Custom Love by Chantal Fernando

Chapter Three

Damon looks surprised when he sees me, his eyes widening. I offer him a small smile to break the ice, one that he doesn’t return.

He appears worn down, bags under his eyes, and orange definitely isn’t his color. He sits down slowly, and picks up the phone, and I do the same.

“What are you doing here, Nadia?” he asks, brow furrowing. His eyes suddenly widen in realization. “Mom...”

“She’s fine.” I hold my hand up. “She asked me to look into your case.”

“Why? I’ve been convicted, it’s over,” he says, his voice having more aggression than I would have expected.

“Damon, I’ve known you your whole life...” I start to say, staring into his brown eyes. He may only be twenty-five, but his eyes show he has an old soul.

He nods.

“I need you to tell me the truth, Damon. And don’t fucking lie to me, or I will know. Did you do it?”

He leans forward so he can look me in the eyes. “You need to back off, Nadia. It’s over, I’m in jail, and that’s it.”

I’m surprised by his words. From the way Marisol spoke, I assumed Damon is desperate to get out of jail, claiming he was wrongfully convicted. “But your mom, she swears she was with you—”

“Nadia, drop it,” he all but yells before looking at the guards as they give him a warning glance.

I have two options here: I can just let this go and tell Marisol that I couldn’t find anything, or I can get him to talk about the case without him getting upset.

“Were you on drugs when you were arrested?” That seems like a safer question.

He sighs, almost relieved I’ve asked a different question. “I was clean for over a year before I was arrested,” he says, shaking his head.

I ponder his words. “I saw you and Ariel ran into each other at the salon. Do you remember what you talked about?”

He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Do you remember every person you bump into on the street? Every mini conversation you have with someone?”

“Well, you did bump into her. There’s video of it.”

“Then I guess it happened.” He leans back in his chair with his arm slung over the back. I can’t understand why he’s behaving this way. Maybe he did do it and Marisol is just a mother in denial.

After looking at the evidence the police had, I have to admit it wasn’t much—circumstantial at best—but the jury felt that was enough to convict him. Any good lawyer would’ve had the case dismissed, but his public defender didn’t even try. That’s not to say he didn’t do it, just that there wasn’t a lot of evidence against him.

I stare at him. Despite the hard exterior, underneath the short hair, the tattoos on his arms, the grimace on his face, I still see the little boy I used to know.

“You’re not going to help me with this, are you?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“There is nothing to help you with. Leave. It. Alone.”

“I’m still going to look into this. Not for you, but for your mother. I find it hard to believe that after everything you and your mom have been through, you’d behave this way.”

The way he is acting is so surprising, and not how I thought he would be at all. I thought he would want someone to fight for him, to try to get him out of here. Instead it seems like he’s admitting that he actually did kill Ariel, even though he pleaded not guilty at the time. What am I missing here?

“You know nothing about what I’d do for my mother,” he growls, putting his face close to the plastic barrier. It stops me in my tracks.

I tilt my head and look him in the eye. There is meaning behind what he just said. “Why haven’t you told your mother you did this? That you killed Ariel?”

We have a staring contest before he looks away. “Leave it alone, Nadia, or you’ll regret it.” With that, he slams the phone down and heads toward the guard to be escorted back to his cell.

I leave the prison not knowing what to think, knowing that anyone else in my situation would walk away. But something in my gut won’t let me.

Damon doesn’t want my help, and I know there has to be a reason behind that.

My problem now is that I’m out of leads, and the only people I can get more information from are going to be pissed if they find out what I’m doing.

I slide my fingers into my pocket as my phone beeps with a text from Bronte.

Hey babe, I need a favor. I’m sick, and I was supposed to meet the kids after school at Trade’s house. Izzy is finishing up something so she can’t go until later, and Abbie is out of town.

I blink slowly. Yes, I did offer to help, but I’ve never actually been to Trade’s house before, since Ariel always used to say getting out of the house was her self-care time. I know his kids, have met them at the club get-togethers, but I’ve never been in their personal space. The guilt from looking into Ariel’s case slowly creeps in, and now I know I have to help Trade out.

What do you need me to do?I type back.

Can you go to his house? There’s a digital key code to open the door. You just have to wait for the kids to get home from the bus, which stops right in front of the house, and then just feed them some snacks and stay with them until Izzy and Mila get there. It won’t be for too long.

Okay. I mean, I can do that, right?

Where does he live? And what time do I need to be there?

She texts me his address, which is only about a ten-minute drive from work, and the code to get in, and says that I have to be there by three. I glance at the time on my phone. One o’clock, just enough time to drop into the office before I have to leave.

I’m on it.

Love you.

