole and Avery came over and made sure I had enough food, movies, and books on my Kindle.

  I missed Cheyenne’s game that Saturday, but Easton filled me in. He stayed two nights because he couldn’t leave Cheyenne for long. I was trying to be strong and not show that I was scared. He made sure I had food like Avery and Nicole had done th
e day before. However, I didn’t have much of an appetite. Before he left, he gave me another one of his T-shirts that smelled like him—delicious. This time it was an Anaheim Angels one. I was a Red Sox fan, but I wore his shirt anyway because it was his shirt.

  That week, I had to do breathing exercises to get my lungs ready for surgery. They were going to have to deflate my right lung so they could get to the tumor. I hadn’t realized how weak my lungs were until I had to blow in a device and make a ball float to a certain point and hold it there for a few seconds. I could barely do five seconds and Dr. Bloom wanted me to get to ten.

  After I had the surgery, I was told I would need to blow into the device again a few times a day to prevent pneumonia. If my lungs weren’t strong enough, I was screwed. I couldn’t leave the hospital until they were sure my lungs were clear. Dr. Bloom estimated I would be in the hospital for at least five days, so I did the breathing exercises whenever I had free time.

  I was freaking out.

  When Brooke told me that she was having surgery in nine days, I was scrambling. I wasn’t ready. Avery and I hadn’t hired more bartenders, and I hadn’t talked to Cheyenne about Brooke’s tumor, so I couldn’t just take off and be with Brooke.

  I told Avery about Brooke’s surgery date and he said he would take care of hiring people. We also talked to Bethy and she would cover on Saturday night for me. I just had to get through Friday night and coach Peanut’s game and then I would be on my way to take care of my girl—even if it were only for a few days.

  Thursday after practice, I decided to talk to Cheyenne about Brooke’s tumor. I didn’t want Cheyenne to think that I was replacing her or wanting to spend more time with Brooke than her. I wanted to be with both my girls so they would start getting to know each other.

  “Hey, Peanut, once you get cleaned up, I need to talk to you,” I said, walking into the house after practice.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, of course not.”