Keeping You: KJ Elite Inc. (9 page)

J.R. was the only person not involved in KJ Inc. who knew the whole rundown on what we had going on over here, structurally. He even worked a little with Tommy to build up his and Taylor’s place.

“How is ole’ boy doing?” Luke chuckled.

“Like you don’t know. You’re worse than Mrs. Wilmington.” I snorted. “And don’t change the subject.”

Mrs. Wilmington was our local source for gossip – you needed the dirt and she had it. Woman was a nuisance and a raging thorn in my side. You find a social media sight and she’s on it blabbing out the news of the town and it’s residents. Here’s to hoping Tommy and Tay’s wedding kept her full up for at least another month or two.

I laid back down to do another set of lifts.

“What are you babbling about, now?”

“You’re putting off building your house.” I said pointedly.

“Conspiratorial much?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re hiding out at my place because you’re looking out for me. I get it and I appreciate it. But come on Luke, you can’t babysit me forever. At least Peyton is temporary and getting ready to move into his house any day now. I’m doing alright and you need your own space. Don’t get me wrong, you’re always welcome when you need a place to stay, but it’s time to get the fuck out. We lived in the same house for 18 years, let’s not have a repeat of how it ended between Mike and me, okay?”

“I promise I won’t sleep with Mike’s girlfriend, okay?”

I laughed and finished my set.

“What girlfriend? The Viking King hasn’t hooked up in almost a year.”

“Duh, Candace.”

I scoffed but argued. “Yeah, like Candace would give you a half a look. Plus, she’s way too good for Gigantor.”

“Whatever pretty boy.”

We continued to work-out in silence and after another two hours, I was completely drenched. Aching and exhausted, I pulled some “swishy” pants on over my shorts and made my way home. By way of running.

I never said I was smart.

There wasn’t a bone in my body, a molecule that didn’t crave Jamie’s presence, but I needed to sit in silence for a bit to reclaim my head. Fighting demons wasn’t something I needed to add to her plate. Especially because she had enough of her own, already.

My house was so empty, so quiet. It was my solitude. My own personal prison on some days.

I had a two story farm house with wrap around porch, complete basement, full attic and separate two car garage. It was painted indigo blue with partial stone siding and stark white shutters. Nothing fancy in my opinion, but it was home.

Walking up the three steps and across the porch to the front door I thanked God every time for the blessings in my life and the home that many of my brothers and sisters did not have.

Homeless veterans was a growing pandemic and it broke me to know that there wasn’t a lot I could do. While my savings was substantial enough to retire today and live off of comfortably for the rest of my life, I donated more than half of my income to projects and charities that dealt with housing and feeding homeless veterans.

Our little slice of somethin’ out here in Tennessee wasn’t big enough to change the world, but when our soldiers came home, they always had a home and hot meals on their table. All of us advocated for our Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, Airmen and Coastie’s living with PTSD. One brother who lost the fight was one too many. We volunteered time and money to fight against the decline of home and health in our veterans’ lives, no matter their age or affiliations. It was infuriating how easily we could fix the problems of homelessness if every wealthy person donated a house or a small slice of their wealth to building a home. There were people out there, willing to build for free if only they had a donor. It is an ongoing fight that hopefully is won one day. Soon.

I’ve just gotten word from Luke that one of my sister’s came home to an eviction notice after her step-brother who was supposed to be watching after her stuff, drained her accounts, sold all of her stuff, ran up all her credit cards in a matter of one day and disappeared. That shit was going to be dealt with and real soon; it has now been added to top priority, right after or maybe alongside of Jamie. Maybe I wouldn’t be so livid if it didn’t involve her coming home to fight the state for the rights to her daughter back. That was an outrageous and incredibly long story that thank fuck ends in her getting her daughter back in one piece, quickly. Luke may have had something to do with that, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter since it ended the way it did.

I walk in, kicking off my boots in my “mudroom” as ma called it and savored the feel of bare feet on cold hardwood floors. Luke kept turning the A/C up to Alaska so the damn central air conditioning kept freezing up. Going without cool air in Tennessee in the dead of summer was never okay. No matter where I’ve been stuck before, I wasn’t dealin’ if I didn’t absolutely have to. Thank God Mike came out and was able to hook a brother up. Next time Luke freezes it, he’s sleeping on the porch.

The floor down the main hall and up the stairs were stained oak white which worked perfect with Diesel’s nails always leaving white marks on his most traveled routes; no one could tell he’d been there – unless I’d forgotten to sweep his mile high pile of hair out of the corners and along the baseboard.

The hallway spanned from the front door to the back of the house, double the width of a typical hallway; four doors were set off, two on each side.

My supposed office was the first room to the right when you walked in and basically held a few books, some pictures and a bare desk. I didn’t even have a lamp on it – I never used this room. By the looks of it, Luke had set up his PC and what not since I had been gone. At least the room was getting some use.

The room on the left was an open dining room that led to the large, spacious kitchen.

Between the first two sets of doors, down the middle of the hallway, were French doors that as far as I could tell held absolutely no purpose; they stayed open always. Beyond the doors was a half-guest bathroom to the right and a small closet to the left. The hall ended when it opened up to the large family room that housed the only television, if you didn’t count my computer screen in the office, in the whole house. Ma said I would want a family room for everyone to gather with easy access to the deck and backyard but would want a formal living area which was oddly enough, upstairs.

I’d learned long ago not to ask any questions. I just stand there smiling, nodding my head.

Taking the first left, I shuffle over the painted wooden floors done in a distressed mint green color. I actually loved that; the color was different and not as common as natural wood floors were.

