Morrison (Caldwell Brothers #2)

“Time to go,” the DA says, and then turns to me. “I’ll get those notarized”—he points to my paperwork—“and I’ll be the witness to him signing them so we can file them at the courthouse today for you, Ms. Poe.”


Handing him the papers, I smile in relief. Then Morrison laces our fingers together and we make our way into the courtroom, where we take our seats behind the prosecutor’s chair and wait. The jurors file in, and once everyone is seated, the bailiff escorts Monte in, then we all stand as the judge enters. My nerves must show, because Morrison squeezes my hand in silent reassurance.

It’s all a blur until the judge asks Monte for his plea. He stands and looks to Morrison and then me before turning back to the judge.

“Guilty.”

I fight back a gasp. He isn’t going to fight it? Is this some game? Could he really be telling the truth? Was this all his way of protecting me? I don’t know—and I can’t dwell on it. I have my daughter, and in the end, he’s going away for a few years, regardless.

They move on to sentencing. Monte gets four years with the possibility of parole. The earliest he can get out will be the three-year mark, and we have been reassured that will take some work.

I have my daughter. I keep reminding myself of that. I have Marisa. She’s what matters. I can face anything anyone throws at me as long as I have her.

Boarding the plane for Detroit, I can’t stop smiling. I have no desire to ever go back to Vegas. Today, I leave the past behind me and move toward my future with unlimited possibilities. When I get off this plane, I’m going home to my family. The family I have never had before is waiting.

I am giving Marisa everything I never had. This feels good.

I squeeze Morrison’s hand as we settle into our seats. “It feels good, Caldwell.”

“That it does, little momma.” He winks at me before kissing my temple softly.



TWO MONTHS LATER

Life is good. When I worked at the casino, there was this little old man who always had the same answer when asked how he was doing today.

“I’m doing fine, just fine. I’m better than good,” he would reply every time without fail.

Life is just that—better than good.

I have my daughter, my man, and family. Well, I have my daughter and my man every night but Wednesdays. Keeping with tradition, Morrison and Marisa have their weekly date night, and Mom is not invited. I love that she has this.

Love…It’s a funny thing. It is scary. It is overwhelming. It is amazing.

I never had a prom date. Hell, I never had a boyfriend until Morrison. I have never had the chance to express these feelings to anyone other than Momma and Marisa. And the love I feel for them, although just as powerful, is completely different from what I feel for Morrison.

He always says I have his balls. Well, he has me. I’m just not sure he knows it. I want to tell him, but at the same time, it scares the shit out of me.

If he really knew how weak he makes me…The mere thought of losing him ties me up in knots.

He is my best friend. He has held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. He has given me space when I needed to find myself. He has been my biggest supporter in everything I do. He has opened doors for me when I felt like I had nowhere to turn. He has given me a new life.

More than any of that, he has shown me what real love is. For better or worse, Morrison Caldwell has stood beside me. He’s had my back, even when I didn’t know I needed it.

He owns me—mind, body, and soul. He truly fills a part of me no one else could.

There was a time not so long ago when the thought of anyone “owning” me scared the shit out of me. Then Morrison showed me that actions speak louder than words. But the words are nice, too. Morrison owns me in the same way I own him. I belong to him because I belong with him. It isn’t a possession of power and manipulation. It’s a possession of choice.

I choose him as he chooses me.

I choose to make him a priority as he chooses to make me his.

I choose to give to him freely as he does with me.

Everything between us is an exchange. More than that, it’s done with free choice. I have choices. Consent is fucking required, and the Caldwell family has taught me just that.

We may not be some picture-perfect family, but we are family just the same. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m where I belong. I feel like I’m where we belong—Marisa and me.

Making my way into the bar, I see Jagger pacing. I stow my purse in the back, then go out to where he is right as he throws back a shot. Jagger is a wild card, sure, but he never drinks this early in the night.

“Wanna talk about it?” I greet him.

“You ever felt helpless?” He looks at me. “Well, that’s a dumb fucking question.”

“Jagger, what’s going on?”

He murmurs to himself. “Untouchable. Pushing buttons and she’s completely untouchable.”

“Who?”

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