Canaan

Who knew a bar full of Thursday night patrons could be closed in less than five minutes? But that’s what just happened when Rachel Kingsley arrived to confront Tate about her pregnancy.

As Rachel paced and ranted about immaturity and irresponsibility and ruined lives, the four of us just kind of stood there and listened. Her rage was a palpable thing, a physical force. As she railed on, my mind went back in time, remembering her when we were just kids.

She hated Corin and me.

She hated this bar.

She hated our family name, and everything about us. Why? I wasn’t sure. I only knew that she’d always hated the Badd brothers. She’d barely tolerated her daughters, Tate and Aerie, hanging out with us when we were kids, and that was only because the girls had actually run away together the one time their mother had tried to force them to stop seeing us. At age thirteen, they’d stolen their mother’s credit card, forged her signature, and had gotten as far as Portland, Oregon before they’d been hauled back in custody by an FBI agent Rachel was friends with. They had been grounded for a month, but the blow-out screaming match the three of them had had about the whole scenario had convinced Rachel that it was probably safest to just let the girls see us—under watchful supervision.

These rules had meant that the only time we saw them was either around Dad or Rachel, or in a public place, like the mall or at school. No private studying, no hanging out when there weren’t other adults around. Not that Rachel’s fears hadn’t been somewhat justified, as Corin and I had both lost our virginity very young and had begun pursuing girls with a focus so singular it was only matched by our dedication to music. So, given the reputation we’d earned by the time we were sixteen, I can definitely understand Rachel’s concerns. We were horndogs, and with Dad being the way he was—working open to close every single day and half-drunk by ten most nights—we had little to zero supervision. Meaning…we ran roughshod over Ketchikan, banging any girl that would let us into her pants.

Rachel had been worried for the virtue of her daughters. I get it, I do.

Bast wasn’t any better…and neither were Zane, or Brock, or Bax. The only two who didn’t earn reputations as lady-killer man-whores were Luce and Xavier, and being the babies of the family, they were young and had other interests. So, again, I understand the distaste a prim and pretentious woman like Rachel would develop for us. Her daughters were gorgeous, and outgoing, and smart, and popular, and talented…she wanted them to have a future, and letting them get tangled up with us Badd boys seemed, to her, the death knell of their potential. We’d just ruin them, Rachel assumed.

That part is bullshit.

Corin and I had plans. We had no intention of sticking around Ketchikan for our whole lives. We were gonna be rock stars, and tour the world, and make millions of dollars, and buy mansions in Beverly Hills. Knocking up girls had no place in those plans, and so we were always very careful.

Which is why Corin’s mistake with Tate is so damn confusing to me. This whole year, being back in Ketchikan to help run the bar, it was meant to be a temporary hiatus for us, nothing more. We’d intended to develop our own label and release our own music during that time, but the plan had always been to get back out on the road as soon as we could.

I still had no intention of settling down in Ketchikan permanently, not anytime soon, at least.

I loved touring. I loved the craziness and the chaos, the solitude of the time on the road, the lights and the noise and the crowds…I was born for it. I wouldn’t mind having Ketchikan as my home base, as my private refuge when I needed time away from it all, but to just…stay here?

Yeah…nope.

But with Tate being pregnant, things had become complicated.

Honestly, I’m pissed at him. That’ll have to wait, though.

Right now, Rachel’s anger took precedence.

“…I just don’t understand how you could let this happen, Tate! I thought you knew better! You’ve assured me up and down since the time you were sixteen that you’d never let this happen. ‘I won’t be having any babies until I’m ready’—those were your exact words, verbatim, less than six months ago.” Rachel stopped pacing, breathing hard, shaking her head. “I just…I don’t even know what to say.”

“You seem to have plenty to say,” Tate said.

