CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Macy
Blasting the water, I step into the shower stall, letting the spray pelt me. Oh god. Closing my eyes, I rest my forehead against the cool tile, praying for peace. Because what should I do? After that encounter with Heather, everything’s mixed up and muddled, with no clear path forwards.
On the one hand, the way the Morgans treated that girl was wrong. I don’t care what they told her or what they bought her. No cars, condos or cash is worth the devastation that Heather exhibited. How could they do that? Making the woman feel so good, only to drop her the minute she couldn’t produce. That’s not love or caring. That’s manipulation, pure and simple.
But my case isn’t so clear. Because I may already be pregnant, so where does that leave me? Should I pack my bags to disappear into the ether? Should I run home to Marsha and Jim, my parents’ disapproval a cold glare freezing me each day? Or should I stay here, and try and work things out?
When the boys trickle in for the evening, they find me curled up in front of a romantic comedy, wrapped in a fluffy pink bathrobe, shoving a fifth slice of pizza in my face. I hate to tell them but they are not getting anywhere past this terrycloth barrier tonight. And once I finish with this pizza, I’ve got a date with Ben & Jerry’s.
Sam eyes me suspiciously. Smith is more direct.
“What’s wrong honey?” comes his low growl, blue eyes trailing over my bod. “What’s going on?”
Matt, always more communicative, rephrases the question. “Tell us, baby girl. What’s with the Little Caesars? You never eat that stuff, fast food isn’t your thing. Did something happen today?”
I give them the side-eye, seven giants staring down at me wearing masks ranging from medium-concern to outright annoyance. The annoyance is Smith, who’s probably wondering what’s for dinner.
But I don’t want to face them just now.
“There’s pizza for you in the oven,” come my choked words, hoping to distract them.
But there’s no distraction. Matt lowers that massive form next to me on the couch, as Trent sits on my other side, taking a small palm in his giant fist.
“Talk to us,” Matt growls persuasively. “Tell us what’s going on.”
Trent is just as insistent.
“Now,” he rumbles, eyes direct. “Now, honey.”
There’s no avoiding the issue. If not now, then when? And given that there’s probably a baby already, I can’t put it off forever. So taking a deep breath, the words come.
“I met Heather Mastricci today,” I say slowly. “It was a shock, to say the least.”
Silence from the seven men. Blue eyes gaze at me, shuttered and expressionless.
“What?” I ask. “Why, was it wrong to talk to her?”
Matt shrugs carelessly.
“Not wrong,” he rumbles, face calm. “But that’s a surprise. How’d you get the idea?”
Okay, this is gonna be a hard one.
“My mom,” comes my rushed admission. “I know you hate Marsha, but still. She had a point. She put me on Heather’s trail, and it’s done. I met the woman, and it was an eye-opener.”
Trent’s hand squeezes mine roughly, a pulse beating heavily in his throat although his expression remains calm.
“And so?” the doctor rumbles deep in his chest. “What about it was so bad?”
I exhale deeply, oxygen departing in a whoosh.
“She’s gaunt and lifeless, like a corpse,” I begin slowly. “She’s clearly lost a lot of weight, nothing more than skin and bones. And the woman says she’s sick all the time, an after effect of the fertility treatments. Does that sound okay to you? Does that sound fair, or right?”
But the Morgans can be obstinate.
“Heather knew what she was getting into every step of the way,” Trent replies smoothly. “I explained the fertility treatments to her in great detail – the risks, the side-effects, the chances of success. She’s the one who chose to keep going.”
“Because she wanted to be with you,” I bite out. “She cared for you. She wanted to be the mother of your child. But you left her behind.”
The silence in the living room is deafening for a moment.
“We had to move on,” Sam says finally. “Having an heir is the cornerstone of our long-term strategy. We enjoyed the woman, and spent a lot of money and time trying to make it work. But she couldn’t get pregnant,” he concludes simply.
That got me. Calling Heather “the woman.” Spelling out her role in their “strategy.” What the hell? That was rich, real rich, striking to the heart of the problem like a dart on a bullseye.
And I had to take a stand for feminism. For the things I believe in. Sure, I’m not Ms. Corporate Titan, but at the same time, people are people and deserve to be treated with respect.
“A woman is not a business plan. A baby is not a business plan. I am not a business plan,” I say tightly, standing and clenching my fists into white-knuckled balls. “These are human beings you’re talking about, people with hopes, feelings and desires. Heather is a person – a person who’s hurting because of you and your master plan. You don’t feel anything for her? Really? Not anything?”
A pause once more.
“We do care for her,” Matt says slowly. “We pay for her lifestyle, the house, the car, everything. Heather’s set up for life.”
