Chapter Twenty

Brooklyn

When I wake up, Jackson is already gone. As I sit up and reach over, running my hand over the side that he’d slept on, I find that the sheets are already cool to the touch, which means that he likely left quite a while ago.
I try to not feel hurt at waking up all alone in his place, without even so much as a goodbye. Still, when tears flood my eyes, I bury my face in my hands, feeling the hurt swell up in me once more at being let down, even when I know that he has a job and a life—that knowledge doesn’t make twenty-two years of hurt, neglect, and abuse go away.
I know that feeling like this towards Jackson is irrational, and he likely did tell me bye, but I was too deep in sleep to even register it, but again, you can rationalize something that has been ingrained in you over years and years.
I wish that I could say that I had a loving family and a perfect childhood, like most of the kids that I went to school with when I was growing up had, but unfortunately, that just isn’t my story.
Placing my hand over my abdomen, I swear, “I’ll make sure you have the kind of life that I could only ever dream of. You will never question whether you’re loved or even wanted, and I’ll never let you go without. I’ll find a way for both of us to have a better life.”
Deciding enough is enough and that I’ve wollowed long enough, I swipe my hands under my eyes, erasing the evidence of my crying jag, and slip out of the bed.
I find my panties and then *borrow* yet another pair of Jackson’s bottoms, this time a pair of shorts, rolling them to fit, and then I pad to the front door, where I slip on my flip flops.
Flipping the lock on the door, I glance around the living room, memories of the first time that I was here flitting through my mind like a movie reel, then transforming to our conversation last night, during our moment of passion.
He’d said that he wants to try.
For the baby's sake.
I’m glad that he’s willing to do what he feels is right, but I can’t help but wish that he wanted to be with me for *me*.
*What if something happens and I lose the baby?* 
*Am I out on my ass?* 
*If there’s no longer a baby, is there no longer a point in* trying *as he put it?*
If there’s one thing that I’ve learned from this life that I’ve had to live, it’s that when push comes to shove, the only person that you can actually depend on is yourself.
By the time I get back upstairs to Chastity’s apartment, I’ve managed to get myself well and truly worked up again, but I’ve also decided that I’m done with Teddy and that kind of life.
I’ve held on because it was all that I’ve ever known, and not only is change hard, it’s scary, but now, now I have a reason to want to change.
A reason other than myself to be better.
“Are you  otay, Auntie Bootie?” Amelia asks, watching me closely when I enter the apartment, looking around for Chas.
Crouching down so that I’m on her level, I ask, “Is your mama around, Baby girl?”
She points toward the bedroom the two have started sharing, giving me Chastity’s old room, and says, “Mama has a hegate.”
“Okay, Baby girl,” I say, picking her up and putting her on my hip. “Have you had any breakfast yet?”
“Mama made me a bow of ceweo, but I stiw hungwy.”
We walk into the kitchen, and I open the freezer door, inspecting its contents before reaching inside and pulling out a massive box of frozen waffles, my stomach growling angrily at being neglected for so long.
“I’m thinking waffles. How does that sound?” I ask, holding the box up for her inspection.
With a cheshire grin, she claps her hands together, exclaiming, “Dats pewfet.”
I toss three waffles into the toaster, then place the box back in the freezer. Just as I’m putting the butter, syrup, plates, and silverware on the table, the toaster pops.
“Waffoes! Waffoes!” Amelia chants from her seat as I plate the waffles and bring them over to the table.
I slather all of them in an unhealthy amount of butter, making sure to fill each and every little square before cutting Amelia’s up into bite-sized pieces, then drizzling syrup over the top.
I take my first bite, my eyes rolling back with how good it tastes, then again, I’m so hungry that rocks and dirt would probably taste pretty appetizing right about now.
“Mmmmm…” I moan around the mouthful of goodness just as the bedroom door opens and an obviously having just woken up Chastity comes walking out, holding her head, moaning painfully, and squinting at the light coming through the windows.
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask, familiar with Chas’s migraines. She’s had them since she was a teenager, and they can be absolutely brutal for her at times.
“No, just wanted to check on my girl,” she says, trying and failing to run her hand through her knotted blonde locks. She makes a face, but then must decide it’s not worth the energy. She then locks her blue gaze on me and says, “Thank you for taking care of her for me.”
“No thanks are needed, Chas. Of course I’m going to take care of her.” I glance at the little girl who is currently licking the sticky syrup off her fingers one at a time, then say, “It’s the least that  can do, considering—”
“No, nuhuh!” she says, cutting me off with a shake of her head. “We’ve been over this time and again. You are my best friend and helped me when I needed it. Now, it’s my turn to help you.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t there when you needed me—” *the most*, I was going to say, before she cut me off by saying, “Maybe not, but you were there for me during other times in my life when I needed you.”
“Fine,” I say with a huff.
“If you’re that insistent on it, then once you get back on your feet, then we can talk but util then, I don’t want to hear anymore about it, okay?” she asks, her voice dropping an octave, whether from her head hurting or because she’s in her feels over this, I’m not sure but I nod my head.
“Okay. Speaking of…” I say, suddenly nervous now that I’ve decided to breach the topic. Wiping my sweaty palms on Jackson's shorts, I stall for just a few more moments before stating, “I’ve made a decision. I’m gonna do it.” I wait a beat and then announce, “I want out.”
