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HEMINGWAY

I rush into the office building, knowing I’m a few minutes late as I glance down at my watch and shake my head. I hate being late, but for some reason, no matter how much alcohol I put into my system the last couple of nights, I couldn’t sleep. When I finally did, I slept right through my alarms. I have my truck parked outside, sure I’ll be taking Hartley with me. She’s had him for the last two days. I should get him for the weekend. I still haven’t looked at the file or gone to the safety deposit box. The bank that houses the safety deposit box hasn’t been available for me to stop by. They told me the man in charge of that service has unexpectedly been out. According to Striker, he was killed.

I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or not, but it’s kind of weird. Since Wayne gave me the file, everything has been strange. Just this morning, I noticed I was being tailed. Another reason I’m late. I decided to try to shake them before I came here. I didn’t want to lead whoever it was to Hartley. I’m questioning everything right now. What was Oliver researching? Why did he want both Blythe and me to have Hartley? He knew I was pissed at Blythe for leaving me, yet he still insisted on it.

Now, I’ll have to fight Blythe to get Hartley. I don’t want to, but no other man is going to father him. Hartley’s father and I were best friends, and he’d do the same for me. I’ve always made sure to make Hartley a part of my life.

As I step into the elevator, my phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out and answer, seeing Wayne’s name on the screen.

“Yeah,” I say.

“I’m on my way. Don’t make any dec—” His voice cuts off as the elevator doors close.

“Fuck,” I exclaim as I tap my booted foot, hoping he’ll call back soon. We’ve been playing phone tag since the other night. I hate that he hit me, and I still wonder what he met by his words about screwing it up. But he got to be with my girl when I couldn’t. I’m angry about the betrayal, but I also want him to explain how he’s her father. That’s just not possible.

The elevator doors open, and I look around at several cubicles and closed doors. There’s a woman at a desk. She’s cute, in a girl-next-door kind of way. I walk up to the desk, smiling and making sure I project warmth. For some reason, people are often intimidated by me. Yeah, I’m large, with long, shaggy dark hair and dark eyes. Right now, I have a scruffy beard because I didn’t have time to trim it this morning.

“Reed Kantor.” I give her my name.

She types it into her computer and stands up, motioning for me to follow her. We round a corner into an open room, and I see Hartley sitting at a table, playing on his Switch. Then, I see her , the woman who has haunted my dreams the last few nights, sitting next to him. I hear her husky phone sex voice ask how much longer they will have to wait, and I want her to say my name.

Her blond hair is up in a bun at the back of her head. She’s dressed in navy tailored slacks, rolled at the cuffs, and sky-high fuck me heels in cream. A navy jacket covers her cream-colored lacy camisole. I don’t care that it could ruin me again, all I know is I want to mess her up and fuck her sideways. Her face has changed only for the better. She still takes my breath away.

“Mr. Kantor, I presume. I’m Loreen Ambrose. Have you met Ms. Hawksley?” A woman stands and introduces herself as the caseworker.

Blythe stands and holds out a hand, acting like I didn’t hold her in my arms a few days ago. Or that I said some mean things to her.

“I’ve known Blythe for years. When will I get to meet your husband? Mr. Hawksley. I don’t believe I got his first name,” I say, and her eyes drop. Hartley’s laughter distracts me. I glance over, and he’s staring at his game, laughing.

“I’m not married,” she says softly. Her husky voice sounds almost breathless, and I wonder if that’s what she’ll sound like when I pump my cock into her tight pussy again.

I look her up and down. The thought of her pregnant makes my cock even harder. She’s not married. If I knock her up, she can’t leave me. Ever. It’s a fucked-up thought, but I won’t take it back. I try to discreetly adjust myself as I take a seat.

“Mr. Kantor, Ms. Hawksley, I believe the attorney will be here shortly. As far as we are concerned here at Child and Youth Services, we’ll inspect both of your homes. We’ll also conduct weekly check-ins, both via the phone and through surprise visits. You will need to go through this process for about four months, after which the court will grant adoption rights, either as a couple or individually, depending on your decision at that time.”

“So, I’m to assume, based on that, we have to be here for four months?” Blythe asks.

“Yes, ma’am. You’ll have access to the Grimes’ home and will live there while you go through the process.”

“I have a condo I’m staying in. Reed can use the house. I’ll also have to travel for work in March, but most of my job can be done remotely.”

“Sorry I’m late.” We turn to see Wayne joining us.