“Your modeling career is over, Tate. Over. Even successful supermodels don’t go back to mainstream full-time modeling after having a baby. That’s a major shift in career paths for a model. Even if you do everything right, stay in shape, watch your diet, get your body back as quickly as possible after birth, you won’t be the same. Things won’t be the same. And…how are you going to raise a baby? What do you know of parenting? Of real responsibility? And what…you’re going to do it alone? I’m busier than ever—you know that. I’ve opened a talent management office, as you know, so it’s not like I’ll have time to play Grandma so you can go gallivanting off modeling like you’re used to.” She snorted, gesturing derisively at Corin. “You think he’s going to stick around? You think he’s going to hang around playing daddy with a baby he never wanted with a girl who was never anything but an easy piece of ass for him?”

Corin took a single aggressive, stomping step toward Rachel, his voice deadly quiet. “You know nothing about me, Rachel. You know nothing about us or about our relationship…you don’t even know anything about your own daughter.” Another step, his voice still pitched low with fury. “How dare you—how fucking dare you assume that about me, much less about your own daughter? You assume she would let herself be that, what you called her? An easy piece of ass? You think that about your own daughter?”

Tate stepped up beside him. “He’s right. You have no right.” She clung to his arm with both hands, and it was obvious she was only barely controlling her own anger. “You are so far out of line I don’t even—I can’t even…” she trailed off, at a loss to encapsulate her emotions.

“Oh stop with the poor insulted us routine,” Rachel sneered. “You know I’m right.”

Tate hissed. “No, actually, you’re wrong on just about every level there is. God, you’re fucking impossible, Mom!”

“Oh? Wrong about what?” Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and quirked an eyebrow. “This I’d like to hear.”

“About me, about Corin. About us, like he said. This may have been unexpected—” she lifted the pregnancy test she was holding in one hand, “—but it’s not…Corin isn’t going to just abandon me. We’re together.”

“Oh, you’re together,” Rachel said, sarcastic. “How nice. My mind is changed.”

“We’re in love, Mom.”

Rachel touched her chest with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, you’re in love! My, my, my—everything is fixed, now!” She shook her head again, rolling her eyes. “And what about your career? What about his?” She glanced at me and Corin. “I heard you two boys were doing a little music thing…this affects that somewhat, doesn’t it?”

“You’re being a bitch, Mom,” Aerie said, standing beside me.

Rachel didn’t even glance Aerie’s way. “You stay out of this. I’ll get to you next, missy.” To Tate, then: “Being in love is very nice for the two of you. It won’t last, but at least you have that going for you at the moment. It still doesn’t change the fact that your modeling career is ruined.”

“I NEVER WANTED TO BE A MODEL!” Tate shouted. “You forced me into that. I never wanted it! I’m glad it’s over!”

Rachel blinked, shocked. “I didn’t force you into anything—stop being so damn dramatic.”

“For the record, it’s not a little music thing,” I felt compelled to add. “We were signed with a major label, and we were in the middle of a world tour when our father died unexpectedly. We came back home to be with our family.”

“Your family,” Rachel sneered. “A bunch of lazy, itinerant, philandering, swaggering brutes and thugs and hoodlums.”

Brock and Bast were both behind the bar, quietly listening and watching and letting the four of us handle our own drama—they’d closed down the bar early when Rachel had started ranting, so now we were alone in the dining room; Mara, Dru, and Claire had vanished to give us privacy, and Lucian and Zane had retreated into the kitchen.

Hearing Rachel’s last statement, Bast swaggered out from behind the bar, his size-fifteen steel-toed boots clomping like thunder on the hardwood floors. He stomped over, slid in between Rachel and Corin and Tate, crossing his massive, tattooed arms over his thick chest, his expression fiery; Bast was intimidating when he was in a good mood…when he was angry? Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end.