“Heck yeah!” she shouts, then immediately winces and grabs hold of her head with both hands.
“Sorry,” I murmur quietly, feeling her pain.
She waves me off, then asks, “So, are you going to go talk with Jackson?”
And now it’s my turn to wince.
“Brooklyn,” she scolds, giving me her *mom* look.
“I just don’t think that it’s a good idea. Conflict of interest and all that,” I say, hoping that she will let it go.
I haven’t told her about the baby yet, knowing that Jackson should be the first to know after me. Plus, it didn’t feel right talking about it before talking to him.
She lifts an eyebrow, giving me her signature *you're full of shit* look, and asks, “What conflict of interest exactly?”
“It’s just…you *know*.”
“Brooklyn. Reed,” she growls from between clenched teeth.
“There’s just been a new development, is all,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders and aiming for all the nonchalance that I can manage.
Which is absolutely none, and I know she sees straight through it as soon as she repeats, “New development?” in a disbelieving voice. Then continues by saying, “Brooklyn, what in the H-E double hockey sticks does that even mean?”
“Mommy, what does H-E dobo hotey schits mean?” Amelia asks, looking at her mother, then glancing at me, waiting patiently for something to explain to her what was just said.
I’m trying my hardest to not laugh at her, says *shits* as I say, “Baby girl, that is a big person word that mommy shouldn’t have used.” Then, as I take in her unimpressed face, I decide to redirect the moment, “But do you want to know something fun?”
“What’s that, Auntie Bootie?”
“I would love to have one of your famous tea parties with you. Do you think we could do that?” I ask, sounding super excited.
“Wiff weal tea and ewyting?” She asks excitedly, her blue eyes wide.
“With real tea and everything,” I promise, then begin gathering the dishes from the table and taking them to the sink to rinse.
Chastity gets the tea going, then turns to me and hisses, “You’re not getting off that easy. Spill.”
With a sigh, I cave. “I need to preface this by saying that Jackson and I have barely gotten to talk about it, okay?” She nods, so I keep going. “ I’m pregnant.” Her eyes go huge, and her face lights up, but before she gets too excited, I continue. “He said he wants to try…for the baby.”
“Oh, Brooke,” she murmurs in understanding as she wraps me in a hug that instantly has tears pricking the back of my eyes.
“Yeah,” I say with a sniffle, trying to hold them at bay. 
“Is this why your…” she hedges.
I nod, “Yeah, I decided under the circumstances, it’s best that I depend on myself, and if things end up working out, great. Amazing, even. But, if they don't—what if I lose the baby, or he gets tired of me, or just finds someone else? This way, I won't be indebted to him and find myself suddenly out on my ass when he decides that he’s done with me or that I’m not worth it anymore.”
“I get it,” she says. I can tell by the look in her eye that she wants to say more, but is holding back, and for that, I’m grateful. 
Right now, I want my friend who is here to support me, not optimistic Chastity who sees everything in rainbows and butterflies, even after everything that she’s also been through.
Real life isn’t like the fairytales that we watched as little kids. There isn’t a prince out there that’s going to swoop in and save the day, and I’m not some damsel in distress. The only person who is going to save me is me.
“So, what are you going to do?” she asks after a moment of silence.
“Well, the first thing that I need to do, I’m going to need help—and not Jackson’s. Doesn’t he have a boss or someone who helped him when he was getting you out?”
Her brows furrow, and she chews on her thumbnail as she thinks back, trying to remember. “It seems like he mentioned someone, but I can’t rem—wait—Miles, no. Miller? That doesn’t seem right either. Shit, what was his name?” she mutters to herself, trying to remember.
“Morris?” I ask, remembering the Jones boys talking about a detective Morris back in High School when Lincoln’s girlfriend Raleigh had been kidnapped.
“Yes,” she snaps, pointing her index finger at me. “Morris. That’s his boss. Jackson told me once that if I ever was in trouble and couldn’t reach him, to ask for his boss, Morris.”
*Morris,* I repeat the name over and over in my mind, memorizing it. Glad to have a place to start, knowing that I’m going to have a long road ahead of me, I look at Chas and tell her, “Thank you.”
When the tea kettle whistles, Amelia comes running, “Auntie Bootie, Auntie Bootie. I all weady!” she says with a little twirl.
“Just in time, too,” I tell her with a grin as her mama grabs a hotpad and picks the tea kettle up off the stove. “The tea just finished.”
I glance over at Chas, then leaning in, I murmur, “Wanna join or go lie back down for a bit longer?”
Her whole face lights up at being asked, then she says, “Do you mind if I crash?” her voice hopeful.
Then, as if I have a secret, I kneel down to Amelia and cup my hand around her ear and whisper, “I hear that tea is good for Mommy’s headaches. Do you think we should ask her to join us?” I pull back, and her entire face lights up as she nods her head up and down enthusiastically.
Turning to her mommy, she asks, “Mommy, would you wike some hegate tea wiff us?”
Chastity carefully passes me to kettle, then bends to pick up her daughter and says, “I would love to have some tea with you.”
Amelia wiggles out of her mom's arms, then takes off into the living room, “Dis way. It’s in heyo.”
Chastity and I follow after a very excited Amelia, then sit down around the coffee table, ready to spend some time being ”served” tea by a three-year-old.