Page 13 of Knockout (Whiskey Dolls 2)

“Oh, absolutely,” I said with playful sarcasm. “So rude.” Moving into his room, I dropped the card on his desk close to the notebook. “There’s fifty bucks on that. I thought maybe you could get yourself some new art supplies or something.”

He paused, his expression one of awe as he glanced between me and the rectangular piece of plastic on his desk. “You do too much for us,” he finally stated after a full minute of silence. “You’re always getting us stuff, spending money on us. It’s too much.”

My heart cracked a little in that moment as I stared down at him. He might have been the size of an adult already, so it was easy to forget that he was still very much a kid, a kid in need of people to take care of him, but who still didn’t trust in the level of security we tried so hard to provide for him.

“It isn’t, really.” I smiled, trying to lighten the situation. “If I didn’t spend money on you guys, I’d just end up buying myself another purse or a pair of shoes or something. And trust me, the last thing I need is another purse or more shoes. My closet’s already overflowing.”

He looked back down at the card, sliding it across the wood with the tip of his index finger. “How’s that even possible?” he asked, lifting his gaze to mine. “You grew up just like us. With a whole lot of nothing.”

I let out a long, silent exhale as I moved over and took a seat on the foot of his bed. “That’s true. But I also knew I wanted more for myself. It wasn’t easy, bud, but I made that happen. I worked my butt off, I saved, I invested. I made sure I was in a place where I could take care of myself but also help others. You may think I do too much for you guys, but I just see it as taking care of my own. You and the rest of the kids are my people. And you know what?” I leaned forward and bumped his arm with my fist. “When you’re my age, you’ll get it.”

“All those smarts you have in that head of yours, there’s not a doubt in my mind that you’ll be the CEO of some huge company one day.” I pointed down to his sketch pad. “Or maybe you’ll get rich and famous from your art. Either way, you’re going to make a name for yourself, a big one, I just know it. And you’ll be in the position I’m in now, and you’ll do the exact same thing. Then you’ll understand the happiness I feel every time I get to do something for you guys.”

He cast his eyes down to his desk. “Yeah. Maybe,” he said quietly. “I hope you’re right. ’Cause I want more for myself too.”

“IknowI’m right,” I stressed. “And I can’t wait for the day when I get to tell you ‘I told you so.’” I grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I have a dance made up for it and everything.”

He let out a snort, the worry that had been on his face earlier melting away as he rolled his eyes at me.

With that hurdle successfully jumped, I moved on to the next one. “So, you feel like telling me why you’re holed up in here all by yourself instead of out there with your friends?”

A bit of that sullenness came back as he grabbed the pencil and started twirling it between his fingers. “It’s not a big deal,” he answered, returning to his state of mumbling.

I wanted to dig in, knowing that if he’d just open up to me, I might be able to help, but that wouldn’t work with Marcus. Pushing would only make his shut down faster. “Okay. Well, I’m here if you decide you want to talk about it. And I’ll still be here if you just get tired of sitting alone in your room. Either way—”

“You’re here,” he finished for me with a small grin and a roll of his eyes.

I let out a little chuckle and stood up. “Exactly.”

I started for the door before stopping to look back at him over my shoulder as I reached into my big, bulky handbag and pulled out the Tupperware container of cookies I’d baked for the kids. “Oh, and FYI, if youdodecide to come out and join us, I made your favorite.”

Marcus’s eyes went wide. “No way. You mean—”

“Oatmeal without the raisins.”

Just like I knew it would, that got him up and moving.

7

Layla

The happy mood I was in after leaving Hope House and heading home was put to the test when I walked into the mailroom of my building and spotted Jude from the corner of my eye. Determined not to let him get under my skin, I held my head high and moved to my box without acknowledging he even existed. However, as I walked across the room, I got the strangest sense that he was watching me. It was like this incessant, itchy tickle between my shoulder blades that wouldn’t go away and I couldn’t reach to scratch it.

I was so focused on pretending he wasn’t there that I couldn’t even enjoy the low, grunted curse he let out when he opened his mail box and the fliers I’d stuffed in there the other day came spilling out onto the floor.

Okay, that was a lie. I still enjoyed it a whole hell of a lot, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling full out when he grumbled, “You know fucking with someone’s mail is a federal offense, right?”

I couldn’t keep the smug curl from tilting the corners of my lips as I pulled the mail from my slot and secured the door back into place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

I turned around to face him, a smug arch in my brow. “I really don’t. Maybe you should upgrade your spam filters when you watch porn or something. But, oh!” I bent to pick up the escort flier that had slid closest to me. “This one says Tatiana is a gymnast. Maybe keep that at the top of the pile.”

I started past him, slapping the paper rectangle against his chest as I moved. I was almost home free when he said my name, something in his tone stopping me in my tracks. And what he said next left me so freaking shocked, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

“I owe you an apology.”

I turned back to him, blinking slowly. “Did I just have a stroke? I’m dead, aren’t I?”

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