Morrison (Caldwell Brothers)

He walks over to the closet and pulls out two towels. When he is ready to walk out, I stop him.

“Thank you, Morrison.”

“No need,” he says, looking back at me as I chug the wine. “That’s really much better if you sip it. Savor it, take—”

“I’ll try to remember that next time.”

He nods, then walks out, only to return with the bottle. “It’s here if you need it.”

“Getting me drunk won’t get you laid.”

“Didn’t plan on getting laid, babe. But not gonna lie—I did plan on trying to get you into bed.”

I roll my eyes, and then a very soft smile forms on his lips.

“You need sleep. We need to figure out what’s next,” he says as he walks out.

“I need to plan,” I say loud enough for him to hear me.

“That’s what I just said.” He shuts the door behind him.

I soak in his ginormous tub, trying to wash my worries down his overpriced drain. When I come to terms with that never happening, I get out. Drying off, I scoop up the shirt he laid out for me without thinking.

Morrison is tall. His pajama shirt comes down to just above my knees.

Exhaustion is taking over. With the emotions of the day, the bath, and the wine, I am more than ready to sleep off the rest of this hellish day. Needing to put this all behind me, I go to the guest room, where Marisa has turned sideways, consuming the entire bed. I’ve just made my way back to Morrison’s room for a blanket and pillow when everything hits, and, exhausted, suddenly I find myself lying in his bed. And before I can drift off to dreamland, Morrison is climbing in beside me.

Looking at him, I notice I am wearing the top to his bottoms, and I can’t help giggling.

“Babe, it’s not good for a man’s ego if you laugh when he climbs in bed.”

“Morrison, we’re wearing the pajama set.”

He winks. “Sharing is caring.”

“Sharing, huh?” The wine has me feeling relaxed—maybe a little too relaxed. Although my plan was to go to sleep, now that he’s in the bed with me, sleep is not what’s on my mind.

He reaches up and rubs his thumb in circles on my temple while his fingers find their way into my hair. “What’s going on in there?”

“I’m not a whore. Well, I am, but not ’cause I’m easy. I lost. Monte won. The prize was me. He got me.”

“Baby, you are every man’s prize.”

I giggle at his sentiment and slap at his chest. “I’ve only ever been with him . . . Well, until you blocked me in, and I couldn’t resist.” I begin blabbering, a trait that’s far from attractive. I have heard of liquor lips, but what do they call it when the wine has you telling your deepest and darkest secrets in life?

“Hailey.” He says my name softly, stopping my crazy rambling about my time with Monte. “Where’s your family? Is there anyone who ever tried to intervene, or people you can go to?”

I laugh sharply at him, and not in the “ha-ha this is funny” way. “Family . . . Marisa is my family.” I sigh before whispering, “Marisa is my world. She is the most important thing I have ever done and ever will do.”

“You’re a damn good mom, and you can take that from someone who was raised by a damn good momma.” He looks to the ceiling, and something passes across his features, making me curious about his mom. “Who is holding you up, though?”

“My mom is dead, and my dad was her pimp.” His eyes grow big at my admission. “Big Daddy Pimp, who freely handed us over to Monte. He was nothing more than a sperm donor.”

Morrison says nothing, only sets his face firmly in a scowl, making his features harden to a point that I can see even in the darkened room.

“Call me Orphan Annie, ’cause, baby, I got no one but the family I made with Ris Priss,” I try to joke to lighten the mood.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he laces our hands together.

“Don’t.” I push the tears back. “Don’t you dare fucking pity me, Morrison Caldwell! We play the hand we’re dealt in life until the last card hits the felt.”

“I don’t pity you, Hailey. I just . . . I just . . .”

“You just wanna make it all better. Well, Morrison, the truth is, my life is hard knocks. You’re trying to give me hope in a situation that’s hopeless, in a life that’s hopeless. I keep telling myself I can do better for me and for Marisa, but I don’t know if I believe it anymore. It’s best if you get away now so I don’t drag you down with me. I’ll see my way through somehow. I always do.” I start to tense as the wine quickly wears off now that we are in deep, emotional territory.