Prologue

Manny, age 16

“Luci, it’s not right how he treats you,” I stated, watching my older sister stir the sauce on the stove.

The left side of her face was puffy and swollen where her boyfriend, Turo, slapped her because she spent too much at the grocery store. I didn’t like him for a lot of reasons, but even though my papa had died when I was really little, my uncles and my grandfather had taught me that women were to be protected and cherished.

“It’s okay, hermano,” she replied, stiffly turning toward the fridge. “I deserved it. He works hard and I shouldn’t spend all his pay.”

With my fists clenched at my sides I shook my head. “No, Luci. You didn’t deserve it. No woman deserves to be hit. Especially when that woman is carrying a baby and the man says he loves her. One day, he’s going to hurt you really badly or even kill you.”

She smiled at me, even though it didn’t reach her eyes. “That will never happen, Manny. He loves me.”

“Love shouldn’t hurt, Luci,” I retorted.

I just wish I had been able to see the future.

* * *

“Luci, I’m on my way over,” I stated. “Mama said she wanted me to bring over the stuff you needed.”

When I told Mama what Luci said the last time Turo had smacked her, I noticed that she added ‘extra’ stuff to the shopping list, then she’d have me take them down to my sister. None of us were happy about the current situation, but if nothing else, Luci was stubborn to a fault. She felt that since she got pregnant, she had to stay with the baby daddy, even though Mama had tried to tell her it didn’t matter.

“Okay, Manny. Be careful,” she teased, knowing all I had to do was walk up a block to the tiny apartment she and Turo shared. I grinned because it was the same thing she always said whenever I’d call to let her know I was on my way over.

She was three years older than me, and I’m pretty sure the only reason she moved in with Turo was because of the baby she was expecting. I didn’t much care for him because whenever he got mad, or had been drinking, he was a little too free with his fists as far as I was concerned. But, Luci, my beloved sister, was convinced that because she was now pregnant, he wouldn’t be like that any longer.

I wasn’t so sure; I knew leopards didn’t typically change their spots. He’d been a bit of a bully at school, always eager to engage in a fight, especially against those who were weaker than him.

As I gathered the things Mama wanted me to take over to Luci’s, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked, seeing my sister’s name on the caller ID. “Luci?”

“Don’t come, Manny,” she whispered. “He’s in a mood right now.”

I heard something that sounded like flesh striking flesh, then her bloodcurdling scream before the call disconnected. I flew out of our apartment, uncaring that I didn’t lock the door behind me, then ran as fast as my legs would carry me to my sister, but I was too late.

And maybe, just maybe, I could’ve prevented what I did next but as I hit my knees next to my sister’s bleeding and broken body where she lay on the ground outside their apartment, her motherfucking boyfriend laughed.

Manny, age 17

“All rise,” the bailiff called out as the judge entered the courtroom.

Once the judge had settled, he speared me with a look I wasn’t able to decipher then called out, “Will the defendant please rise.”

I stood next to my public defender with my head back and shoulders tall. I would not feel remorse for my actions. Turo deserved to have his ass handed to him after hurting my sister. I could hear my mama quietly crying behind me while my uncle comforted her, as I waited to hear what the judge’s sentence was going to be.

“Manuel Alvarez, you’ve been found guilty of involuntary manslaughter in the death of Arturo Herrera. You will be incarcerated for a period of ten years, with the possibility of parole after serving a minimum of five,” Judge Millano announced. “I realize there were extenuating circumstances behind your behavior on that day, and while I am truly sorry for your family’s losses, I cannot condone your actions that caused the loss of another life.”

* * *

“Mama, I’m so sorry,” I said as the guard gave me a few minutes with my family. “I never meant for this to be the outcome.”

“Manny, we will be okay. You just stay safe. Jorge will watch over us, mijo.”

“I love you, Mama,” I whispered as tears fell down her cheeks. “I will make you proud of me someday.”

Manny, age 22

“Sign here and here,” the bored guard said, pointing to two places on the paperwork I was filling out in order to be released on parole.

Once I had done what he requested, he slid a bag across to me that held my wallet, a cheap cell phone that I was positive no longer worked, and my St. Christopher’s medal. Another bag holding the clothes I wore the day I was incarcerated was plopped onto the counter next, causing me to chuckle.

Looking at the guard, I stated, “Don’t think those are gonna fit me, do you?”

“Naw, you had a bit of a growth spurt during your stay with us,” he advised, chuckling. “Keep your nose clean, Manny. Don’t want you coming back in.”

He was one of the good ones, always looking out for those of us who were younger, so we didn’t find ourselves being sucked into a permanent way of life. “Not planning on it, Rogers,” I replied.