“Mr. Cabell, welcome. I believe we’ve made it to where you need to discuss the points with them too.” Ms. Ambrose moves away, and Wayne takes her seat.

“I need both of you to keep an open mind. Blythe, sweetheart, you’ll need to stay here for at least four months, which means leaving your life back where you were. You have a place to stay for now. Hem, you don’t have an adequate place to raise a child. That’s where I come in for both of you. Oliver’s house is paid off. You can either sell it to fund something else for Hartley, or you can use the proceeds to take care of him if you already have a place. But you must occupy it and raise him together for the four months. After that, we’ll meet to discuss how you want to proceed.” He pauses and looks at both of us.

“So, in other words, Blythe and I have to live together? Spend the holiday together?”

“What? No. I have the condo. You said I could use the condo.”

Wayne won’t look at her as he reviews the document. “It states here that you must occupy the house together. These were Oliver’s wishes if something were to happen to him.”

“I’m going to need some time to figure out if I can do this.” Her haughty tone pisses me off, but a part of me agrees this is a difficult decision to make. I haven’t spent any time with Blythe in nine years. We used to be inseparable. She was always wrapped around me on my bike. I doubt this Blythe will want to do that. She’s all dressed up, too fancy for the girl I once knew.

Blythe

I ’ve been here for over two weeks now. It’s been exactly two weeks since I found out I have to move in with Reed. Wayne told me today that I have to make a decision by Monday, or I’ll forfeit my right to custody of Hartley.

I couldn’t even spend Christmas with Reed. He’s angry with me, and I know why. I broke his heart. I broke us. I just don’t know if there is any way to repair what was done all those years ago.

After hashing out everything regarding Hartley, I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. I don’t want to stay close to Reed because I still love him, and he obviously hates me. But he agreed to work with me in raising Hartley for the next four months. We’ll live in the house in separate rooms and get through this.

I owe it to Sam to do this. He died for me. Same with Oliver. I have to do this.

After I called my boss back in Los Angeles and told him I’d have to stay here for several months, I decided I needed to get to work on my plan. I could try to do as much as I could without exposing myself, thereby keeping Hartley and Reed safe. I tried to quit my job, but my boss insisted that as long as I kept producing stories, he wanted to keep me on the payroll. So, I’ll be working remotely until a decision is made about Hartley.

My boss also confirmed that I’d be in Dallas for the book signing. I don’t want to go, but I have to. It’s just a weekend. What could happen in a weekend?

In the meantime, Reed and I have split time with Hartley, doing a week on, week off. Currently, Hartley is with Reed, so I’m wallowing in my own self-pity. I’m not ready to face my foster parents’ house, the one next door to Oliver’s. I’m also not ready for constant contact with Reed, but I’m going to do it. I can put my feelings aside for Hartley.

Walking around the condo without Hartley here feels like I did when I was back in Los Angeles—lonely. I dial Briar, but she’s busy and can’t talk, so I continue to pace until I can’t avoid it any longer. Today’s the day to start my revenge.

The cursor bounces at the end of the post, and doubts begin to creep in again. I know there will be retaliation. Even though the article is anonymous and can’t be traced back to me, publishing it will open up a can of worms that could make them come after me. After more research, I’m convinced that Randall, the leader of my attackers, is cleaning house. He’s running for governor and eliminating anyone who could hurt him with the truth.

Not only was Oliver killed recently, but another detective with the sheriff’s department who had wanted to help me was also killed. He had retired after my case because he didn’t like how it was being handled, according to what Oliver told me during our last visit. We had assumed he died of natural causes, but when I read the autopsy report Oliver emailed to me before his own death, it was shocking. The report revealed that the detective had died from a fall down the stairs during the night, despite his wife claiming he never had any balance issues.

I click the enter button and watch the article go live. I’ve shared it across several social media platforms and sent copies to local and national news outlets. As I sit back, I stare at the screen for a moment, waiting. But it’s like a tea kettle. Nothing happens right away. I can’t take the stress on my body any longer, so I decide to go for a run.

I change into a pair of black high-waisted leggings and a matching sports bra, adding a jacket over it. I secure my hair into French braids and slip my ID and cell phone into my pocket. I only put one earbud in so I can still hear what’s going on around me.

I run for several miles, avoiding the beach and waterfront area. I’m not ready for that walk down memory lane. On the way back to the condo, I run through the art district. Maybe, subconsciously, I want to bump into Erika. I could use another friend, someone to talk to. But I know I can’t bring her into my craziness.

