Bide (The Sun Valley Series Book 2)

Something about starting your morning by bending your girl over a bathroom counter just puts a guy in a good mood.

I’m practically whistling and skipping as I traipse around New York following the very detailed list of everything Luna wants for breakfast from her favorite bakery. “I think you bruised my uterus,” she quipped when I questioned the need for a dozen varieties of pastry. “I deserve a treat.”

I can’t argue with that.

Luna was passed out in the bath when I left—she claimed she needed a thorough cleanse before bidding her mom goodbye later—and I’m not surprised she’s still there when I get back.

The bathroom is cloudy with steam, so many bubbles piled high I can barely see Luna. Head lolling against the lid of the enormous tub, a scrunched-up towel acts as a makeshift pillow as she dozes. When I bend to kiss her damp forehead, blue eyes flutter open and blink at me sleepily, smiling lips murmuring a quiet ‘hi.’

“If those are presents,” she says with a yawn, eyeing the bags in my hands, “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

I twist one of the bags so she can see the brand of the bakery she sent me hunting for, “So you don’t want this?”

She’s up and out of that bath so fast, I’m surprised she doesn’t slip and crack her head open. Water sloshes over the edge as she clambers out, all but licking her lips as she slips towards me, naked and dripping all over the floor. I steady her before she falls, wrapping a towel around her as she steals the food from my hands. Scoffing one of those weird croissant-donut hybrid things in five seconds flat, she’s halfway through the second when she notices the second bag in my hand. “What’s in there?”

I toss her a new package of Arnica and she catches it with a grateful groan. I didn’t realize I’d been so… rough until I saw the shape of my hand imprinted on her asscheek, matching mottled purple patches marring her inner thighs.

I’d feel bad, maybe, if not for the scratch marks spanning my back and neck.

I shake the bottle of meds I swiped from her handbag on the way in here before setting it on the counter next to the green tea I picked up too. Beside it, I drop my other drugstore purchase.

Luna side-eyes the Plan B pill skeptically. “I don’t need it. IUD, remember?”

“Can never be too careful.” Especially considering how many times I came inside her last night and this morning. With the way she’s been hobbling around, I wouldn’t be surprised if we somehow dislodged the fucking thing.

Luna rolls her eyes, bypassing the pill as she swipes her tea. “You just wasted fifty bucks.”

“Cheaper than raising a kid.”

Narrowed eyes dart around my face, searching and thoughtful. “Fine.”

I slump in relief as Luna rips open the packet and pops the pill in her mouth, following it with a long sip of tea. Swallowing exaggeratedly, she sticks her tongue out, moving it around as if to prove she’s not hiding the pill anywhere. “Damn.” She snaps her fingers sarcastically. “There goes my chance at trapping a rich baby daddy.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of that,” I say with more annoyance, more force, than necessary. Snatching the Arnica from her, I slather some on my hands and crouch down beside her, smoothing the cold cream over her bruised skin.

Two hands land on my shoulders, squeezing gently. “I’m just kidding.”

I grunt in response, an uncomfortable feeling creeping up my spine. When she’s sufficiently covered in enough cream to heal a corpse, I rise, shucking off her grip. As I screw the cap back on, Luna’s hip nudges mine. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You went a little weird,” she explains softly. “If it freaks you out so much, we can use condoms from now on. I didn’t mean to pressure you last night.”

“You didn’t.” I almost fucking came on the spot when she offered up the suggestion. Not a single part of me even considered saying no, not just because of how good it felt to be completely bare inside her, but also because of how good it felt for her to trust me like that.

But then it was over and my head caught up with my dick and all I could think about was what would happen if by some fucking chance I’d just knocked up my girlfriend of all of one day. What would happen if I’d just inadvertently but indefinitely changed, maybe ruined, two lives.

“Then what is it?”

I pause, trying to figure out what to say. I must take too long, because Luna sighs, her slumped posture screaming of disappointment. She still forces an understanding smile, though, before leaving me alone in the bathroom.

I watch her reflection in the mirror, downing her tea and scoffing another pastry before tugging on clothes. She’s got that look on her face, the one where she’s kind of annoyed or upset but trying not to show it. I fucking hate that look, hate being the cause of it even more.

