Unexpected Turn

  Unexpected Turn

  CY Jones

  Copyright © 2020 CY Jones

  Published by CY Jones

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced/transmitted/distributed in any form. No part of this publication shall be shared by any means including photocopying, recording, or any electronic/mechanical method, or the Internet, without prior written consent of the authors. Cases of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law are the exception. The unauthorized reproduction/transmitting of this work is illegal.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover By: Eve Graphic Design LLC

  Edited By: Dani Black

  Proofreader: MW Editing

  Formatted By: Kassie Morse

  I Will Survive

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Jade

  2. Grayson

  3. Jade

  4. Grayson

  5. Grayson

  6. Grayson

  7. Jade

  8. Jade

  9. Grayson

  10. Jade

  11. Grayson

  12. Jade

  13. Jade

  14. Nichole

  15. Jade

  16. Jade

  17. Jade

  18. Jade

  19. Jade

  20. Jade

  21. Jade

  22. Tyson

  23. Jade

  24. Jade

  25. Tyson

  26. Nichole

  27. Jade

  28. Tyson

  29. Grayson

  30. Jade

  31. Grayson

  32. Grayson

  33. Jade

  34. Nichole

  35. Jade

  36. Grayson

  Epilogue

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  Author Notes

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  About the Author

  Prologue

  Grayson

  “No, Nichole. I would give you anything in the world, but not this. Please, I beg of you, ask for something else, anything else.”

  “What else do you expect us to do? I can’t give you a baby on my own. This is the next best thing. Please, Grayson, listen to reason,” she pleads. “I have made peace with my decision; why can’t you?”

  “Because, Nichole, it’s insane. You’re literally asking me to cheat on you just so I can knock someone up so we can have a baby. Don’t you hear how crazy that sounds? I’m not doing it.” My stare is hard. I want her to see just how ludicrous this request is. This isn’t some movie where the wife gives her husband a hall pass.

  “It’s not insane, Grayson. I’m being a realist here. I can’t give you kids. Chemo messed up my insides and killed off any chance I had at reproduction.”

  Interrupting her, I say, “Then do IVF. Or if you want to bring a stranger into the mix so badly, then we can go the surrogate route and have my sperm planted into her medically, but I’m not fucking anyone.”

  “You know as well as I do that the chances of IVF succeeding in me is zero to none. I had a partial hysterectomy and chemo and radiation lowered my ability to produce an egg each month. I don’t want to put myself through anymore surgeries and spend a bunch of money hoping for something that will never happen. I don’t want to deal with any machines or have my baby subjected to any radical new age treatments. Look what it has done to me.” Her voice cracks, and I can feel my heart breaking by the agony in her words. Going to her, I hold her in a tight embrace and she lets her tears run free onto the crook of my neck. “I want us to have a child naturally. It may not have my genes, but he or she will have yours. Please, will you do this for me?”

  Holding her at shoulder length, I gaze deeply into her eyes searching for any doubt in this crazy ass plan of hers. I’m dismayed when I see nothing but determination shining back at me. She’s not going to relent or be swayed. I know her well enough that when she gets that determined look, there's no changing her mind and she will fight to the death to make what she wants happen. That fiery will is what made her such a great defense attorney. She fought hard for her clients and came out the victor most of the time. Before her diagnosis, when she got too sick to practice law, she was quite the whirlwind in the courtroom, looking just like she does now standing before me. She stole my heart then but she’s breaking it now.

  “Fine,” I relent. I never thought Nichole would ever do something to make me hate her, but this, forcing me to go against my vows, is a decision that will hold dire consequences for the both of us. I just hope we'll be prepared to face them when the time comes.

  Giving me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, she walks to her office, leaving me alone to my thoughts.

  1

  Jade

  “I’m sorry, Jade, but if you don’t come up with the rent money before the close of business today, I’m going to have to kick you out.”

  “Come on, John, give me a little more time. I got a really good feeling about this interview I’m about to go on. Please, just give me a couple more days to come up with the money,” I beg, giving him the puppy dog face.

  “Sorry, kid. If it were up to me, I’d let you stay, but these are the landlord's terms, not mine.”

  “Fucking Billy,” I mutter under my breath. I knew I shouldn’t have gone out with the asshole. Who knew he’d turn into such a prick? He’s only being a hardass because his feelings got hurt when I didn’t call him back the next day after our date. I just wanted a quick fuck, not a relationship. “Well, where is Billy? I’ll talk to him,” I ask, looking at my watch. I still have an hour to burn before I have to leave.

  “Don’t know. He said he had some meeting up town and sent me to tell you,” John replies.

