Morrison (Caldwell Brothers)

“I’m pretty certain I’m gonna buy this place.”

“For what?” she asks, looking around.

“Kind of like a halfway home or women’s shelter. Women with kids, to be exact. Women—”

“Like me.” She frowns, and I see the wall going up.

“No, like my momma.”

She looks up at me.

“My hope is to give them a home, a place they can go until they can do it on their own, maybe find some people in similar situations. You know, a brotherhood, or—”

“Sisterhood,” she corrects, and squeezes my hand.

“Maybe, if they see others who have been there, done that, and escaped, they can, too. At the very least, it’ll give them a place where their children and they can lie down at night without worrying that someone is going to come in and beat the hell out of them, force them to—”

“I like it, but there is such a stigma attached to places like this. Some people won’t even consider coming here.”

“But some will. Hell, if one does, that means I helped do good.”

“How will you afford it?”

“Sold my house in Atlantic City.”

“You owned a house there, too?”

“Yep. Didn’t go there much, though. My draw was more to Vegas. Now I know why.”

She looks away, her cheeks flushed.

“The first floor will be a front office, living area, kitchen, and dining room. Second and third floors can each house four small, three-bedroom apartments. So eight units, and all of them will be furnished. Ninety-day stays, giving them enough time to find a job, a place of their own, and hopefully gain some strength—or, at the very least, give them hope.”

“You should consider six two-bedrooms. Put in bunk beds, four to a room. Moms would take a bunk. Hell, they’d take a floor if it meant their kids were safe.”

“Not all moms, Hailey.”

“The ones who really want better.” I take in her words. “You’ll end up with a place full of squatters, ‘gimme-gimme’ people, if you don’t start out tough and lay down rules and expectations. Some people don’t want to get out of their own way. Some people have no intention of doing the work it takes to break a cycle.”

“My girl would be—”

“Your girl?”

“Okay, my little momma.”

“Again, ‘yours’?”

“I need to remind you that tonight I am in possession of my balls.”

“I need to remind you that there is no label on this relationship.”

“Will you be my girlfriend, Hailey? Will you exclusively date me? Will you—”

“Shut up.” She giggles and pushes at me. “How old are we?”

“Okay, then be my girl, and no one else’s.”

“I haven’t been with anyone—”

“Be mine.”

“No one owns me, Morrison.”

“Not an ownership thing. You’re free to call it off whenever you want. Hell, you can keep the balls unless it’s in bed or when I want to take you out. But be mine.”

“You be mine.” She places her hands on her hips, making me laugh. Then she shakes her head and looks down. “How about we are exclusively dating.”

I pull her up tightly against me and kiss her stupid, her body melting into mine. When I have taken and given what I need, what she needs, I pull away.

“Deal.”

“Morrison, I love what you are starting here. It’s admirable and speaks strongly about who you are. But please don’t ask me to be part of it.”

“I won’t ask.”

“I’m just not ready to take on anything more. I have my freedom, my daughter, a job, a place of my own. I need these things.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t ask.”

She looks up. “Fourth floor?”

“That’ll be my place.”

“That’s a hike.”

“There’s a cargo elevator, accessible only to me.”

“It’s a big undertaking.”

“Won’t be overnight. May take a year, but it’s going to change lives.”

After dinner, parking, and almost convincing her to let me have her in the back of the car, we head back to her place. Hendrix and Livi leave, and we end up in her bedroom, on the floor.

I am throwing clothes on when she asks me, “So no more Vegas, Atlantic City, or—”

“One more trip to Vegas. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. I’d like you to go.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Morrison. I—”

“Your ex is in jail, going to trial on about ten different charges, and I was called to be a witness.”

“You? Why?”

I take in a deep breath, ready to spill it all.

“Why!”

“A game, a bet he thought he won, but in the end, he didn’t. He—”

“What game? What bet?”

I lay it all out for her, hold nothing back. Once I finish, she stares at the ceiling for a while before she finally speaks.

“So, that’s why the interest in Marisa. You feel like you—”

“The interest in Marisa started because I was falling for her momma. But understand, I would have done it for anyone some scumbag motherfucker thought he owned. No matter how many times I tell you I want you to be mine, I don’t want to own you. Not in that way.”