The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

“I guess that leaves one introduction left. Reese, this is Sarah.” Mom grabbed my arm and nearly yanked it out of its socket in order to drag me out from in front of Sarah so Reese could finally meet her.

My stomach swished painfully with anxiety. I knew—deep in my bones—that Mom hadn’t mentioned a single word about her CP. Reese was about to get a shock, and I should’ve felt some pity for her; she was about to get thrown into a situation she was not prepared for.

But if she did one fucking thing to upset my sister, I swear to God...

I had no idea what I’d do, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be pretty.

Please don’t be a bitch, please don’t be a bitch, please...

Even as I prayed, I narrowed my eyes, watching every move she made as her gaze fell on Sarah. At first, her expression froze. Then she clasped slightly trembling hands together and forced a huge, fake smile.

“Hi, Sarah,” she said in that voice you used to talk to babies. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

If it were anyone else but Sarah, I’m sure I wouldn’t have judged her so harshly; she technically wasn’t rude, but still… Her initial reaction did not pass my test.

As Sarah waved unenthusiastically and said, “Hello,” I watched a myriad of panic flash over Reese’s face.

But she didn’t run off; she just stood there, her chest heaving with fear, while Mom knelt next to Sarah.

“Sarah, this is Reese. She’s going to stay with you in the evenings now that Ashley’s gone.”

Reese nodded and smiled encouragingly, even though her eyes were bright with fear.

Dammit, if she treated Sarah badly because of her ignorance, I was going to make her life a living hell.

“Sarah has CP,” Mom was saying, addressing Reese.

“Oh.” Reese nodded and sent me a questioning glance, clearly not understanding.

Damn you, Mom, I wanted to mutter. The girl didn’t even know what CP was.

“That’s short for cerebral palsy,” I explained harshly, displeased with the entire situation.

She nodded again as if she understood, but I could tell she had no clue.

“It’s a muscle disorder,” Mom explained. “Sarah was born premature, and it injured the motor part of her brain, affecting the muscles in her entire body, from her limbs to trunk to even her tongue and eye muscles. It takes an extreme effort for her just to talk, or chew, or even blink.”

Reese’s eyebrows lifted and she nodded as if she were finally catching on, though I’m sure she hadn’t.

I decided I couldn’t watch any more of this. I was already too close to being late to work, and if I stayed, I’d probably do something I would regret like send Reese, the glowing girl, as far away from my sister as possible.

“I need to get going.” Bending, I kissed Sarah’s cheek and said, “Take care, kiddo,” before I added a whisper. “Call if you need me.”

I waved a mute goodbye to Mom, sure I’d say something cutting if I actually spoke to her. Then I turned Reese’s way. I wanted to say something, something like, Don’t hurt her. Her CP isn’t scary at all, I swear. She’s really the sweetest kid. Don’t treat her like she’s a freak, because she’s not.

But she merely stepped to the side as if she thought she was in my way and I needed by her to leave. Honestly, I usually left through the back door, but since I was

a chicken shit and couldn’t beg her to be good to my sister, I passed by her, gritting my teeth when that smell I remembered from Monday swirled up my nostrils.

This was going to be a long night; I could already tell.

Confession #6: I hated having sex with strangers.

Some old guy was having a birthday party in the Country Club’s banquet hall when I arrived at work, so I was swamped with parking cars from the moment I clocked in until way past time for my first break.

Just as the rush started to abate, a black Maserati with shaded windows zipped into the valet station and screeched to a halt. The driver’s side door flew open and Alec Worthington slid out.

Like Ethan Riker, he’d been a year younger than me in school. But unlike Riker, he had an easygoing personality and no problem shooting the shit with lower lifeforms. Like me. Not that he and I were friends in any universe. Worthington was a rich kid to the extreme: pampered, entitled, selfish. If he didn’t get his way, he’d lie, cheat, or stab you in the back until he did. I wouldn’t trust the douche with my least favorite pair of shoes, but he tipped well when he was in the mood, so I stepped forward eagerly to take his keys.