Chapter Three

Cal

In a dusty, cramped basement, I squint my eyes into the light shining from the door at the top of the stairs. The Westons own an impressive home, the biggest one I've ever seen, but being a foster kid, I don't exactly get to enjoy the benefits. I'm sequestered to a cot down here with boxes of their Christmas decorations and countless other useless objects that they've deemed unacceptable to be showcased on the main floor.

Story of my life.

As long as I'm fed and clothed, that's all that matters. They get their check and I get the bare minimum so long as I'm alive and healthy. It shouldn't bother me when I've been here time and time again. Fourteen years in the foster care system should have ingrained in my head that I'm worthless and no one wants me, yet here I am, staring up into the light with the hope that I'll get moved from this hell of a fucking place.

Denise's heels clatter down the steps. After a glance at the clock on the end table beside my cot, it's too early for lunch, which can only mean she's here for something else entirely. My stomach rolls with nausea at the thought.

But another set of steps echo behind her. A pair of tiny feet come into view before they round the corner, a girl in dirty clothes clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest. Her eyes frantically search around the room before they land on me, and I can almost smell the fear rolling off of her. I briefly close my eyes, exhaling through my nose. This girl can't be older than six. She doesn't deserve this.

She shouldn't be here.

"This is Monique," Denise says coolly. "She'll be staying with us for the time being." For all the fucked up torture Denise bestows, you'd never guess it by looking at her. With a neatly gelled bun at the nape of her neck clasped in pearls, she's the epitome of a socialite who throws galas every weekend or hangs around the golf club Mr.Weston is fond of. It's likely the reason these two vile twats haven't been caught yet.

Monique takes a tentative step towards the cot adjacent to mine, just the rabbit in one hand and a garbage bag in the other. Denise follows her, running a hand over the young girl's tightly cropped afro before she says, "This is Calum, our foster son. You'll be staying down here with him."

I fucking hate being called Calum.

Monique's brown eyes meet mine, wide and panicked, but I mentally applaud her for keeping herself together. She doesn't cry, but then again, the foster care system has a way of maturing us quicker than we're ready for. "Hello," she whispers.

"Hi." My lips twitch, threatening a smile at her shyness. I'm normally not the type of guy to talk to strangers, but if Monique is going to be living here, she'll need someone, and I'm not that much of a dick to ignore a girl too young for the fucking Westons.

Denise's eyes flick to mine, causing the hair to rise on my arms. "You'll make sure she gets settled in?"

I nod and turn my focus to a spot on the wall.

"Answer me," she says. "Use your words."

It takes everything I have, but with gritted teeth, I manage to get out, "Yes."

"Good. And see to it that you come upstairs to visit me tonight."

"I already said no yesterday. Fuck no."

She lifts a perfectly plucked brow and shifts her snake-like eyes to Monique. "Very well. I suppose Don could take my place then with Monique."

Acid rises all too quickly in my throat, but I swallow it down when Monique's eyes bounce between us, seeming intrigued by this conversation when she shouldn't be. She's too innocent for this evil fucking house. Too young to experience these horrors. I've already had years of it. I've already grown accustomed to it. And with only two years left until I turn eighteen and can get the fuck out of here, I'll suck it up to try and spare this young girl from having to take my place.

The way Denise smiles has me assuming she knew the conversation would go this way, and I wouldn't be surprised if Monique was a ploy for her to get her way. Don gets his wife anything she wishes, even if those wishes are illegal and demented.

It's a cat-and-mouse game with us, and I've always been the rodent desperate to escape her claws.

"Fine," I hiss. "I'll meet you."

With a satisfied grin, her heels click back upstairs, leaving Monique and me alone. The little girl plops down on the cot and opens her garbage bag, pulling out two pairs of pants and three shirts. "What do you have to meet her for?" She asks. "Chores?"

Christ.

I wish.

"Sort of. Where'd you get the bunny?"

She grins, one of her front teeth missing. "This is Mr. Wiggles. He's my best friend. I take him everywhere I go."

My heart pinches at just how many foster homes she's been in. "Cool."

"Do you have a stuffed animal?"

"Nah. I'm too old for stuffed animals."

"Too old? You're never too old for a stuffed animal! Here. I think..." She rummages in her garbage bag before pulling out an elephant that looks worse for wear. There are water stains in multiple places, but Monique seems proud of the tiny thing. She passes it to me and says, "You can have Pinky."

