Reign of Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 3)

“You shouldn’t judge what you don’t know.”

“I judge what I do know, and I know Captain’s daughter is here with you instead of at home with him, where she belongs.”

A playful growl catches our attention and we look over.

Captain has Zoey on his shoulders as he chases Royce around while Maddoc leans against the little house with a smile. A real smile.

Not a smirk or a grin. Eyes open and loving and on his niece.

As always, he knows when I have him in sight, and his attention shifts to me.

A thought clouds his features, resented anger and dare I say pain seeping through. The smile is washed away instantly, but the corner of his lip tips up the slightest bit.

It’s forced.

The same beat-up expression is on Royce’s face, but the moment my eyes hit his, he licks his lips and looks away.

Cap offers a reassuring smile, but his attention is quickly caught by the little one now calling on them to follow her, as it should be.

“Hu-mon, hu-mon.” She laughs. “I make it, I make it.”

My brows pull in.

“What’d you make, Zo?” Cap asks her, tickling her sides.

She runs faster.

“Hu-mon, Daddy!” she says dramatically, making me smile.

She stops and rushes back to him, grabs hold of his fingers and drags him along.

“She learned how to shoot a basket,” Maria says sadly.

My eyes slice to hers, but she only continues to smile warmly at Zoey. “She watches his games all the time, we have them all on video. He’s her favorite show. Her favorite bedtime story. Favorite everything.”

My chest aches, and I can’t even look at them as they approach the little court.

“You and everyone involved are fucked up individuals.” Her eyes reluctantly meet mine. “You think he or his brothers wouldn’t have wanted to be the first to show her that? I bet Captain has laid in bed playing out the entire fucking thing in his head. What he’d say, how he’d explain the use of her wrist in a way for her to understand. How she should stand, what she should focus on. Of all the things, this is one I know he hoped to have for himself. Her first basket.”

Maria’s tears catch me off guard, but I don’t show it. “I know,” she rasps. “I tried to avoid it, but she just wanted to be like him. She kept saying she wanted to show him, cried for a ball, so I got her one, but then she cried for the basketball hoop. I couldn’t deny her. She’s not even three and she saw, just from watching his game film, how he loved the sport. She wanted to play too.”

My ribs ache, but I push it away.

“You’re not keeping her,” I say.

To my surprise, she lets those tears fall freely, but here they mean nothing to me.

“It doesn’t matter how bad you want her, and I can tell you do, she’s not yours. They’re bringing her home.”

Maria swallows. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I heard.” Her eyes come back to mine. “But it seems something is standing in the way of her homecoming.”

From sorrow to disrespect so quickly?

“I’m aware,” I say, lying through my teeth.

“Then stop giving them hope they can keep you both,” she hisses. “Everyone here serves a purpose of some kind. There are no coincidences, no accidents. You’re delaying the inevitable, and in turn, Zoey goes to sleep every night telling a picture of her daddy that she loves him instead of him himself.”

Wha...

I am delaying she said, not they are delaying. And keep us both?

Us who? Me and Zoey?

No. No, no no.

Fuck, I’m gonna be sick. My stomach turns, heat spreading across my body and creating beads of sweat across the back of my neck. My entire body flushes.

Holy shit.

I take a second, turning away and closing my eyes. I take a deep breath and when I open them and look back one of the security guards is heading for me.

My muscles tighten but relax when he holds out a cold-water bottle for me to take.

“Ms. Brayshaw.” He nods his head.

He catches me off guard, but slowly I take it from him.

He walks away, and I take a few small sips to settle myself.

“They’re Rolland’s men,” I say, doing my best to play off what she just said when I’m flipping the fuck out in my head having no idea what it truly means

“They’re Brayshaw men,” she corrects with an inquisitive tone. “Your men.”

I scoff. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

“I did, but I’m not sure I fully believed it until we went to get your things.”

I could tell when she mentioned my mom, she knew her. “When you saw her for yourself.”

Maria nods. “Yeah,” she whispers, regretful. “The woman I saw was not the Ravina I knew.” I don’t ask because I don’t fucking care, but her next words catch me by surprise. “She was my best friend once.”