He stared Rachel down for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was tight and cold. “Listen up, bitch. This is our bar you’re standing in. You don’t get to stand there actin’ all high and mighty, insultin’ me and my brothers. I got no quarrel with you. I get you looking out for your daughters. I get you being pissed that Tate’s come up pregnant. I even get you being upset she got knocked up by a Badd…god knows none of us are saints. But you want to have this conversation with them under my roof, you will keep a civil tongue in your fuckin’ pretentious-ass head, you understand me? You wanna keep insulting me and mine—and that includes Tate and Aerie by the way—you can take your ass out of here.”

To her credit, Rachel faced Bast without flinching, although she did go as pale as a sheet. “You—you can’t talk to me like that, you big ugly brute,” she snarled, blustering.

Dru appeared out of thin air, putting her face into Rachel’s. “He’s too much of a gentleman to outright threaten you, and he certainly wouldn’t put a hand on you.” Dru’s hand shot out and latched onto Rachel’s, pinching the web of her hand between forefinger and thumb—a pressure point, apparently, since Rachel squeaked in pain and went utterly still. “Make no mistake, Rachel Kingsley—I can and will literally throw you out of this bar, and you’ll land straight on your face. You do not get to talk to any of us like that, especially not my husband.” She let go, and Rachel staggered backward on her Louboutins, rubbing her hand.

“You’re all barbarians.” She glared daggers at Dru…from a safe distance. “Touch me again, and I’ll sue you.” She gestured at all of us. “I’m here to collect my daughters and take them home where I can deal with them and the mess they’ve made of their lives. I don’t need any of you people sticking your nose in my business.”

Bast chuckled, a deep rumble. “Yeah, well, then you shouldn’t have stormed into the middle of a busy bar on a Thursday night and started screaming like a crazy woman.”

“I was not screaming like a crazy woman!” Rachel protested.

“I had to apologize to my customers for the embarrassment and disruption, not to mention the fact that I then also had to close several hours early, which is losing me thousands of dollars.” He pinned her with a hard glare, stabbing a finger in her direction. “So yeah, crazy woman.”

Rachel huffed. “That’s not my problem.”

“It’s about to be,” Dru snarled. “I’ll make it your problem.”

“More threats,” Rachel said. “How shocking.”

Lucian appeared from the kitchen, then, standing to one side with his hands in his back pockets, casual and calm and giving off an air of grandfatherly disapproval. “This is getting out of hand.” He glided to stand behind Rachel, gesturing at the front door with one hand. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not—you can’t—”

Lucian’s voice snapped like a whip. “Now.”

The command in his voice was so sharp and authoritative that her feet were carrying her to the door before Rachel even realized it. She stumbled to a halt, and Lucian remained behind her, arm extended to prevent her from retreating back into the dining room.

“Now you wait just one moment, I’m not leaving—” Rachel started.

“You are,” Luce interrupted. “You aren’t welcome here, Mrs. Kingsley.” This was phrased with the utmost politeness, but his voice was colder than ice. “Now…or ever.”

Rachel pointed at Tate and Aerie, and then snapped her fingers as she headed for the door. “Let’s go, girls.”

Aerie and Tate exchanged looks, and then Aerie moved to stand beside Tate, and I stood beside her, so we were all four of us in a row, arms around each other’s waists.

“I don’t think so, Mom,” Tate said.

“You’re coming home with me, Tate.” Rachel jabbed a finger at the floor. “Right now.”

Tate shook her head. “I said no.”

“I can get you in to see Dr. Vickers. He’ll have this little oops of yours taken care of quickly, painlessly, and easily.” Rachel tried a different tactic. “I can help.”

Tate pressed her hands over her belly. “Dr. Vickers? At the women’s clinic, you mean?” She shook her head, backing up. “Like…an abortion?”

“It’s the most logical solution, Tate.” She even managed to sound sympathetic.

“Fuck you, Mom,” Tate snarled. “That’s not an option.”

“Fuck no, it’s not an option,” Corin said. “Please leave, Rachel.”

“You’re making a mistake!” Rachel shouted. “He’s a mistake. This whole thing is a mistake.”