“Your uncle’s picking you up?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. I was eager to get home so I could start figuring out what I was going to do with myself. I knew I’d be apprenticing with my uncle at his tattoo shop, but wanted something else too.

He suddenly looked more serious than I had ever seen him appear before. Leaning in, he said, “It’s not gonna be easy, Manny. You live in a small town and people can be real assholes to felons. Even if what eventually happened to Turo wasn’t on you, they’ll use you as an example to their kids, that kind of shit.”

The beating I’d given Turo had sent him to the hospital with a vast array of injuries that required surgery. Unfortunately for me, he developed an infection and had one complication after another set in, until his body was unable to rebound any longer and he died. And maybe it made me a Grade A asshole, but I couldn’t find it in me to feel much remorse about the end result.

He killed my sister and unborn niece. We had been told by the medical examiner that the baby that died along with Luci was a little girl, something that devastated my mother.

Ricci, age 10

“It’ll be okay, Ricci,” my caseworker, Miss Eileen, said, as we walked up some stairs until we were standing on a porch.

I shrugged, unwilling to believe anything I was told at this point. I first heard ‘it’ll be okay, Ricci’ when I was four, almost five, the night my parents got killed by a drunk driver and I was thrust into the foster care system.

It wasn’t okay. In fact, it was so far from being okay that I knew at my young age I was already jaded. The first home I went to wasn’t prepared to deal with a child of my age who was actively grieving the loss of everything they knew. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t see my mommy or daddy, or why I couldn’t have my doggy, Puff, with me.

So, I was moved. Then I was moved again. And again. And yet again. This would be my sixth foster home and at this point, I was over the whole dang thing.

Miss Eileen rang the bell, and I could hear the chimes inside playing a pretty song as I scuffed my sneaker on the porch. Footsteps were getting louder, and I sighed knowing that it was likely I’d be here only long enough for Miss Eileen to find another house. I was past the ‘preferred’ adoptable age. Most people wanted either babies or younger kids and I wasn’t that any longer.

“Smile, Ricci. I think you’ll like the Billingsleys a great deal,” Miss Eileen stated. “Not only have they raised a family, but they’ve done so while fostering many children along the way.”

Before I could respond, the door opened and a woman stepped out, a welcoming smile on her face. “Hello, you must be Ricci,” she said, crouching so we were at eye level. That one simple act chipped away some of the ice that had encased my heart since the day I found out my parents were dead.

“Hi,” I shyly replied.

When she motioned for Miss Eileen and me to follow her inside the house, I picked up my garbage bag full of my clothes and quietly fell in step behind her. I had my backpack on, which held more of my things, but I saw the sadness in her eyes when she spied my bag.

I was totally in awe by the time she showed me the room I’d be staying in, then took us into the kitchen. The house was a farmhouse, with a wraparound porch, and lots of windows, while my room was every little girl’s dream, complete with a canopy bed and a huge dollhouse. All of the rooms were large and bright, which felt cheerful to me. As she and Miss Eileen discussed my schooling, and other things like doctor appointments, she put together a snack and set it down in front of me.

“I figured you might like something light right now, since it’ll be a few hours before dinner,” Mrs. Billingsley said. Then to Miss Eileen she asked, “Is there anything I need to be aware of? Any known food allergies, that sort of thing?”

Miss Eileen shook her head as she slid a folder across the table. “Everything you will need is in there, along with my contact information.” With that, she stood up, patted me on the shoulder then said, “I’ll check in with you next month. Ricci, you take care.”

Ricci, age 12

“Mama B, do you think I can learn to do what Papa B does?” I asked as she brushed out my hair before quickly braiding it.

“What do you mean, sweetie?” she replied, making the face she always did whenever she was concentrating. I was now doing the same thing, biting my lower lip. That made me smile and I briefly wondered if I would’ve picked up habits from my parents if they had lived or not.

“I want to learn how to work on cars, I think,” I mused.

One of the best things that had ever happened to me was being placed with the Billingsleys, or as I now called them, Mama B and Papa B. It took them about six months to break through my shell, which they did with love and consistency, two things I had been lacking in my life for years. Instead of telling Miss Eileen they couldn’t handle me when I’d pitch a fit, which was often when I first came, one or the other would actually sit on the floor near me and just talk. They’d tell me about what their kids did when they were little, how much they enjoyed the crazy schedules when one kid was playing soccer while another was dancing.

When I met their kids, two girls and a boy, all of whom were now either in college or living on their own, I met my future best friends, Ivy and Lacie. They frequently took me shopping with them for ‘girl’s dates’ and when I was older, they were going to show me how to wear makeup.

