Page 27 of Our Cracked Pieces

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After I had gotten arrested for beating up Mr. Hostettler, anger management had been a must. While sympathetic and understandable, I had beaten a man-rather badly-and the courts could not let that go unpunished. I had gotten probation with mandatory anger management. And since my probation had been for a year, we’d had to see if Randall County would be willing to accept a probation transfer. Luckily, they had agreed, and I had managed to get through my first year of college incident-free.

As for Mr. Hostettler, even with Vanessa’s abortion, a scandal had ensued, and their business had been broadcasted everywhere. Mrs. Hostettler had filed for divorce, of course, and Vanessa had gone on independent study for the last two months of school. And having blocked her from my entire life, I never knew whatever happened to her, nor did I care.

It hadn’t been until my second year in college that I had started partying and fucking around again. While I had taken my studies seriously, I had done my best to put Vanessa, Mr. Hostettler, and that entire mess behind me, though I wasn’t sure how successful I’ve been at that. All these years later, I still didn’t trust women.

Not a one.

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Now, that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy them, or I was a woman-hater, because I wasn’t. On the contrary, I loved women. But I loved them most when they were getting me off and nothing more. Vanessa was the last serious girlfriend I had, and I was okay with that.

Or, I had been until recently.

“By the way, before you go back to being an asshole, I think I found the perfect cribs for your house,” she said, bringing us back to a happier topic.

“Oh, really?” I asked, after eating a piece of steak. Molly still couldn’t cook, but she knew where to order the best food from.

Her grey eyes sparkled. “I saw this article about a wood carver whose work brought in thousands for his pieces. I had managed to get a hold of his office commissioner, and I had asked her if he did cribs. She told me he had actually finished a set last month, but he hadn’t presented them yet.” Her smile lit up her entire face. “I told her you’d pay any price for them.”

“Did she send you any pictures?”

Molly jumped up and ran to grab her phone from her purse. Racing back to the table, she shoved the phone at me. “They’re beautiful, Lorcan.”

I studied the picture on her phone, and they really were exquisite. It was the kind of work that was destined to become family heirlooms. And they were a dark, cherry oak which went great with my condo’s interior design. Granted, even if the cribs didn’t match, I wouldn’t care, but the fact that they matched was a plus.

“How much?” I needed to get the nursery ready for the arrival of my godchildren soon.

“Eighty for each. One-fifty for the set,” she said.

I handed Molly her phone back. “Arrange the sale,” I told her. “I’d like them by the end of next week.”

Molly started clapping her hands like a certified fruitcake. “Oh, my God, they’re so pretty.”

“They are perfect, Molly Doll.” She was still grinning like a loon. “Thank you for finding them.”

“If you didn’t buy them, I was going to buy them for when I have kids one day,” she said before eating another piece of steak.

My brows went up. Molly never spoke about commitment. “Something I should know?”

She shrugged. “So, you know the Holbrook Foundation?” I nodded. The Holbrook Foundation dealt with scholarships for the less fortunate, females in particular. “Well, River Banks is one of the coordina-”