“I’m not going to ask again, Mrs. Kingsley.” Lucian stepped directly into her line of vision. “Leave now, or the police will be involved.”

“I’m here for my daughter!” Rachel said. “I’m not leaving without her. You’re making a mistake, Tate.”

Tate let out a breath, hesitated, then crossed the room to stand by her mother; Lucian stepped aside, but didn’t go far. “Mom, listen.” Her voice was quiet, calm, almost loving. “I know you mean well. I really do. I’m sorry we had to leave like we did, I’m sorry we quit modeling when that’s what you wanted for us—” Rachel tried to cut in, but Tate spoke over her. “No—no! Mom, please hear me: I never wanted to be a model. I went along with it because I was sixteen and didn’t know any better than to think you really did know best for us. I’m an adult now, and I can legally make my own decisions. If you want to help, then back off, be emotionally supportive, stop being so combative and crazy and difficult, and just…be my mom. I don’t need you to manage me or my life anymore, and I haven’t for a long time. To be honest, I resent your interference. That’s why I’m here.”

“Tate, you can’t know—”

“Shut up, Mom!” Tate snapped. “I’m here because this is where I want to be. I’m with Corin because he’s who I want to be with. I know you’ve never approved of them—you seem to hate all of them, as a matter of fact, and I’ve never understood why. They’re good men, all of them. They’re kind and intelligent and successful, and they’re loyal—and Corin…he’s…he’s…he’s talented and funny and kind, and he understands me like no one ever has or ever will. I love him, Mom. This isn’t sudden—I mean, yeah, it is, but it’s also not. We’ve known each other our whole lives. Now we’re adults and it just makes sense. I don’t need your approval. I don’t need your help.”

“Tate—” Rachel whispered.

“No. Just…don’t. I love you, Mom. I know everything you’ve done has been with our best interests at heart—please believe me when I say I really truly do understand that. But you’re…you need to let go a little. Let us live our own lives. Stop micromanaging everything.” Tate guided her mother to the door. “I’m never going back to modeling. Never. I’m done, permanently. I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be that.”

“So you’ll be a…a housewife?” Rachel asked this with a maximum amount of derision placed on the term.

“Maybe! And if that’s what I choose, then there won’t be a damn thing you can do about it.”

“So you’re…you’re just done with me?” Rachel sounded pathetic, now. Petulant.

Tate groaned. “God, you’re so dramatic. No, Mom. I’m not done with you, I’m just done with you trying to micromanage every aspect of my life, trying to tell me what to do, or where to go, or how to live, or what I do with my life, or who I’m going to be with.” She was physically guiding Rachel out of the building. “If you want to be in my life—speaking only for myself right now—you have to get a grip on yourself. You can’t just barge into someone’s place of business and start screaming obscenities at people. It’s embarrassing, and I won’t stand for it. I also won’t let you speak negatively about the man I love or his family. So…again, if you want to be part of my life, you’ll have to be nice. To me, Corin, Sebastian and everyone else. I’m not playing games anymore, Mom. I’m not a child, and you need to stop acting like one.”

Rachel sighed, a long, dramatic exhalation. “Fine. Have it your way, then. But don’t come running to me when your life falls apart.”

“Can’t you just support me, Mom?” Tate’s voice quavered, then, and she exhaled sharply, steadying herself. “You don’t have to agree with my decisions, but at least act like you love me and support me anyway. Is that really so much to ask?”

“You’re throwing your life away, Tater-Tot.” Rachel cupped Tate’s face, smiling sadly; her manner was rife with condescension. “I know you think you want this, but I promise…you don’t. I’m just trying to protect you from yourself.”

Tate knocked her mother’s hand away. “You don’t get to call me that.” She backed away. “Bye, Mom.”

And then Tate turned her back on her mother. She had tears in her eyes, but her shoulders were back and her head was high, and she gratefully returned to the shelter of Corin’s side.

