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So instead, I grimace menacingly at the Jones parents, and then rush into the car myself, slamming the Mercedes door emphatically.
We zoom through the neighborhood, just trying to create some distance at first, wheels squealing as rubber meets the road.
Macy’s in the backseat, face frozen, unable to move because of shock.
“Sweet thing,” I rumble reassuringly. “Don’t let it get to you.”
But she can’t process anything right now because too much has happened in too short of a time. It was dramatic and overwhelming, and the brunette’s stock still, frozen in the back of the car as we whiz along at eighty miles an hour.
Finally though, Tim pulls up in front of a fancy hotel.
“The Meridian’s a good one,” he growls, turning to look at our girl. “You’re gonna be fine.”
And slowly she nods, eyes wide, still unmoving.
But hell, this is a time to go five star if there ever was one. Because our female deserves the best, and we’re gonna give it to her. Booking a suite, we walk our beautiful girl up to the twenty-seventh floor. Opening the door, I can’t help but whistle appreciatively. Shit, this place is the bomb, with white pile carpet, two giant flatscreens, and priceless artwork scattered in the living area.
But Macy doesn’t care. Eyes unseeing, she wobbles into the suite before collapsing on a plush couch.
“Baby girl, you’re gonna be okay,” I grunt reassuringly. “A-okay, I promise.”
She doesn’t answer, staring at nothing in particular.
I take a seat by her, my brother on the other side.
“Sweet thing,” begins Tim, both of us grabbing a hand. But then Macy’s face crumples, breaking into tears.
“Macy,” comes my hoarse rasp, “It’s gonna be fine. We promise.”
But the brunette’s overwhelmed.
“My mom just walked in on you two co-fucking me, one in my puss and one in my ass,” she mumbles incoherently. “She saw that. Oh god, oh god. My mom saw that. What if I am a whore? Because who does that? Oh my god, oh my god.”
The words come tumbling out, agonized and painful, filled with grief and sorrow. Macy’s curled forwards, her face in her hands as hot tears drop between her fingers.
Will and I glance at each other over her bent head. Aw shit, we’re not great at emotional stuff, especially shit like this. But we have to try, Macy means so much to us.
“Baby girl, it’s gonna be alright,” I rumble again, covering her hand with mine. “Trust me it’s gonna be fine.”
“You’ll see,” grinds out Will. “It’s all gonna work out.”
And at that moment, the front door opens, the rest of our brothers filing in, their massive forms taking up space in the living room. Because the first thing we did upon leaving the Jones’s place was dial Smith. And he alerted the rest of the fam to the comedy cum tragedy.
After all, what could be more important? Disaster’s struck and in times of crisis, the Morgans stick together. Even more important, we’re claiming our girl now. The time has come and there’s no need to hold back anymore.
“Sweetheart,” begins Sam slowly.
But Macy won’t hear it. Instead, she shakes her head furiously, eyes cast down on the carpet.
“What my mom said was right,” she says in a broken voice. “I’ve been doing all of you,” she cries, raising her gaze to look at us now. “I’ve been letting all of you touch me, over and over again. I’ve spread my legs so many times, letting you into my secret spots, stroking my ….” The girl can’t finish, she’s so ashamed.
But there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
“Naw, honey,” grinds out Trent, blue eyes blazing. “You’re just the one for us.”
Macy raises her head wildly then.
“Says who? I’m a slut who let seven men use my body this summer! Seven men! And not only that but I’m probably pregnant, we’ve never used protection. Not once!” she wails, eyes wild now, curls flying.
My brothers and I exchange a look. Did she just say the p-word? Evidently so, because Sam starts again.
“About that …” his voice rumbles.
“How could you not use protection?” Macy shrieks then, eyes wide and rolling, glaring at us accusatorily. “How could you do that to a teen girl? You know I’m not on anything.”
Those were the words that we wanted to hear, the perfect opening. And slowly, I squeeze the brunette’s hand.
“Sweetheart, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” come my calm words. “A baby. Because that’s what we want. With us as the fathers, and you as the mother.”
For a moment, Macy doesn’t move, still staring at the carpet. But then her chin snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief.
“What?” comes her sputter. “No, it can’t be. That’s impossible.”
Trent nods then.
“For sure,” he rumbles in a low voice. “There could be nothing better.”
“But why?” the brunette gasps, looking at all of us now, her gaze swinging from one big form to another. “Why? This is just so ….” Her words trail off, wordless and incoherent.
