The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,4

now.”

“We don’t want you to be perfect.” Sparrow rubbed my back faster, harder. “We just want you to be ours. You are Samuel. A gift from God. In the Bible, Samuel was gifted to Hannah after years of praying. She thought she was barren. Do you know what barren means?”

“A woman who can’t have kids.” I shuddered. To have kids, you first had to make them, and I knew exactly how people went about making them—I caught Catalina practicing a bunch of times with her clients—and it was damn gross.

Sparrow nodded. “After Sailor was born, the doctors told me I couldn’t conceive again. Turned out, I didn’t have to. I have you. Your name means ‘The Lord Hears’ in Hebrew. Shma-el. God heard my prayers and surpassed my every expectation. You’re exquisite, Samuel.”

Exquisite. Ha. That was a word I’d use for a famous painting or some shit, not a nine-year-old ex cocaine addict, recovering alcoholic, who was an active smoker, and half the size of kids my age.

My childhood was such a bust, my innocence and I no longer shared a zip code, and if she thought a few home-cooked meals and some back rubs were going to change it, well, she was in for an unpleasant surprise.

“Tell me why I’m here. Why I’m not in an orphanage. I’m old enough to know,” I demanded, balling my fists really hard, clenching my jaw. “And don’t talk to me about the Bible. The Lord may have heard Hannah, but He sure as shit ain’t been listening to me.”

“You’re here because we love you,” Sparrow said at the same time Troy answered, “You’re here because I killed your father.”

Silence descended. Sparrow shot up from my bed, her eyes really wide and really big, staring at her husband. Her mouth hung open like a fish. Troy carried on.

“He said he deserves to know. He’s not wrong, Red. The truth, Sam, is that shortly before your father died, he kidnapped Sparrow with every intention of killing her. I had to save my wife and did so without thinking twice. I wanted you to have a father figure. A person to look up to. The plan was to take you to basketball games every now and again. Provide guidance, advice, and a fat college fund to kick-start your life; getting attached was never in my plans, but it happened, anyway.” He looked me right in the eye. “Very early on I realized you were not a project. You were family.”

“You killed my father,” I echoed.

I knew Brock Greystone was dead, but Catalina and Grandma Maria always said it happened in an accident.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Who knows?”

“You. Me. Cat. Aunt Sparrow. God.”

“Did God forgive you?”

Troy smirked. “He gave me you.”

Depending on who you asked, that could be seen as a punishment.

Now Brock was dead, and Cat was gone. The Brennans were my only shot at survival, whether I liked it or not.

“All right?” Troy asked. With his Southie accent, it came out as “Aight?”

I stared at him, not sure what to think or do.

“I’m going to go get some dunks now.” He leaned down to grab my shoulder bag, retrieving Cat’s pack of cigarettes from it. It was close to midnight. He was definitely going to one of his “businesses.”

“Donuts always make everything better,” Sparrow pointed out, carrying on with the lie. “Be safe, honey.”

He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Always, Red. And you…” he tousled my hair with his massive palm “…no more cigarettes. This shit could send you to an early grave.”

That was the moment I decided I was going to smoke until my lungs collapsed. Not because I wanted to defy Uncle Troy, but because dying young didn’t seem like a bad idea.

When he left, I turned to Sparrow. My nerves were shot. I couldn’t trust myself not to vomit again, but this time in her lap. And I never vomited, never cried.

“He didn’t want to take me,” I said.

She ran her fingers through my hair, brushing it back to normal. “No, he didn’t. But only because he didn’t want your mother to walk out of your life.”

“But you didn’t give a shit about that. Why?”

“Because I know no mother is better than a bad mother, and every day you were with her made my heart hurt.”

“Grams left, too.”

“She didn’t leave, honey. She died. It wasn’t up to her.”

“I don’t care. I hate women. I hate them.”

“One day you’ll find someone who changes your mind.” Sparrow smiled privately, like