I like kids, I really do, but I don’t have much experience with them. In fact, I think Quinn is the only child I’ve ever actually spent time with one-on-one. I know I offered to help, but I assumed it was pick up takeout or run an errand for Trade, not babysit his kids. I’m an only child, so I never even grew up with them. But it can’t be that hard, right? I’ll just feed them and make sure I don’t lose them until Izzy shows up and takes over my shift.

When I get to his house, I put in the code Bronte sent me. Opening the door, I step inside and am surprised by how beautiful and tidy the space is. There’s no clutter. How does Trade keep it looking like this with four kids?

His house is a huge, two stories with an open floor plan, and there’s plenty of room for them all. There’s two living room areas, and you can see both from the kitchen. The house has lots of wooden and leather furniture and picture frames on the wall. The pictures are the main form of decorating. It’s very masculine, with no trinkets around, and I wonder if it looked like this when Ariel was also living here.

I stop at one of the pictures—it’s a family photo, with Ariel smiling widely, arms wrapped around the children and Trade holding her from behind.

It’s a beautiful photo, and I almost feel like I’m intruding by looking at it. I move away and sit down on their leather couch in the living room, staring at the clock. I arrived a little early, but better early than late.

A few moments later I get up and get myself a glass of water and look out at the garden from the kitchen window. It’s a lovely house to raise children in. A lot of room, a big yard with a trampoline, a little playground set and space to run around. It’s the house of a happy childhood.

I turn around and look at the fridge, which is covered in artwork and awards, and smile to myself. I hope to have my own family one day, and my own fridge covered in hand-drawn pictures of us, like the one Mila drew of Trade and her holding hands. A big Mila + Daddy is scrawled across the top in adorable five-year-old handwriting.

Trade might be big and tough, but at heart he’s just a family man.

I like that about him.

Unfortunately for me, my fridge is going to have to remain bare for some time. To start a family, I’d have to have a man in my life, and well, I’ve been single for the past few years and lacking in the penis department. I’m sure one day I’ll have children, but that day isn’t around the corner. In fact, it’s not even around the block.

I tidy up the few dishes left over in the sink from breakfast while I’m waiting. It feels so weird being in someone else’s house without them, like I’m intruding, but I remind myself that I’m supposed to be here, and that I’m helping out. I get on my phone and scroll through social media for the remainder of my time.

When it hits three, I wander back to the front door and open it, with no idea what to expect. Should I go out so I’m right there when they get off the bus? Or will that embarrass them? Are they used to just coming in by themselves? I am completely out of my element here.

A couple of minutes pass before a bus stops and three little humans tumble out of it, two girls and a boy, with similar features, brown hair and eyes and matching smiles. They are all carrying huge backpacks and wave when they see me.

India, the oldest of the three, looks over at me curiously. “Nadia? What are you doing here?” she says, smiling. “Where’s Auntie Bronte?”

“She’s sick today, so I’m here instead. I hope you don’t mind,” I say, then glance over at Alia and AJ. “How are you all? How was school?”

“Awesome!” AJ replies. He has cut his hair since the last time I saw him, the little boy bun gone, and he’s now sporting a short, spiky do. With his long lashes and dimples, the kid is going to break many a heart in the near future.

“I’m hungry,” Alia announces.

I move aside so they can enter and watch with interest as they throw their bags, shoes and socks on the ground carelessly and head straight for the kitchen.

Trade must have a housecleaner. In less than two minutes, the place is a mess.

“What do you guys want to eat?” I ask as I follow them into the kitchen.

“What’s your go-to?” AJ asks, sitting down on one of the stools. “Everyone has their favorite little go-to meal, and everyone’s is different.”

I smile. I knew I liked this kid. “I like nachos with all the fixings and guacamole.”

“Can we have that?” he asks, clapping his hands together.

“I’ll just have some fruit,” Alia announces, picking up an apple and heading to her bedroom.

India watches her leave and shrugs. “Middle children, eh?”

I try not to laugh, then search the cupboards to see what I can find. “Okay, so we don’t have what I need for the nachos; we’ll have to make that next time. I can make some loaded fries, though, with bacon, cheese, sour cream and scallions. What do you think?”

AJ fist pumps. “Yeah, I’m staying around for that.”

I start making the fries while AJ and India talk my ears off. Alia even comes back out and sits with us, listening to the conversation but not really contributing. They are all so close in age, maybe a year apart each, but it’s obvious they have a close bond and their own sibling dynamic.

“Do you know what happened at school today?” India asks me.

“Nope, what happened?”

“There was a fight. The teachers had to break it up, and one of the people in the fight was my friend,” she explains, then mutters under her breath, “My dad would kill me if I got into a fight.”

“Dad used to get into fights at school,” AJ says, eyes going wide. “Uncle Tommy told me.”