  “Fucking asshole. The fucking coward, I bet he doesn’t even have a meeting. He just didn’t want to face me.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t shoot the messenger kid.” Sighing, he gives me a sad look. “I really hope everything works out for you,” he says, squeezing my shoulder before walking off.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to reign in my anger. Right now, I want to find Billy and punch him in his face. Who does he think he is? The asshole actually thinks he owns The Five Seasons, when in actuality this place was just a step up from a homeless shelter. No one wants to stay in this shitty apartment complex in this shitty neighborhood but me and that’s only because I can’t afford to go anywhere else nicer. If he kicks me out, his next tenant will more than likely be some crackhead or a hooker. I guess he gets off knowing the rent was paid by a nut bust every hour.

  Well, like my mama would say, there's no use crying over spilled milk or don’t borrow trouble or however that fucking saying goes. My mama had a lot of them. Too many to keep track of. Mama never lived in the real world. Instead, she found the good in everything and everybody. I’m not my mama. I’m the rotten to the core apple that fell off my daddy’s poisonous tree. Fuck Billy. I’ll get this gig and when I come back, I can show him proof I’ll have steady income coming in then he’ll let me stay. If not, I’m sure I can seduce him. A quickie or maybe a blowjob will do the trick.

  Just my luck, my old beater didn’t want to start and I had to flag someone down to give me a jump and then had to give the asshole five bucks for his trouble. Chivalry is definitely dead in Jersey. Then I ran into traffic crossing the bridge from the Jersey Pike to New York and even more traffic once I entered the city. Maybe I should have saved myself the trouble and took the bus. Either way, I arrived twenty minutes late for my interview.

  Running inside the fancy building, I fling
myself into the elevator before the doors close. I’m already late, I don’t have time to wait for another elevator and the stairs are a definite no, not in these heels. For the interview, I put on my best dress. Okay, maybe it’s the only dress I own decent enough to wear to an interview. A simple, all black, high-low dress that stops a little above my knee in the front and long in the back, paired with red patent leather pumps, and a bulky fake pearl necklace I bought at a sidewalk sale. It was kinda chilly out when I left, so I wore my leather jacket with the studs. A parting gift from Daddy before he took off on my mama.

  Inside the elevator, an uppity couple shoots me a scathing look from my abrupt arrival. Yeah, I get it. I may have looked like a loon charging in here, but going by the look of these two, they know nothing about money problems. The woman is beautiful, with straight blonde hair wrapped in a neat chignon, big blue doe eyes with pale pink lips. Her clothes are designer, and the heels she’s wearing cost enough to feed me for a year. She’s all bright and shiny, the typical upper Manhattan girl that makes you want to hate her. But as impressive as she was, she had nothing on the hunk of hotness standing next to her, holding tightly to her hand. Now he is every girl’s wet dream. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His hair was dark and wavy, making me itch to run my fingers through it, his fair skin perfect and blemish free, his bone structure could only be compared to the work of the gods and those eyes. Grey with hints of silver like a thunderstorm. He was also impeccably dressed in a fitted suit, perfectly tailored to his delectable body and shoes so shiny, I’m sure if I got close enough, I could see my reflection. I wanted to lick him and stake a claim, even though he’s clearly her husband. Bad Jade. We’re a lot of things, but a homewrecker isn’t one of them.

  “Which floor?” A voice says, breaking me from my trance. Shifting my eyes, I look back at the woman and realize she’s talking to me.

  “Fuck, sorry,” I say, slapping my forehead. “Twelfth floor.” Immediately, I look away embarrassed. She totally caught me checking out her husband.

  “Oh good, same as us,” she says, pushing the button. “Are you here to receive fertility treatments?” She asks politely. Turning back to her, I give her a ‘are you crazy’ look. Do I look like the type to be able to afford treatment here? I doubt they take Medicaid.

  “No, I’m here for an interview,” I answer.

  “Oh, you’re a nurse?” She inquires, taking a closer look at me. What the hell? Is this twenty questions? With the luck I’m having today, she could be my interviewer, she’s certainly qualified for the job.

  “No,” I reply simply, not giving her any more information. I’m only playing nice because she caught me ogling her husband. Any other time I would have simply told her to fuck off.

  “Oh, okay. How old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Nichole, leave the poor girl alone,” McHottie says, giving her an odd look.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, giving me a wide Colgate smile. “Pardon my rudeness. My mouth tends to run away with me sometimes. I blame it on my occupation.”

  “Sure,” I reply, happy when the elevator dings as it reaches my floor. I step off, noticing the hot couple also getting off on the same floor then remembering blondie saying they were also going to the twelfth floor. Fuck. Please don’t be my interviewer, I chant in my head. With hurried steps, I go straight to the U-shaped sterile white counter, giving the receptionist a beaming smile.

  “Hi, I’m Jade Cooper. I’m here for an interview with Ms. Donaldson.”