Luna doesn’t look up as I approach, nor when I sit on the bed. She only acknowledges me when I loop my fingers under the waistband of her sweats and tug until she stands between my legs. Straight-backed and arms crossed, she crooks a brow, a silent repeat of a question I loathe to answer.

“My mom had me when she was our age,” I start slowly, wincing as that familiar uncomfortable feeling I get when I talk—or think—about my parents takes over. “It was an accident.”

An accident that ruined her life, and not a day went by that I wasn’t reminded of that.

Quite the accusation to throw at a kid.

To be fair, it’s not entirely unfounded. I was the beginning of the end for her. The cataclysmic event that shattered her perfect life, ruined all her potential, stole her youth—all her words. On some level, I guess I understand her resentment.

She always said the girls were accidents too but as I got older, this sneaking suspicion grew that maybe she was full of shit.

You see, when my mom got pregnant, her and my dad were on the verge of splitting. He stayed with her out of obligation. Not to her or me, but to his wallet; my grandmother threatened to cut him off if he embarrassed her by having a baby out of wedlock. So they got married, as quickly and privately as possible, with an iron-clad prenup in place preventing my gold-digging, bimbo mother—my grandmother’s words, said loud and proud despite the fact my parents were in the same Ivy League college, taking the same classes—from taking any more from the Jackson family than she already had. And, apparently, after I was born, it was good for a while. They were happy, or as happy as two people with very little in common and even less real love for each other could be.

Maybe my mom figured it was because of the baby suddenly binding them together for life because barely a year later, Lux entered the picture. But if playing happy families forever was her plan, it backfired royally. Trying to keep someone in a relationship going nowhere is hard enough. Bring two screaming, crying babies into the mix?

Good luck.

Everything just gets messier after that. A revolving door of parents and new potential step-parents and nannies. Break-ups that always ended with Mom leaving us on some random family member’s doorstep for a few weeks. Make-ups that ended with a new sibling.

When she finally left for good, it was a relief, not having to live with the stifling knowledge of being her biggest mistake, her greatest regret. It’s been almost a decade since we’ve heard from her. I don’t even know if she’s alive, let alone where she is.

And I don’t think I care.

The words spill out easier than I thought they would, coaxed by gentle fingers threading through my hair and encouraging, understanding eyes. When I’m done, the room settles into silence. Not awkward or uncomfortable, just… heavy. Loaded. Charged with whatever emotion pours off Luna in spades, tell-tale squirming letting me know she’s struggling to reign in whatever thoughts are running rampant.

“Whatever you wanna say,” I reassure her gently, “you can say it.”

“I kinda hate your mom.”

“So do I, sometimes. But my dad, my grandparents… they’re not exactly easy people to be around. It’s hard for us but it was harder for her.”

“That’s even worse,” Luna protests, her nails digging into my shoulders. “She knew they were awful and she still left you with them.”

“She didn’t really have a choice.”

“Why do you make excuses for her?”

“She’s my mom.”

“She can be your mom and still be a shit person who doesn’t deserve you.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to hold a grudge.” It’s hard when you haven’t seen the person you resent since before you hit puberty. And it’s not like I had a bad childhood, exactly. Just a messy one. And out of all of it, I got my sisters. The rest doesn’t matter.

Luna shifts, careful as she asks, “And your dad?”

I snort. The man I’ve seen maybe a dozen times in my life doesn’t deserve that title, not even nearly. I used to get birthday cards, but they trailed off when I turned… thirteen, maybe? Not long after Mom left. And I’m the lucky one; you go down the line of sisters and the number of visits dwindle. I don’t think he’s seen Eliza more than twice, and not since she was a toddler.

Dickhead.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Luna starts quietly, entwining our fingers, “my dad’s an asshole too. Or, at least I think he is. I’m pretty sure a man abandoning his pregnant girlfriend and not wanting to know his kid would qualify as asshole-ish behavior.”

“Think we turned out pretty okay without them.”

“Yeah,” Luna smiles, “I guess we did.”

I had a weird dream last night.

Well, more of a memory than a dream. Presumably brought on by talking about my parents with someone other than my sisters for the first time in… well, forever. Whatever brought it on, when I got home from my impromptu weekend in New York, all but collapsed into bed and drifted off, I was suddenly a kid again.