“Yeah, but Dad didn’t have a dad to keep him in line,” India reminds him. “That’s what he told me. Did you ever get into any fights at school, Nadia?”

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t. My mom used to always tell me to be the bigger person and walk away. It’s easier to give in to anger and fight than to walk away.”

The kids all seem to ponder that. “I like that,” India finally murmurs.

“And who is Uncle Tommy?” I ask.

AJ pauses. “Oh, you’d probably call him Temper. That’s his biker name.”

“Oh.” Makes sense that they would call Temper by his birth name, not his road name.

“So what kind of sick is Auntie Bronte?” AJ asks me, sounding concerned.

“She’s probably just sick of you.” India smirks. “Last time she was here AJ kept making farting noises and Auntie Bronte was not amused.”

AJ lifts his chin. “Come on, that’s funny.”

“For boys maybe,” India replies, rolling her eyes. “Do you have any children, Nadia?”

“I do not,” I say, shaking my head.

“Why?” AJ asks, confusion apparent in his tone. “Don’t you like kids?”

“No, I like kids. I’m just pretty busy with work, to be honest.”

“If you have time to make loaded fries for three kids, I think you have time for a family,” India decides. She must be about ten, but she has the mind of a thirty-year-old.

I try not to laugh, but fail miserably. “Hey, I’m here because Bronte is my best friend, and she asked me to come. And I always help my friends when they need me. I really should be at work.”

“Where do you work?” Alia asks.

“I own my own private investigator business,” I explain.

“Really?” AJ asks excitedly. “What’s that?”

I think about how to explain what I do to an almost eight-year-old. “Did you ever go on a scavenger hunt?” I ask as I put the fries in the oven.

“Yeah. Are you like a treasure hunter?”

I laugh at the way his face lights up. “No, but you know how with a scavenger hunt you have to search for clues?”

He nods with enthusiasm.

“I look for clues, for information. Someone hires me to find out something and then I go try to find it out.”

India’s brow furrows. “So who hires you?”

I shrug. “Anyone can. I’ve worked with lawyers to help with their cases, people to find missing loved ones.”

“So you’re good at findings?” Alia asks with skepticism.

“That’s so cool,” AJ says as he bends down to look at the oven.

“It can be pretty cool,” I admit. “What do you want to do when you’re older?”

“I want to work with my dad. He does construckton,” he announces proudly, puffing his chest out. I smile at the way he pronounces the word. “Dad said we could be a team. I like building things. I could build a house.” Trade owns his own construction company, even though he also works at Fast & Fury, and I think it’s cute that AJ wants to work with him.

“I want to be a teacher,” India says, cutting off her brother. “Maybe an art or music teacher or something like that. I think that would be fun.”

I nod. “Those are pretty fun subjects.”

“I don’t know what I want to be when I’m older,” Alia says on a shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mom, like Ariel was.”

“No, there’s not. In fact, I think stay-at-home moms do the most work out of anyone,” I say.

She nods, seemingly satisfied at my answer.

“I might change my mind when I’m older, though,” India continues.

“That’s okay. I changed my mind a hundred times before I finished school,” I admit to them. “I wanted to be a vet at one point, but I think I would have cried too much, so I’m glad that I changed my mind.”

“I love animals, too,” AJ comments.

“Yeah, I have time to think about it,” India says, nodding. “I want to have lots of money, though, and be able to buy my own house. Maybe I could have my own business like you, Nadia.”

“You could if that’s what you wanted to do. Anything is possible, you just need to figure out what you want in life.” I don’t know how this conversation got pretty deep so fast, but here we are. These kids are pretty cool, and I find myself enjoying the chat with them.

They proceed to ask me more about my job while I finish making the loaded fries, and then a million more questions after that.

“Are you rich? I’d like to be rich,” AJ says, expression dead serious.

“I am definitely not rich,” I reply, laughing. “But I do own my own home, so I can’t be doing too badly either.”

“I think being rich would be awesome,” he continues.

“Money doesn’t always make you happy.”

“I heard that,” India says. “Ariel used to say that to us. But I’d rather cry in a nice car than a bad one.”

I laugh, hard.

“You were friends with Ariel, right?” AJ asks me.

“I was.” I nod. “And she was a wonderful woman.”

“She was. Why do you think she was taken away from us?”

My eyes widen as I was not expecting this question. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and it’s unfair.”

He nods. “Life is unfair.”

I sigh and run my hand through his hair. “You guys are really brave and strong. You know that? I lost my own mom when I was younger and I know how hard it is.”

“You did?” Alia asks, listening intently.

