Page 3 of Falling for Her
Butcher swallows, his throat bobs, and he nods reluctantly, then admits, “You'll also no longer be welcome on club property. Now I know you're training to be a tattoo artist, but again, you won't be welcome to train with our shop, meaning you won't be allowed to train until you're eighteen, and no, the women won't question us and Hammer will believe whatever lie I tell him so he doesn’t take you on.”
“Son,” my dad begins, but I cut him off and shout,“You're willing to ruin my fucking life all for your selfish daughter? Are you fucking kidding me!?”
Butcher doesn't flinch, but I see the guilt, and I scoff and turn without another word, knowing I'll end up hitting a man who's not just the President of a club but a man I see as an honorary uncle.
I shove past my dad, who goes to grab my arm, with that he hits the wall hard. This causes him to grunt, and I rush down the corridor, and out the backdoor, my anger taking over.
“Damian!” I hear my mother call from near the benches where she’s sitting with the old ladies, but I don't respond and run out of the gate.
How am I supposed to do what they want, knowing I'll never see Bethany any other way than as the spoiled girl who is my friend's sister? But how am I supposed to give up all I've ever known?
How am I supposed to survive with no money to my name?
I never got a job, knowing the club would have to take my sole focus so how am I supposed to live?
They're taking away everything I've been living for, knowing nothing else will make me do as they demand.
They’re willing to lie and make me look like a bad guy.
How am I ever going to fucking forgive them and give them the respect they always demanded after this, to put my faith in them while wearing a cut if I do as they ask?
Well, I won't be able to, will I?
Esmerelda – Fifteen Years Old
I swallow as I carefully weigh the butter, ensuring I don't exceed the amount I need for the upside-down pineapple cake I have yet to perfect.
Every time I try, the thing collapses, but when my mother does it, it's perfection. It's frustrating, especially since this has to be the twelfth time I'm attempting it this week.
Sniffling, I quickly wipe away the fallen tears with my arm then grab the brown sugar and measure it into the bowl with the butter. Then, I grab my wooden spoon and mix it together carefully.
“I will get it this time….” I mutter to myself while checking that the mixture is creamy.
I want to be a baker after high school. I want to go to culinary school and take business classes so I know how to run a bakery and make my mom and daddy proud. Okay, mainly mom because, well, she's the baker of the family. Dad just runs the business side of her bakery, Jacobs Bakery, while also working as a family attorney in town. He’s already proud of me with the straight A’s I’m getting.
When I grow up, I want to be just like my mother….
“I bet mom wouldn't have allowed a boy to hurt her,” I sniffle and wipe away the tears that have fallen with my arm again before I carefully spread the creamy mixture in a cake tin, first on the base, then around the sides hoping my tears don’t mix in with it.
No one wants heartbroken tears in their cake…
Not one not to leave a mess, I quickly rinse off the bowl and spoon and place them in the dishwasher then grab the ring pineapple pieces I’d already cut and place them neatly in the tin then grab the cherries next trying to ignore the pain in my heart.
“Mer, we're home, sweetheart,” Mom says loudly as the front door opens, and I quickly wipe my cheeks again and sniff hard before croaking, “I'm in the kitchen…”
I don't want them to know I'm upset. Knowing my daddy, he'll go all Hulk, and I don't need that, not right now.
Right now, I want to get this cake right.
“Oh, you're trying the pineapple one again?” Daddy asks as they walk into the room. I hum as I quickly grab another bowl, then the butter, golden sugar, self-rising flour, baking powder, vanilla extract, and two eggs that I'd already organized in separate bowls.
I grab each ingredient and pour them into the large bowl as Mom asks, “I thought you were going to give this recipe a break, Mer? You nearly broke the oven last time you attempted this.”
I look at her quickly, give her a tight smile, and lie, “I caved and I promise I won’t break anything or try to,” before I crack the eggs into the mixture then grab the electric whisk and without looking at my parents, I begin to whisk the mixture together, trying to not overdo it this time around.
I love my parents, I do, but I don't want to disappoint them. Telling them that my first boyfriend, a guy my dad approved of, dumped me one hour after handing him my virginity isn't in my plans.
Turns out Cody Ports, a boy in my class who had been flirting with me for six months before asking me out four days after my fourteenth birthday, had a bet with his actual girlfriend, the school bully Portia, that he could take my virginity.