"Pinky," I repeat. "But the elephant isn't pink."

Her brows bunch together as if she's never considered this before. "I guess not. You're not very talkative, huh?"

"Don't really like speaking."

"That's fine." Her lips press together before she smiles again, and dammit. I almost smile too. "You're in luck. Pinky prefers to sit in silence too."

***

After my session with Anastasia, I've been a bundle of fucking unrest since I came home. The smell of her when she leaned in to inspect my exercise—a floral scent that reminded me of gardenias. Specific, but it reminds me of home, and it's because of that that I've found myself staring up at the ceiling at midnight, contemplating what the actual fuck is wrong with me.

That scent alone should have been revolting. It should have had me puking into the nearest trash can, but instead, I could only focus on her lips and the parts about her that shouldn't be captivating but are. I'm not used to admiring any woman. Hundreds have tried to hook up with me at whatever bars I go to with the team, raving about my game and offering a fun night, but none of them have captured my attention the way that she does.

On the plus side, Aria got Monique's room done and it looks vastly different to the fuschia monstrosity I came up with. I think Monique is going to like it when she sees it tomorrow. At least I hope so. Fuck. I need to get some sleep if I have any hope of being somewhat tolerable.

The pulsating in my groin begs to differ.

Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes and heave a frustrated sigh before sinking into the pillows. I'm a man in my twenties, so biologically speaking, I have a sex drive. Boners come and go, and sometimes, even when I try and will them to go away, they refuse to. This one seems to be adamant on not disappearing given it's been there since I left the fucking physical therapy session hours ago.

I despise jacking off almost as much as I despise eating pussy. It has all the hair on my body standing on end and the bile rising to my throat in quick succession at the thought of having to relieve myself, but if I don't get this over with, I'll be staring at my ceiling for God knows how long.

Slipping my hand into my briefs, I pull my cock out and give it a long tug from base to tip. My eyes remain shut, every muscle taut as I try to get the job done as quickly as possible.

It'll be over within two minutes, I remind myself.

Except this time, Anastasia's perky ass pops into my head. The way her polo clings to her breasts. Her throaty laugh and the way her lips pout when she's annoyed by one of my comments. The feelings towards her are ones I'm not familiar with, so I don't know how to handle the zap of electricity it brings to my cock, or how my hand grips it tighter, my lips forming a thin line from something that feels...

Good?

No fucking way.

The images pop into my head before I can stop them. One by one, they filter into my brain, encouraging my hand to pump faster. Anastasia in one of her dresses I discovered she wore at Friendsgiving last year. A dress that showcases the tops of her thighs as she sinks to her knees for me and sucks—

"Fuck." I throw my head back with my brows pinched together from the unwanted but wanted feelings. It pulls me in two different directions. I shouldn't want this. Alarm bells are ringing in my head, my flight-or-flight instincts kicking in to try and save myself from this fucking detonation, but it's no use.

I've run from this pull to Ana for a year now. I should have known when I resorted to stalking her social media that I was in too deep, but now? Stroking my cock to the thought of her and enjoying it?

Nothing has terrified me more.

I've never felt this rush of adrenaline building inside me while doing this. I've never had my balls draw up tight in anticipation, nor have I had the image of Anastasia's wet lips send me over the fucking edge of no return. My release barrels through me like a tornado, ripping out my soul and breathing life into me I never knew existed.

A gasp whooshes out of my lungs as I ejaculate over the entirety of my sheets, my hand, and my briefs. I can't stop pumping. Can't get over this new sensation of thinking of someone while doing this. Can't stop the guttural groan that releases from the depths of my past—a place I had sworn to keep it locked away forever.

I'm a sticky, heaping mess when I finally regulate my breathing.

I thought I'd be incapable of feeling pleasure again, but there's no other explanation for the montage of emotions I just experienced. Granted, I know finding pleasure with another person is borderline impossible given my past, but knowing I can bring it to myself...

"Fuck," I repeat, and for the first time in a long time, a grin falls on my face.

***

The following morning, I've never seen Monique so happy.