“I did. She died from cancer. My dad raised me after she was gone, just like you all.” I don’t want to tell them that my dad is now dead, too. They don’t need to worry about losing Trade as well. I wonder if people who grew up with both parents know how lucky they are.

The kids are all halfway through their fries when Izzy arrives, Mila on her hip. She smiles when she sees me. “Thanks so much, Nadia. I came as soon as I could.”

“No problem at all. I’m happy to help.”

Mila waves at me, and I’m taken aback at just how much she looks like her mom. Especially with those green eyes and long, silky dark hair. “You’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you, Mila.”

Mila nods solemnly. “I’m a big girl now. I even sleep in my own big girl bed.”

“Do you? That’s so great.”

“Damn, that looks good,” Izzy says, eyeing their plates. “They’re going to want you here every day after school now.”

“There’s more in the pan,” I say.

Mila runs up to me and hugs my leg. “I like fries.”

“Good.” I smile, glancing down at her. “Come on, I’ll serve you a plate.”

We all sit down at the table while everyone eats, Izzy included. “How have you been anyway, Nadia?”

“Not too bad. And yourself?”

“Okay. Between all the freelance design work, these guys and Renny, I’m kept pretty busy.”

“I can imagine. I’ve just been busy at work.” I add, “Speaking of, I should probably head back there.”

“Oh, can’t you stay a little longer?” AJ asks, brown eyes pleading with mine. “I want to show you this new game I got on my Nintendo. Remember, I was telling you it’s my favorite game right now. You can’t leave until you’ve tried playing it.”

I look over at Izzy, who grins. “They are hard to say no to.”

“Okay, but quickly,” I say to him, smiling.

He takes my hand and leads me to his room, where he has an epic gaming station setup. Wall-mounted TV, various gaming consoles, controllers and headsets on his blue wall.

“You are a lucky boy,” I say, eyeing it all.

“I know.” He grins. “Dad did it all for me for my last birthday. All my friends love coming here and gaming with me.”

“I’ll bet. Okay, show me this game of yours. I’m telling you now that I don’t like losing, so I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you’re a kid.”

“I wouldn’t expect it any other way,” he replies, making me laugh out loud.

He puts on a Mario game, the new one, not the one that I grew up playing, but I still think I’m going to be able to beat him. “I’ve been playing Mario since I was a kid.”

I’m confident I hear him call me a boomer, but I can’t be sure.

He beats me the first time, and then the second. “I’ve been going easy on you, too.”

Great. “Well, I think it’s fair to say that I need a little bit more practice before I take on a pro such as yourself,” I say, smiling at him.

“GG.”

“GG?”

He nods. “Good game. And you didn’t have gamer rage and throw the controller, like my dad does sometimes, so I’m very impressed.”

I burst out laughing. “Trust me, I wanted to.”

I end up staying there another hour before I leave, and as I’m walking to my car Trade pulls up in his truck.

“Hey,” he says as he gets out. “Thank you so much for helping today. I couldn’t leave work and—”

“Trade.” I stop his explanation. “It’s no problem at all. And they are a wonderful bunch of kids.”

He looks a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning. “Thank you. They do okay.”

“I’m going to go home and order a Nintendo just so I can practice, then come back and beat your son at Mario, though,” I warn him, grinning. “I got my ass beat several times.”

“No one can beat him, so don’t feel bad,” he replies, laughing. “He’s a little hustler, that boy.”

“I wonder where he got that from.”

Trade smiles widely. “I have no idea.”

“Anyway, I better get back to work. But if you ever need anything else, just send me a message,” I say, unlocking my car door with a press of a button and opening it. “They say it takes a village.”

“Or a whole MC and their friends,” he replies, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without all of you. I owe you one.”

“No you don’t,” I call out with a smile as I slide into my car.

When he comes over, I roll my window down. “There’s actually something I wanted to speak to you about.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“I want to officially adopt Mila, and to do so I need to find her biological father and ask him to sign over his rights. Do you think you could help me locate him? I’ll pay, of course.”

I nod. “Of course I can help you. Why don’t you send me an email with the information, and I’ll look into it.” Unfortunately tracking down deadbeat fathers is something I do regularly.

“Thank you,” he replies, eyes gentle.

“You’re welcome.”

He steps away from my car and watches me until I’m out of sight. My smile falls off my face as I remember what I’m going back to my office to work on. I wonder what he would say to me if he knew I was also looking into Ariel’s case on behalf of Damon. Or the fact that I’m searching for evidence to have the case reopened. I doubt he’d be smiling at me like he was. In fact, I think he would be pissed, and hurt. And he definitely wouldn’t have asked me to help him.

I remind myself I’m doing this for Marisol.

It’s not an easy choice that I’ve made, and it’s Trade it’s going to affect the most.

“Shit.”