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. The Morgans really have no idea what’s wrong in this scenario. No clue whatsoever.
“That’s not it,” I say tightly, “She misses you, and it’s gonna kill her. Heather was the center of your universe for years and then – poof! – you’re gone. That’s bullshit and you know it. Money doesn’t make up for that.”
For the first time in a long time, all seven Morgan brothers are quiet. There’s no posturing, no arguing, no ordering. They’re just quiet, stares trained on me. I get a hold of myself, jerking my robe tight before starting for the second floor, ready to retreat to my room.
But as my slipper touches the first step, Sam’s deep voice sounds from across the room.
“It wasn’t great what we did, you’re right,” comes his baritone.
My head swivels like the girl in the Exorcist, almost flying off my shoulders. I stare in shock. Really? An admission of error? Acknowledgment of a mistake? From the Morgans? This can’t be happening.
But he nods slowly.
“We care about Heather,” interrupts Tim. “We absolutely cared about her, all the way until the end. But you have to understand Macy. We wanted something, and she couldn’t provide. This isn’t a question of money or wealth or any of that other shit. The biological urge for a child is real, and infertility is devastating. Even for happily married couples, it can wreck a relationship.”
My mouth snaps shut. That’s true. I’ve read articles about how infertility is a silent killer, devastating marriages because of dreams destroyed, visions of a family vanished into thin air. But still, it didn’t make sense.
“Break ups are break ups,” come my slow words, head shaking. “But this girl, she’s different. She’s wrecked. Absolutely wrecked, just a shadow of a human being now. And she says you did that to her.”
The men nod.
“She’s having a hard time, for sure,” says Smith, expressionless. “It was bound to happen.”
“Bound to happen?” I guffaw. “Why is that?”
Sam’s blue eyes are intent.
“Because she was at the center of a vortex. There were seven of us, and just one her. The feelings are magnified, emotions running like electrical currents all the time. Any woman would be broken once that current is shut down.”
But I shake my head again.
“I get it, sort of,” come my slow words. “But still, it’s crazy. Heather was a shell, nothing more than a living, breathing corpse. Is there something you can do for her?”
Silence once more.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” says Trent smoothly. “Most women don’t want their lovers to have any contact with exes.”
“It’s a bad idea,” interrupts Smith, voice harsh. “This is a fucked-up idea if there was ever one.”
But my head nods slowly.
“Listen,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I want to help Heather, if we can. Ex or no ex. Somehow, I want her to be okay. Or at least better than she is now. But there’s still this question about me ….” The words falter on my lips.
Suddenly, all seven men are on full alert.
“And?” comes Trent’s raspy question. “And what about you, Macy?”
I’m not sure what to say then. But I have to tell them of my uncertainties.
“I don’t know,” come my slow words, jerking my robe tighter around my waist. The air is heavy now, filling my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “I just don’t know anymore. Meeting her, realizing that I’m just a cog, it’s disturbing.”
“Not that disturbing,” bites Tim. “We’re all pawns in a master game.”
I shake my head slowly.
“Yes, there’s a master game, and that’s called life. But I want to be more than a pawn,” come my words. “It’s not enough just to be a vessel, someone who’s going to have your kid. I have to be more than that, even if I can’t deliver.”
The men are silent then. What are they going to say?
But no words come. Instead, they merely look at me, contemplative, blue eyes taking in everything.
Oh god, have I miscalculated? Have I thrown the best thing that ever happened to me away? And all on the word of a sick girl?
But I had to say it. I had to tell them the truth, that I don’t know what’s going to happen now. And turning to the side, my shoulders hunch, taking the steps one by one like a frail old lady.
Because the Morgans’ spell is already cast, writhing and twisting with devilish green light. If I don’t get a dose of goodness, a fresh shot of vitality and energy, I’m gonna end up just like Heather. Dead to the world. A pale, waxen figure, with raccoon eyes and a mind living in the past.
I won’t let that happen to me, I refuse. But what next? I’m a teen girl living in a luxury apartment with seven men. They pay all my bills. I’ve dropped out of college, my parents barely talk to me anymore. I’m caught in their web, and there’s no escape. Slowly, my limbs move into bed, arms and legs stiff, soul numb.
Because I love them still. I crave their bodies, the incredible energy that emanates from the alpha males. So it’s hard to reconcile what I witnessed today with the powerful billionaires. Or maybe that’s the thing. They’re powerful billionaires because of their innate ruthlessness, the way they take what’s theirs with no mercy.
And turning my face into the pillow, hot tears begin to roll, staining my cheeks before dropping wetly into the soft cloth. Because I love the brothers so much … and yet there’s no path forwards now.