“Woah, okay. Hey, I didn’t do this. I found her like this. She’s my friend. She needs help,” I say, and the cop shoves me down by placing his boot between my shoulder blades. “I didn’t do this! What the fuck?”
“Asher, don’t say a word. We will take care of this,” my dad says from the doorway.
“You have the right to remain silent…” the cop reads me my Miranda rights as he slaps the cuffs on me. This can’t be real. I can’t be getting arrested for something I didn’t do. The cuffs are tight, biting into my skin, and they shove me through the crowd. I look behind me to see the paramedic placing an oxygen mask over Grace’s face.
God, I hope she is okay.
“Grace! Is it Grace?” Heather parts through the crowd, mascara dripping down her cheeks from the tears, and when she sees me, the hate she has for me turns to daggers. “What did you do to her?” she shoves me in the chest. “What did you do!”
“Nothing. I swear, Heather. I didn’t do a thing. I found her like that. I tried to help her,” I explain as the cop pushes me forward.
I’m crushed when I hear Heather scream as they wheel Grace out of the room. My ears ring from the deafening noise and the stares I’m getting from people…
I’ve never felt so small.
This is really bad. Really fucking bad.
Looks like being rich and famous doesn’t matter at all.
One
Heaven
Present Day
In each arm, I have a newborn twin. They are brand-spanking-new. Three days old and their mom Quinn is resting, along with Jaxon, and since I’m the proud new owner of the Uncle title, I’m going to watching Shrek with them.
“Do you know the muffin man?” the gingerbread man asks the short prince on Shrek. I mouth every word since I’ve seen it a hundred times, but every time I watch it, it’s like the first.
I bounce Holland in my right arm, pretending she’s talking to Holt, her brother. “The muffin man?”
“The muffin man,” I lift Holt up next, saying the words in a lower voice that I think would be his.
I chuckle when the twins don’t move. Holy crap, they are cute. They look just like Quinn, thank god. One of Jaxon’s ugly mug is good enough.
“You realize they don’t can’t watch tv yet, right?” Owen says from behind me, crunching down on something.
“I know. It is never too early to get introduced to the classics.”
“You consider Shrek a classic?” he asks, leaving me gasping.
“I can’t cover their ears right now, but they don’t need that kind of negativity in their life.”
“They can’t understand what I’m saying. They are a second old, Heaven.”
“Owen, you never know what their tiny brains can process. We are going to have a movie marathon today. Julia is going to bake us muffins and all kinds of stuff.” I glance down at Holland as she croons, and it melts my heart. “Aw, isn’t that right, little girl? You aren’t allowed to date until you’re thirty— no— make it thirty-five. The only muffins you eat are going to be the ones cooked for you.”
“And you’re telling me to watch my mouth, really? Muffins?”
“What? You don’t know. She might be gay.”
“She’s a baby, Heaven. A baby.” Owen pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated with me.
I love making him crazy. I readjust the babies in each arm and wince when the stitches pull in my chest.
“Shit, are you okay? Do I need to take them for a second?” Owen hears me grunting in pain and kneels on the ground next to the couch. I can see the guilt written on his face as he stares at my chest.
Owen was in a blind rage, pushed me through the sliding glass door, and a shard of glass pierced through my back and chest, missing my heart by centimeters. I don’t blame him. I don’t hold any anger toward him, and I think it bothers Owen. He is holding himself accountable. He is making himself feel guilty enough. Why would I add to that? Owen is a good guy, fighting for something he loved.