Rachel paused in the doorway, holding the door open with one hand, glancing back at Aerie. “And you, Aerie?”

Aerie, standing next to me, leaning against my side with one hand on my chest, head leaning on my bicep, just shook her head. “She spoke for both of us regarding your behavior and how you treat us,” Aerie said. “And I have nothing else to say to you right now.”

“Fine.” Rachel sighed. “I’ll be leaving Ketchikan on Saturday morning. I’m staying with Grandma and Grandpa until then. I’ll see you there?”

“Probably not,” Aerie said. “Not after this.”

“I just—”

“Bye, Mom,” Aerie said, with a sarcastic wave.

Yet another angry huff, and then Rachel Kingsley was finally gone.

As the door closed behind her, a long, tense silence filled the bar.

“Wow, she’s kind of like the Great Dragon of the East or something, isn’t she?” Xavier said, from the doorway to the kitchen.

Tate laughed. “She means well, but her delivery lacks…tact, you could say.”

Corin snorted. “Babe, I’m sorry, but…your mom’s a cunt.”

Aerie whacked him. “Nobody calls our mom a cunt except us,” she said. “But she was acting like a cunt—and speaking as woman, I don’t use that term lightly, especially about my mother.”

Tate rubbed Corin’s chest where Aerie had slapped him. “Like I said, she really does mean well.”

Brock, who hadn’t said a word the entire time, nor moved from his place behind the bar, yanked a bottle of whiskey from a shelf behind the bar. “That was fucking intense, and I need a drink.”

The door leading to the apartment stairs opened, and Zane appeared with Jax in his arm, the little guy staring backward over his dad’s shoulder as Zane approached the bar. “Is the crazy lady gone?” he asked in a whisper-shout. “Ooh, whiskey. Yes please.”

As if his words had summoned them, the rest of the gang all reappeared from wherever they’d gone.

“Do it up for everyone,” Bast said to Brock, lining up a row of shot glasses. “Except for Tate, since she’s apparently carrying the newest member of the Badd family.” He said this with a wink at Tate. “Luce, Xavier, you can have one too, just this once, but keep it on the DL, yeah?”

“Of all the times to not be able to drink,” Tate moaned. “Because I seriously need one right now.”

Aerie laughed. “I’ll do yours for you, sis.”

Tate glanced from person to person as Brock poured shots. “I’m sorry about that, everyone. She’s always been a little fired up about everything, but that was excessive even for her.”

Lucian and Xavier joined the crew at the bar, and Xavier sat on a stool while Lucian stood beside him.

Corin took his shot glass as Brock passed them out, and when everyone had theirs, except Tate, who had a shot glass filled with soda water, he lifted his into the air. “So, this wasn’t how I thought the announcement would go, but…” He laughed, gesturing with his shot glass. “Tate’s pregnant, ya’ll!”

There was a chorus of congratulations from everyone, and we all did our shots. Tate slammed her glass onto the bar with an irritated huff. “Soda water. It’s bullshit.”

“You have to think of the baby,” Zane said. “Gotta take care of little baby Badd.”

Tate glared at him. “I literally just found out, Zane. Like, literally not even five minutes before my mom showed up. I haven’t exactly had time to process this.”

“Oh.” Zane glanced at Corin. “So, Corin, buddy. Need to borrow my copy of The Expectant Father?”

“A little soon for jokes, Zane,” Corin said.

“Who’s joking? I read that shit three times while Mara was pregnant.”

“Watch your language around the baby, Zane,” Mara chided.

Everyone seemed totally cool with this whole thing. They were all like, hey, Tate’s pregnant. Cool! The more the merrier.

But I wasn’t so copacetic with the whole thing. At all.

And nobody seemed to notice, or care.

Finally, I couldn’t handle the whole scene anymore. “Fuck this,” I snarled. “This is bullshit.”

I stormed out of the bar, ignoring everyone’s stares and murmurs.