Twelve years old, freshly abandoned, one of the five newest inhabitants of Serenity Ranch.

The storm raging outside mimics the dark attitude of my grandparents, their arguing almost drowning out the loud cracks of thunder. They’re fighting about us, of course, and doing very little to hide it. Not even the pillow held over my head is enough to drown out all the reasons why they should ever have agreed to take care of us. How we’re nothing but a drain on them. How Lux is rude and Eliza is too quiet and the twins are too reliant on each other and I look too much like Mom.

Funny how they’ve learned all this without spending any actual time in our presence.

I jump when my bedroom door creaks open, half expecting my grandmother to storm in and announce I need to leave immediately, storm be damned. Instead, the light seeping in from the hallway illuminates four little figures creeping toward my bed.

I sit up with a sigh. “Can’t sleep either?”

“Too loud.” Lux climbs up and wriggles in beside me, and the other three follow, Eliza plopping herself on my lap while the twins sandwich themselves in by our feet.

Grace wraps herself around my leg, her head resting on my knee. “They hate us.”

“They don’t hate us.” Hate is a strong word. Heavy disdain might be more appropriate.

Eliza’s little face peers up at me, brown eyes wide and confused. “She keeps calling me Elizabeth.”

“She calls me Charlotte,” Lottie chimes in, and the utter disgust on her face almost makes me laugh. I don’t think Lottie even knew her full name until we met our grandparents for the first time and, just like they do know, they insisted on calling all of us by our full names. Apparently, nicknames are too ‘common’ for Jacksons.

I try so hard to distract my sisters, to block out the yelling, but nothing works. When Eliza’s sniffles become too loud to ignore, stifled tears leaving a wet spot on my top, I can’t take it anymore.

Quickly and quietly, I usher my sisters out of bed and bundle them up as best I can, shoving hoodies over their heads and too-big sneakers on their feet. When they’re sufficiently weather-proofed, I hoist open the window, warm, damp air slapping me in the face.

“What are you doing?” Lux grips the back of my jumper, attempting to yank me back inside when I swing a leg over the window ledge. “Jackson!”

“I’m not listening to that anymore.” I nod in the direction of all the freaking yelling before pointedly glancing at our little sisters. Lux follows my gaze, eyes darting from the door to the steadily falling rain to the sad girls peering up at us.

A handful of contemplative seconds pass before she sighs and practically shoves me out the window.

It takes some maneuvering but between the two of us, we manage to maneuver the girls outside without dropping them in the growing puddles of mud steadily growing around me. Before she hops out, Lux passes out a bag filled to the brim with blankets, and I stuff it under my hoodie before the rain can seep through.

Together, we make a mad dash for the old barn a couple hundred feet from the house. Lux and I broke in here on our first night when, after a long day of listening to our grandmother berate our absent mother and her choices and her children, the prospect of staying under the same roof as the evil woman seemed way too stifling to consider.

Empty stalls and eerie silence greet us as we push open the creaky door. As we pile inside, a wistful sigh catches my attention. Pushing back her head to reveal a hopeful expression, Eliza’s lips twitch. “Do you think Grandma would buy me a pony?”

My chest hurts as I smooth her hair back from her face. “Maybe.”

The little fib is worth it; Eliza skips away with an actual smile on her face.

The second she’s out of earshot, an elbow jabs me in the ribs. “You shouldn’t lie to her like that,” Lux admonishes, scowling at me and looking so much older than eleven.

I elbow her back. “I’m the oldest. I can do what I want.”

With the wind howling and the rain pelting loudly off the roof, we settle in the loft of the barn, the five of us drifting off to sleep as we huddle under a mound of blankets, sandwiched together like sardines in a can.

Uncomfortable and damp and noisy because of the rain, but at least we don’t have to hear about how awful we are.

At least we’re together.

I woke up this morning rattled, disorientated, and inexplicably sad. It was the first time we camped out up there, but it wasn’t the last. The girls used puppy dog eyes to convince the ranch hands to help us make the place more comfortable, dragging half the contents of our dusty attic up there. Old mattresses, rotting furniture. There was even a hammock, at one point, before someone swung a bit too vigorously and broke it.

It became our safe spot, the one place on the entire ranch that truly felt like ours.

The first bit of a real home we ever had.