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“If you don’t let me see Bride, I’ll go to the courts and get custody again,” Carla sneers.
“The hell you will. No judge is gonna give her back to some junkie who even now looks high, and you smell like booze.”
In my opinion, she looks normal. The same as she has every time I’ve seen her.
“If you don’t tell me, I’m closing this door and letting the cops deal with you since I know they’ve already been called.”
“You called the cops?” Carla shrieks.
“No, but my brother sitting down the road did. My brothers know if you’re seen near my house, the school, or anywhere near Bride, the cops are to be called.”
“I should have drowned you when you were a baby.”
I cover my mouth with my hands to keep from letting either of them hear my gasp.
“Yet, you didn’t. Now, tell me what you want or I’m closing the door.” Cyprus starts to step back in but stills when Carla opens her mouth again.
“Fine, but you call those dogs off. I don’t need some pig in my business,” she sneers. “I want Noelle. Well, more like Hector and her parents want her back.”
“That’s not happenin’, and you know it.” Cyprus grabs the door and starts shutting it. “You can tell them to fuck off.”
“Wait,” Carla cries. “If you don’t want to listen to reason and give them Noelle, then at least give me some cash.”
“Goodbye.”
Cyprus closes the door and locks it before turning toward me, stepping into my space, and wrapping me in his arms. “What you heard . . . what you’re probably thinking . . . I want you to get it out of your head. I’ve already told you that you aren’t going anywhere, and I’m not giving you back.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that,” I inform him. “Though, now, I am.”
“I’ll take your mind off this shit in a little while. First, I’ve got to feed you and Bride. Make sure my sister is good after this shitshow, and then once she’s in bed, you and me . . . we’re having that talk.”
Well, okay then.
* * *
“Night,” Bride calls out, going up the stairs to her room to get ready for bed.
“Night, Punk.”
Throughout the rest of the evening, Cyprus did everything to cheer his little sister up and I believe it worked. He talked to her. He told her he wasn’t going to let their mom anywhere near her. He even made a joke that had Bride laughing.
After dinner, we watched another movie, this one a Disney cartoon I’d never seen before calledFrozen. It was good, and I even started singing along with Bride to the songs.
Now, with Bride heading to bed, it leaves Cyprus and me alone.
Cyprus reaches out and snags my hand in his as he stands up. Without a word, he guides me to the bedroom. I don’t bother dragging my feet, granted I’d love to do just that. But this conversation is inevitable. There’s no getting out of it. No matter how badly I want to.
In the room, Cyprus drops my hand, and I move further into the room, getting a bit of space between the two of us. Being so close to him isn’t easy for me. The close proximity is getting to me in ways I shouldn’t be letting it, but there’s no denying my body thrives at his touch. It reacts in ways I’ve never experienced, and I think that’s what scares me.
I glance around the room, taking note of the bags from our adventures out shopping today. There are a lot of them, and I don’t know where to begin with putting them away.
“Noelle,” Cyprus calls my name ever so gently, so sweet and tantalizing, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do at this moment.
I lose all other thoughts as I slowly spin to face him, lifting my gaze to meet his. Those eyes of his speak to me in a way I never thought possible, and I find myself blurting, “Kiss me, Beckham. I need you to take away the bad.”
Cyprus’s eyes fill with surprise for the briefest second before he closes the distance between us. One arm wrapped around my waist, the other going up, his hand tangling in my hair, holding me still. Bringing his mouth down, capturing my lips with such possession, my toes curl into the soft carpet. Enraptured by the moment, my body feels alive, and I lean in deeper . . . wanting more, so much more.
A moan escapes me, and Cyprus groans his approval while guiding me backward. His hand at my waist dipping into the back of my pants, finding that I’m without panties, his palm curving around my rear. The butterflies in my stomach flutter all the more, and I reach up on my tiptoes, and slide my hands under his shirt. Fingertips meet solid muscle, and I smooth my fingers upward until Cyprus breaks away long enough to strip us both of our shirts. His eyes locked with mine.
