I know why she’s mad. She caught me with my pants down. I just want her to fucking say it.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that shit. I’m a grown ass man, and there’s shit that I need, and sometimes a guy just needs to fucking come, and that’s what I did. Fuck, I’d rather come down Jenni’s throat. I know her lips would feel fan-fucking-tastic wrapped around my dick. My eyes roll back in my head just thinking about that shit. But instead of pulling her big girl panties up and using her words, she stomps off like a child.
Cruise, he needs to get a fucking clue too. It’s like it’s his mission to piss me off. I swear to Christ he will meet the reaper if he keeps making his play for miss sassy pants. Since she refuses to talk to me, I watch her ass swing with determination all the way to Bianca’s house. She doesn’t even hold the damn door open for me, and the screen damn nears slams in my face.
By the time, I enter the living room, I see Jenni leave for her room. Savannah is sitting next to a woman while the woman holds a sleeping Grace.
“Tylan, this is Margret Simons.” Savannah uses my proper name and not my club name, telling me that she doesn’t want this woman to know anything other than my legal name.
“Hello, Mr. McCoy. Please call me Maggie.” She hands the baby off to Savannah and stands, stretching out her hand to me. I look down at it and back to her. I’m not about to shake this lady’s hand when I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
Her eyes go to Savannah who gives her a tight nod. She drops her hand. “Well, then, let me tell you the reason why I’m here.”
“Lic–uh, Tylan, why don’t you take a seat?” Savannah urges me.
The lady reaches down and grabs a folder from a leather case. When she sees I haven’t moved she questions, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit?”
“I’m good.”
“All right.” She takes a long breath before opening the manila folder, turning it around on her lap, facing me. “This girl and boy are your sister’s children. They–”
“What the fuck?”
“Tylan!” Savannah scolds which makes Grace jump and whimper in her arms. “Jesus.” She looks at the lady whose face has dropped its color. “Please forgive him. He doesn’t have a filter between his mouth and brain.”
“I don’t need a fucking filter because this is who the fuck I am. Don’t you try to make excuses for me, Savannah. Ever.”
“I see this is a shock,” the lady says as she stands and walks towards me, making me take a step back. She pushes the folder into my chest. “Look at them.” She holds my stare, not backing down. This gray haired old bitty has got some balls. “Look at your sister’s children, Mr. McCoy. They aren’t going anywhere, and neither am I. You need to realize that you’re their only hope.”
“What the fuck does that mean? I ain’t no-one’s hope, especially not these brats.”
“Your sister dropped them off at a neighbor’s over a week ago. She left them and never came back.”
“Because she’s dead.”
“Yes, because she’s dead.” She nods in agreement. “She’s been gone for about five days give or take?”
“I don’t fucking know. I wasn’t there. How do you even know these kids belong to my sister?”
“You’re listed on all school documents as their next of kin. Your name has been listed as their emergency contact through their medical records from the time of birth. These two are most certainly your family.”
“Putting my name on some docs don’t mean shit to me.”
She takes another step towards me. “Look at the folder, Mr. McCoy.” I realize that I’m still holding it flat against my chest. I don’t want to look because I don’t need to see the reality of what my sister has done. She not only became a mother, but by her death, she became our mother, the one thing I never wanted to happen.
Down the hall, I hear a door open and then feel Jenni’s hand on my chest as she starts to pull the folder away. “Let me see, Tylan.”
I slowly shake my head. “It ain’t happening, Sugar Tits.” I tug on the folder.
“Oh, it’s happening,” she tells me. “Now.”
When I meet her gaze, I only see determination, and I know that I’m screwed. She pulls the folder from my grasp. I hear the back screen close, and I know that Savannah’s gone.
“Betsy McCoy,” the lady continues, “had four children total.”
My heart sinks at her confirmation. I have no clue what shit my sister was injecting into her body. For all I knew, none of those little fuckers survived. I feel heat roll through my body while my legs grow numb. Her voice sounds as though she’s a hundred fucking miles away.
“Two while still in her teen years that she gave up for adoption.”
Images of my too young sister walking around with a swollen belly enter my head. Her, alone, walking the streets with nowhere to go. Was she pregnant when she left? Did she get raped? Was it my mother’s fault? Was she alone when she gave birth? Was she fucking high the whole time?
“Tylan, you need to sit down.” Jenni’s voices drag me back from wherever the fuck I was going. I nod and take a seat. The couch dips next to me, and I feel Jenni push the folder into my lap, but I refuse to look at anything that’s inside.
“The county records show that they were both closed adoptions, so we have no information as to where those two children ended up. Do you understand that, Mr. McCoy?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m not fucking stupid. I understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m not insinuating that you are, but I understand that this may be a shock to you and I want to make sure that you’ve heard me.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard you,” I grit.
“Look at the picture, Mr. McCoy. Those two children were not placed for adoption.”
“Why the fuck do you keep asking me to look at the goddamn pictures? I don’t want to look at the God forsaken pictures.”
“Tylan–” Jenni warns.
I snap my head in her direction. “Don’t you start with me.”
“Stop being such an ass!” She raises her voice as she slaps her hand on the papers in my lap. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard her cuss. The corner of my mouth pulls into a smile. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. When I open them, I feel a punch to my gut.
“There,” I hear Maggie’s voice. “As you can see, Mr. McCoy, Betsy had a boy. His name is Tylan Ryder McCoy, and he’s eleven year’s old. He currently goes by Ryder. The second child, a girl, Roxy Sunshine McCoy, is six almost seven years of age. They are your nephew and niece.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. These two kids could pass for my sister and me at that age. The only difference is coloring. They’re both a light tan with dark hair and matching deep brown eyes. Tearing my eyes from the pictures, I ask the obvious question.
“Where’s their father?”
“There isn’t one listed on either of their birth certificates. You’re their only known family. You’re all they have.”