Mama and Papa B opened up a whole new world for me; if I expressed an interest, they got me involved. So, I started taking dance lessons, played soccer as well as softball, and learned how to cook and bake. In short, they loved me like I was one of their own flesh and blood kids, not a foster kid. The only reason they didn’t adopt me was because I had an aunt who was my next of kin who wasn’t capable of caring for me, but she wouldn’t give the state permission for me to be adopted.

“I’m sure he’d be glad to teach you, sweetheart,” she stated. “Now, we’ve got your hair taken care of, are you ready to go shopping?”

After Mama B saw my wardrobe or lack thereof the first day I arrived, she made a special point to take me shopping that following weekend to ‘supplement’ what I had, according to her. All I remember is since I walked through that front door two years ago, I’ve had clothes for every occasion. Shoes too. Oh, and most importantly? I had my own set of luggage for whenever we took family vacations. Unlike previous homes, I was taken along and treated like I was part of the family whenever they planned one. Even their son, Stanley, who just rolled his eyes the first time he met me, was okay.

“Yes, ma’am. Can we get the ingredients to make Papa B’s favorite cake?” I asked.

“Are you trying to butter him up?” she questioned, grinning at me.

“Maybe?”

Ricci, age 14

“Papa B, will you show me how to do the jitterbug?” I questioned. “We have to know it for our history class because we’re learning about World War II. The teacher said we had to write an essay on the popular dances of that time, and also learn one of them.”

I was hoping I didn’t have to demonstrate the dance in front of the whole class, but if I did, I was pretty sure Papa B would come with me. At least, I hoped he did because I was still somewhat shy. I had a few friends, though, so I had learned about sleepovers and boys, which was a good thing. Even though I didn’t think I would ever want to date.

“I’ll be glad to teach you, Button,” he replied, making me grin. The first day he met me, he proclaimed I was ‘cute as a button’ and ever since, that’s what he’d called me.

“Thank you! Also, Mama B said I should ask you about boys.”

“You’re too young to date. Maybe when you’re thirty,” he teased. “But right now, my heart can’t handle the thought of you dating.”

“Thirty?” Papa B, I’ll be an old woman by then!” I exclaimed.

“Hmm, maybe sixteen then, is that better?” he asked.

“I guess so.”

I mean, I thought a couple of the guys were kind of cute, but I still had a lot of things I wanted to do and learn, and I definitely didn’t want to be like some of my friends in school were, all gaga over a boy. Nope, I knew since I was on my own, I would have to make sure I could take care of myself.

Ricci, age 16

“This is too much!” I exclaimed, looking at the four-door SUV that Papa B had restored for me. As a mechanic, he went to auctions from time to time, and just like he did with his own kids, he found a good, reliable car for me, bought it, then made sure it was in tip-top running condition.

“Button, we know you want to find a little part-time job so you can start saving money. This will let you get there safely, but you’re still going to have some rules,” he stated.

“I can live with rules.”

And I could. I tended to follow rules because that was the easiest way to stay safe and not get hurt. But like I had expressed to both of them, I wanted to go to college for my business degree, and I needed to save money so I could be ready to be on my own once I aged out of the foster care system. I knew I’d have to move out of their house then, which secretly broke my heart, because I’d grown to love them as if they were my real-life parents.

Ricci, age 18

“Sweetie, we know that according to the state, you’ve ‘aged out’ of the system, but we have a proposition for you,” Mama B said as we sat around the kitchen table eating dinner.

“What is it?” I asked.

For the past two years, I’d worked my part-time job, and also earned an allowance for the household chores I helped Mama B with even though I told them it wasn’t necessary. I chipped in for my car insurance, and mostly covered the gas in my car. I say mostly because Papa B would take my car out on Sundays to ‘check her out’ and he always came back with a full gas tank. When I’d try to give him money, he’d wink and say he had to take care of his girls. So, I had a somewhat decent savings account, plus money in my checking account because Mama B used what the state sent for my care on me without fail every month. She kept a record of it and would hand me whatever wasn’t spent, which was actually quite a bit of money, and I’d dutifully deposit it into my account.

“Well, you know as a foster kid, you get assistance for college tuition, plus you also qualify for a few grants as well which will take care of your books and supplies,” she stated. When I nodded, she continued. “We have the apartment over the garage which our kids used as they were transitioning to adulthood, and would like to offer it to you if you’d like.”

“You’d let me pay rent?” I questioned.

“Of course, of course,” she replied. “I’ll teach you how to budget and all that kind of stuff. What do you think? You’d be responsible for your own curfew, we just ask if you’re going to be out past midnight, you let us know.”