In the center of the kitchen sat a long bar/island that was multi-level. The bar was higher and the second half was lower with a farmhouse sink and large cutting board to the right.

My cabinets were all white with silver handles and white appliances.

Where Tommy’s kitchen boasted double ovens, I just needed the one. I never used it though – not once. No, I was a microwave chef and a damn good one. You wanted a frozen beef burrito and I was your guy. Not to brag, but I was also pretty handy with a toaster too; I heated a mean toaster struddle.

I had a built in desk between the wall of kitchen cabinets where ma and Mrs. V said my kids could do their homework while my wife cooked. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’d never give them grandkids. It just wasn’t in the stars for someone as fucked up as me. Probably better that way. Plus, I’m pretty sure you have to have a woman before you can line up having kids.

I’d be a hell of an uncle though. I kept trying to tell that to Taylor but she just smacked me when I brought it up.

I head into the kitchen to stare into the fridge I already know is pretty bare; usually there’s only protein bars or enough ingredients to mix up a protein shake. I’m real high maintenance like that.

With a quick grab at the carton or orange juice and a handful of peanut butter cookies – okay, so I wasn’t totally healthy – I turn on my heel, kicking the fridge door shut and seek out my oh so beautiful shower.

She’s calling to me, urging me to come touch her all over.

Taking the staircase which is located behind the kitchen, up to my bedroom, I go straight for the bathroom. I hit the shower on, setting it to full blown Antarctica. Something has got to get rid of this…all the fucking time, wood. It’s a Jamie-only induced wood, but I can’t really walk around calling it that. While the water gets as cold as it possibly can, I meander over to my bedside and feed my little turtles and fish. They’re very small tanks because quite frankly I can’t handle much else without it going belly up in 24 hours – 48 max.

After twenty minutes and three insane releases later, I’m pretty sure I’m bionic and convinced that nothing is going to get rid of this perma-boner Jamie has created. I’ve never been so hard after kissing or even thinking of a woman.  Any other woman and I’d go screw some random chick to get it over with; not quite so easy with Jamie. I couldn’t look at another woman the way I’ve been looking at Jamie, not since she became a part of my life, and I certainly couldn’t set her up on my lap.

Looking at that tall drink of water the wrong way was likely to turn Taylor psychotic and go all Lorena Bobbitt on my ass… or dick rather.

After practically having to crawl my way out of the shower, I set myself up in my recliner for a few hours; I stared blankly at the flat screen while God-only-knows-what played. A quick glance at my watch told me it was 0300. That ought to be a safe time to go check on her; I’m hoping she’s sleeping peacefully, and completely covered. Better yet, here is to hoping Matt has her under lock and key where I can’t put my mitts on her – ever.

Fuck, I’m so screwed.

* * *

“Come here you little bitch and give daddy’s friends some love.” A rough, sweaty, bear paw swiped at me. I was hiding under the clothes and piles of shoes I’d made a wall out of, in the back corner of the only closet in this disgusting dump of a home.

I kept praying that if I don’t answer him or make a peep, something else will distract him and he’ll give up on me. He’s bothered me enough today and I might puke on him. It would serve him right but then I’d have to clean it up and be punished for it, too.

His hand disappears and I edge forward to see if he’s standing there still. A loud shriek escapes my mouth unwillingly, automatically when he yanks me up by my hair; out of the closet, dragging me into the rat infested hallway, down to the living room. Two big men, one white and one Hispanic looking were standing there leering at me.

“No!” I yelled, kicking and screaming; tears rolling down my dirty cheeks. “Leave me alone!”

He stopped to tighten his grip on my hair they had bleached a horrendous yellow white and to kick me; his foot connected with my ribs.

I felt one crack and breathing suddenly became painful.

The men laughed and the Hispanic one murmured, “Serves the little cunt right.”

While he laughed, I noticed a tick in the jaw of the white man. It seemed so odd but I wasn’t really in a position to ask questions or make demands.

My sperm donor dropped me at their feet, still holding to my hair. In a delicate manner, he swiped the hair off of my face then proceeded to back hand me a handful of times while shouting the rules at me.

“Don’t yell. Don’t backtalk. Don’t make me punish you. Make the nice men happy. Do what you’re good for.”

The white man grabbed his elbow before he could hit me again and stage whispered, “Hey man, do what you gotta do, but don’t go breaking the merchandise. I want a nice clean face for what I have in mind.” He winked at me and my stomach churned. Though my sperm donor – I never called him my father or dad – hit me with fury and was unrelenting, I was trained not to squirm or flinch.

“Fucking deserve it.” He always said.

The Hispanic reached down and fondled my chest, licking his lips.

I closed my eyes and pretended I was at the Doctor’s office, being checked. I had read that Doctors were supposed to check you for breast cancer. Reading was the only thing I found a passion for but the crack whore wasn’t going to buy me any books so I read what I could, where I could. School was optional as far as the sperm donor was concerned so often times he “scheduled” me.

“Stand up, girl.” The white man demanded, a growl in his voice.

“Yes, sir.” I answered, no defiance in my tone.

Even taking hurt badly.              

“What’s your name?”

“Whatever you want it to be.” It was the answer he beat into me; I never gave my real name – or his.

The whore was in the back corner of the living room sucking on some man’s dick while he sniffed cocaine off a dinner plate. Pausing only to take a couple five lines herself, she eyed the white man then me, and back to him before proceeding with her other favorite past time.

This was where I was raised – Brownsville projects, Brooklyn, New York.

“You’re going to go with this fine man here-” the sperm donor said, pointing to the white man, and continued, “Then tomorrow night, you’re all his.”

The Hispanic man whistled lowly and squeezed my butt really hard.