"This is amazing!" Her eyes glitter in the glow of the lava lamp courtesy of Aria and her impeccable ability to design a teenager's bedroom. I stand by the door and watch her eyes bounce around the numerous things I purchased for her. Expenses weren't a factor when I'm sitting on millions from my trade deal with The Cyclones, so I gave Aria my card and told her to do whatever fucking possible to fix the trainwreck I created before.

Bubblebath pink replaces the neon monstrosity I originally painted, and small trinkets line the white dresser and matching nightstand—a daisy-printed alarm clock, perfumes, lotions, and a bunch of girly shit I never would have thought to grab. A wave of relief soothes my nerves about Monique not liking it here, and when she runs her fingers over the daisy comforter that matches her alarm clock, she glances over her shoulder at me with watery eyes. "It's perfect."

I grunt since I'm incapable of doing anything else when it comes to emotions and jerk my head towards Aria, who's beaming like the fucking sun. It's funny since she used to be exactly like me, closed off and secluded when it came to expressing herself, but now that she's got Holden she's eerily upbeat. "I can't take the credit. I created a Hello Kitty nightmare before Aria stepped in."

Monique shakes her head while wearing the same smile. "Still. It's incredible, Cal. I can't thank you enough for..." Her eyes roam over my face as if attempting to decipher something. She eventually shakes her head and says, "I'm glad we found each other again."

I rub my chest where the odd sensation of warmth takes over, urging it to go away. I've never been a man of emotion, but Monique has been and always will be my soft spot. She became the little sister I never had, and in return, I became her protector. Those years together at The Westons were hell, but we were each other's safe places, and when we were separated, I didn't know if I'd ever find her again. It's pure fate that she's back in my life, and I'll do whatever possible to ensure her teenage years are filled with nothing but light and happiness even if I'm incapable of exuding those things myself.

I'll buy her the damn world if it means she'll finally know what it's like to be happy.

"You have an actual basketball court in your backyard?" Connor steps into the room, interrupting me from answering Monique. For once, I'm grateful he chose now to open his big mouth. I'm fond of the guy, but he can be self-conceited to the point of cringe-worthy. "Dude, why haven't you invited the team over? I'm offended. All this place for just one person?"

"Two now," I correct.

Monique grins and jumps onto her bed to peek out the blinds into the backyard. "There's a pool!" She shrieks. "But wait. I don't have a swimsuit."

My eyes narrow on the fucking trashbag she had to bring to my house. I want to burn it in the firepit that's also in the backyard. First thing on the agenda? A suitcase for traveling.

"Maybe Cal will let us do some shopping tonight," Aria suggests, wiggling her eyebrows in my direction. "He has physical therapy anyway. It can be a girls' trip."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Monique claps excitedly, giving me her best puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

"You're never going to let me forget my appointments, are you?"

"Not a chance," she replies with a laugh. "The team needs you back on the ice, Cal. I know you don't like Ana, but she's great at her job, and—"

"Just take my card." Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I pass Aria the credit card with no limit. I'd rather not discuss Anastasia when I fisted my cock last night to the thought of her and enjoyed it. "Buy her whatever she needs."

"This is the greatest day ever," Monique gushes. "Cal, if you didn't hate hugs, I'd tackle you to the ground right now."

My chest rumbles with laughter. Yet another reason I'm fine with Monique living with me. She knows me better than I know myself sometimes, so she won't cross the boundaries I'm comfortable with. "I'm glad you're happy. If you need anything for the room or need any food, go ahead and buy it. Although, cheese doodles are stocked up in the pantry already."

"No way!" She shrieks. "You remembered?"
Of course, I remembered. My time with the Westons was vague and blurry, but my moments with Monique were clear as day. I protected her at all costs. There wasn't a thing she said that I didn't pay attention to.

Aria wraps her arm around Monique's shoulder and squeezes. "Well? Should we get going?"

"I'll drop you off," Connor says. He shuffles his wallet out of his sweatpants and passes Aria his card. "It's only fair for you to have no limit too, baby."

She rolls her eyes. "I don't need your money."

"I know, which is why I'm telling you to go crazy today. Buy whatever your pretty little heart desires."

I clear my throat and jab a thumb behind me. "Well, that's my cue to puke."

"Oh, lighten up, Cal," Aria says with a teasing grin. "Someday, you're going to meet a girl that turns your world upside down, and there'll be nothing you can do to escape her."

Little does she know I think I already have.