“I can do that,” I murmured. “Okay, let’s do this thing!”

Ricci, age 20

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” Mama B said once they were able to reach me. “We knew you could do it.”

I had just graduated with my Associate’s Degree in Business, and even though I didn’t want to walk during the ceremony, she had convinced me to do it since I had done so with honors. I even had quite a few credits under my belt for my Bachelor’s Degree, which I would start classes for next semester.

“Thank you, Mama B,” I replied.

“We want to take you to dinner to celebrate, will Erik be with you?” she asked.

I thought of my boyfriend, who hadn’t come to see me walk across the stage because it was ‘just a piece of paper’ so it didn’t really matter all that much. “I don’t know, but I can check with him and let you know.”

I was still kind of on the fence about Erik; sometimes, he was controlling, and he didn’t like the time I spent with my sisters, Ivy and Lacie. They weren’t really my biological sisters, but they’d never let that stop them from treating me like I’d grown up under the same roof they did, and I loved them for that fact alone.

“Do that, Button, and text us, okay?” Papa B asked, before engulfing me in one of his awesome bear hugs.

I grinned up at the man who epitomized what a great father should be; he taught me how to take care of my car, worked tirelessly with me on math when I struggled in tenth grade, and took me to get the biggest ice cream sundae when my heart was broken for the first time.

“I will,” I promised. “I love you both so much.”

I didn’t say that often; my past wouldn’t let me dwell on feelings like that because in my experience, everything I ever loved was taken away. But since they took a slightly bitter preteen into their home a decade ago, they had shown me the depth of their love in so many ways, I wanted to verbally tell them I felt the same.

“We love you too, Button,” he replied, giving me another squeeze then letting me go. “The kids will be there too, they wanted to help celebrate your accomplishments.”

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes; I felt confident that his two daughters, Ivy and Lacie, were happy for me, but his son, Stanley, had always acted as though I had stolen his parents away. He was civil when they were around, of course, but if it was just the two of us, he was surly and sometimes mean. Most recently, he had accused me of taking advantage of his parents since I was living in the garage apartment.

Never mind that he had lived there for seven years before he bought his own house. Guess it was different if you were actually their blood child, but since the arrangement was between the three of us, complete with a rental agreement, I ignored what he said. Most of the time. Because he tended to send his verbal barbs at me when I least expected it, they always struck a nerve and hurt. Not that I would ever let on that they did; no, I was made of stronger stuff, that’s for damn sure.

* * *

“The Billingsleys were very upset that they were never allowed to adopt you, Ricci,” the attorney said. “So, what they did was open a savings account and earmark it specifically for you. In the early days, they put whatever was left from the state stipend they received in there, then they started depositing the whole check. Once you started ‘paying rent’ for the garage apartment, they included that as well as what you gave them for your portion of the car insurance.”

“But why would they do that?” I asked, still stunned over their deaths.

While they were enroute to the restaurant for dinner the night I graduated, someone suffered a medical emergency, ran the light and broadsided them, pushing them into a concrete pole. They were killed on impact, once again turning my whole world upside down. Even a week later, I still struggled to understand how one of the best days of my life could end up being so devastating. What had I ever done to anyone to deserve losing not one but two sets of parents to auto accidents?

“Because they loved you like you were one of us,” Ivy replied, squeezing my hand. She and Lacie were sitting on either side of me, while Stanley chose to stand off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What about the house and property?” Stanley suddenly asked.

The lawyer gave him a look of distaste, but replied, “While they would prefer it be kept for the three of you, they also have a stipulation that indicates if y’all agree to it, the property and house can be sold with the proceeds divided up for all four of you.”

“She’s not their kid, though,” Stanley sneered. “So, why should she benefit?”

“Stanley! You know Mama and Daddy wanted to adopt her, so stop being such a jerk,” Lacie retorted. “I’m sorry, Mr. Madison, please continue.”

“Their various accounts will be liquidated once I’ve ensured all their obligations have been resolved, then that money will again be split.”

“I want to sell,” Stanley advised, glaring at me. “Which means our sister will need to find somewhere else to live.”

“Well, we don’t want to get rid of the house,” Ivy said, glaring at him. “So, she can stay there if she’d like. At least until I can get out of my lease, someone would be living on the property to keep a watch on it.”

I finally spoke up, clearing the lump in my throat from all the crying I’d done. “Since I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, I told Erik I would move in with him.”

It wasn’t ideal, but until I could get a job in my field then make sure I had enough money to put down deposits, plus buy furniture and household things, it would have to do.

I just never realized that making that one decision would impact my life so much.