I slow down to a jog, my pace easing when I come to a tattoo parlor. I stop for a moment, trying to look inside. My skin itches for another tattoo or even a piercing. I’ve always loved to mark myself. Before I was old enough for a tattoo, I would draw on my skin. It soothed something deep inside me.

A counselor had once suggested that my urge to mark myself was a form of self-harm, that I might want to cut myself as a coping mechanism. He said it was because I didn’t have a father or strong male influence in my life. I wanted to tell him to go to hell because I had several good influences, and I never wanted to hurt myself. Well, not until they hurt me first.

After the attack, all I could think about was dying. I wasn’t Reed’s any longer. Four men had violated that. I was gang raped and beaten. I was left for dead.

“Hello,” a soft, barely accented voice calls out, pulling me from where my mind had wandered to. I’m glad because I would have had a panic attack, and I don’t want that to happen while I’m out and about.

I look up, and everything stops. My breath. The wind around us. There is no mistaking who she is, and as our eyes meet, her tears start to fall.

“Bly?” Her hand shakes as she reaches for me, her voice unsteady. A large man steps out of the parlor behind her, and I step back in fear. “Ignore him. I do.” She chuckles as she again reaches for me. “Is it really you? They said you were dead. I didn’t believe them. Are you okay?” She looks me up and down, and I do the same to her.

She stands there in a pair of black shorts, the hem just visible beneath a flowy, layered gray tank top that drapes over her noticeably pregnant belly. Her long brown hair is pulled into a messy ponytail over her shoulder, and she is covered in tattoos. The man behind her looks like a giant blond Viking, with visible tattoos on his knuckles and the back of his hands. They contradict the fact he’s in a suit. His hand wraps around her body, trying to pull her back, as I just stare at her longer.

“It’s okay, Bly. I know it’s you. I’m not mad at you. I figured after everything that happened you needed to heal.” Her soft voice and words finally break the dam, and the tears roll down my face.

“Rika.” I choke, and she pulls me into her arms. She’s still so petite compared to me and my five-foot-nine height. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t message you. I had to cut off all ties.”

“I know. Wayne told me when I wouldn’t stop looking for you. But with so many rumors spreading that you were dead, I just didn’t know who to believe anymore. You didn’t message me, and I thought you would.” Her words wash over my body, and I instantly regret that I hurt one of my closest friends. I’ve hurt so many people by just trying to protect them.

The big guy stands there silently, watching over us both. When people start to stop to watch, I pull away, feeling self-conscious.

She pulls me into the tattoo parlor. Behind the counter is a young woman dressed in a grunge outfit similar to what I used to wear. She moves around the glass counter and takes a seat in a chair, while Erika plops down on the sofa and pulls me beside her. I can’t help but look at them and their carefree style. It reminds me of the person I once was. I used to dress how I wanted, not caring what others thought. Now, I dress conservatively with a slight sexy edge to it. I don’t advertise myself. It’s a product of the attack. They told me I had asked for it with the way I dressed. For work, I keep my tattoos covered to look more professional, but I love that my dear friend expresses herself in her tattoos and clothes.

Erika introduces me to Jaz and then to her husband, Grayson, who insists I call him Gray.

I look up as a man walks in, and I instantly recognize him.

Leif.

Erika had befriended me in high school. She was two years ahead of me. I was with her when her grandma died. She was with me when Reed left for basic training. She also came to the hospital to see me after the attack. She was the only person, other than Sam, who I allowed to see me. She doesn’t know everything, just that I was attacked. When I ran, I didn’t even tell her goodbye, and it’s something I regret. I’m glad Wayne felt he needed to tell her.

Leif walks over and doesn’t say anything but slowly pulls me up into a tight hug. It takes a moment for my body to calm down enough to relax in his embrace, and he must sense it because he whispers softly in my ear.

“Relax, Bly, we are family.”

His words make the tears come again, and I feel Erika’s hand on my back. There is a calmness I haven’t felt in a long time from just the simple act of letting them hold me.

“You look as beautiful as ever,” Leif adds.

I push up my jacket sleeves, feeling hot from my run and being inside the parlor. I want to shed the top layer, but I don’t want my scars to show, so I keep my jacket on.

When Leif notices the ink on my arms, he pulls them up to look closer. I want to pull away so he can’t see the scars from the surgery to repair my arm, but I don’t.