  I watch her as she types something on her computer while giving me looks of disdain when she thinks I’m not paying attention. I get it. You don’t see people who look like me coming in and out of this building often. My raven black, almost blue, hair was shaved in the back and cut into an edgy style, my body was covered in tattoos, including the huge one of a bird spreading its wings on my neck, not to mention the septum piercing I got done last year. I’m no Malibu Barbie, but my reproductive system has nothing to do with my looks and that’s all they care about here. When she looks up again, she frowns. Uh oh, not a good sign. “You’re late. Take a seat in the waiting room, and I’ll let you know if she still wants to see you.”

  Dejected, I follow her orders and sit down like a kid who’s waiting out in the hall to see the principal. I knew I should have just forked over the money and not argued with the prick jumping my car. I could have gotten to my appointment on time and not been sitting out here with a sense of uncertainty. The thing is that I only had twenty-now fifteen-bucks to my name. I need it to last me until payday from this gig. From what I’ve been told, they pay you a nice lump sum as soon as you get knocked up and then the rest after you safely deliver.

  The couple from the elevator sits down in the same waiting area and I make sure to avert my eyes. I don’t know what their deal is, but I don’t need Katy Lee over there asking me any more questions. A pleasant looking lady with graying hair comes out and immediately walks over to them.

  “You must be the Hastings,” she greets them with a warm smile.

  I watch them all leave to the back like a lost puppy. My nerves rush forward and I start to freak out. What if they won’t see me? Sure, I was a little late but twenty minutes is not such a big deal. This is New York for Christ’s sake. Traffic is a certainty. If I come back without a job, that dick Billy will surely throw me out flat on my ass. I’ve almost worked my way into a panic attack when a stern looking woman calls my name. Why couldn’t I get the pleasant lady with the ‘put you at ease’ smile? This woman kinda resembles a vulture. She could totally pass for Mr. Burns’ sister, you know off the TV show ‘The Simpsons’. Her hair is dark, pulled back so tightly in a bun, it looked like she was trying to pull her face off. Speaking of her face, it was all sharp angles, and her nose was long and hooked. The dark suit she had on was immaculate. She probably scared away any poor wrinkle that dared defy her scotch-guard and the skirt she had on was long, like a nun would wear. I take a look at my much higher hem line and swallow hard.

  Getting up, I reply, “I’m Jade Cooper.” Well, of course I am. I’m the only one left out here.

  She doesn’t reply. She just leads me to the back and I follow her down a narrow sterile looking hallway with bright white walls, our feet echoing with each step. When we get to the last door on the right, she opens it wide and waves for me to take a seat.

  “I’m going to be frank with you, Ms. Cooper,” she says, taking her seat behind a huge shiny brown desk.

  “Jade, call me Jade, please,” I say, interrupting her.

  “Okay then, Jade. We got your test results back from the lab as well as your background check. Ideally, you would make a perfect candidate. You’re in great shape, all your test results came back negative for any diseases, you received high marks on your ability to reproduce and deliver a healthy baby to term. Look wise, your features as well as your body type are in high demand. If you remove the nose piercing and use cover up to hide your tattoos, you could be successful.”

  “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” I ask, interrupting her again.

  “But,” she says, narrowing her eyes, clearly not liking the interruption. “Your background check came back with a couple of red flags.”

  “Like?” I ask, raising my brow. I’m confused, I’ve never even gotten a parking ticket. I’m not saying I’m a saint, I just never got caught.

  “We’re concerned you might carry a trait for mental illness,” she answers.

  “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?” I say a little more loudly and shrilly than I intended.

  Not fazed by my outburst, Ms. Vulture Face says, “Isn’t your mother currently committed in Sandy Hills, a mental institution in South Carolina?” Oh shit. Fuck, I should have known that would come up. The background check they made me do was not the run of the mill form. I felt like I was applying for a job to guard the president.

  “Yeah, but she’s only there for her depression. Nothing ins
ane like schizophrenia. She’s not crazy nor does she hear voices or whatever crazy people do.”

  “We’ve talked to her doctors. She goes in and out of catatonic states and barely functions on her own.”

  “What?” I shout, pissed. “How the hell did you do that without my permission? Isn’t that illegal or some shit?”

  “No, it’s not, Ms. Cooper. You gave us permission when you signed the form allowing us to have full access to any records we may need to assess you.”

  “Oh,” I reply, dumbly. I seriously didn’t know what else to say. I was screwed and not in the fun way.

  “We are one of the highest rated fertility clinics in the country. We deeply vet all our clients and applicants and in doing so, we have one of the highest success rates. Every detail of information about you goes on file and is given over to our clients when they go through the process of selecting a surrogate, and I’m confident, my dear, you won’t be selected when they read about your mother, so I’m sorry, we won’t be able to offer you employment.

  “You could have just called me instead of making me come all the way down here, wasting my time,” I gripe.

  “It’s against company policy to discuss pertinent information over the phone,” she comments.