“Thought I would get to tattoo your skin first, not a stranger.” He chuckles.

“No, I get to mark her before you.” Erika jumps up, and I smile between the both of them. Erika looks at the Jesse tattoo on my forearm and nods. “Good work, though.”

“I was just thinking another tattoo would be nice.”

“Really?” she asks, excited.

“Yeah. My boss might frown on another facial piercing.” I swipe my hand over my nose piercing. “I’ve wanted to do my eyebrow but can’t, so tattoos it is. As long as I can cover them with a jacket when I’m on assignment.”

“Where do you work?” It’s an innocent question, but I’m not sure how to answer it.

“Um…” I pause for a moment. “I work for a popular celebrity and investigative magazine.” I decide to keep it vague. If I share too much, they’ll know where I’ve been, and I can’t give them that much information. Not yet. Not until I know what happens after my revenge is all done.

“That sounds good. Which one?” Jaz asks. I look at her and bite my lip. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say,” she adds when she notices my nervousness.

I nod and sit back down next to Erika. Leif stands next to the counter.

“How long are you in town for?” Leif asks, and I turn toward him.

“I’m not sure yet. Both Reed and I were named as Hartley’s guardians. I have to be here for at least four months. After that, I’ll have to see.” I don’t explain further.

“Oh?” He tips his head to the side as he leans against the counter. He’s muscular but still trim and handsome. His dark hair is long on top, with the sides trimmed close, similar to Gray’s. But where Gray’s hair is in a ponytail, Leif’s is shorter, not quite long enough for a ponytail. “Where are you staying? We should have dinner sometime while you’re here.”

“I’m in a condo by the water. I can’t believe how much has changed in nine years.” I sweep my arm toward the window.

“Yeah, it’s been growing like crazy. Which complex?”

“It’s over off of Bayshore.”

“Oh, wait,” Jaz says. “The tall building with the garage underneath?”

“Yeah. Wayne found it for me. Something about it belongs to a partner at the firm’s friend.”

“I think that’s my husband’s place.” Jaz laughs as she stands. “Speak of the devil.” I turn as the chime rings on the door, and in walks a man. I don’t know what’s happened to my hometown, but several of the men I’ve met are hot.

Jaz introduces her husband, Dr. Ryan Richards. We find out that I am staying in his condo, and after visiting for a bit longer, they decide we all need to have dinner together tonight. I tell them I need to run back to the condo and get changed, and I’ll meet them at Erika’s place. Now that I have a car, getting around is easier.

The longer I visited, the darker it started to get outside. I keep near the public areas as I run. But as I pass a dark parking lot, a shiver races down my spine. I glance over my shoulder as a piece of wood swings toward me from the alley. I dodge the hit, taking it to my shoulder. I scream as I fight my attacker.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” a deep, male voice growls, and I’m transported back to that night. “We would have found you and ended you, just like everyone else.” The voice is unmistakable. Even with the black clothing and the mask, I know exactly who it is.

Elliott.

He’s Randall’s muscle. The dumb idiot follows along no matter what. He bullied and beat everyone Randall ordered him to. My research shows that he’s barely scraping by, running a struggling gym, trying to relive his past as a wrestler. From his size, it’s clear he’s still using steroids.

He comes at me again with the 2x4, and I dodge it. I kick his knee, and he falls, but I’m not fast enough to get away. He grabs hold of me and squeezes me to his chest as he stands up and drags me into the alley. I scream again, hoping someone hears us.

He throws me to the ground and kicks me in the abdomen. I roll as he stands over me.

“I’m going to fuck that cunt again before I finally end you.”

I don’t think; I just react. I lift my leg up and nail him in the groin. He falls to his knees, and I stumble for the entrance of the alley.

Arms wrap around me, and I start to fight.

“It’s me, Bly.” Leif’s voice registers in my brain before the pain takes me under, and I collapse in his arms.

I slowly come to, hearing voices around me. I’m on a gurney, being loaded into an ambulance, and the memories wash over me.

“Someone needs to call Hem and let him know,” Leif says, and I try to turn, but my head is swimming.

“I don’t know if she’ll want that. They weren’t getting along so well at my place a couple of weeks ago,” Trevor says.

Who is Hem?

“Doesn’t matter. He deserves to know. I’d want to know if it were Ridley. You’d want to know if it were Emersyn.”

“Fine.”

I fade back into unconsciousness, unable to argue with them.