Born To Be Your's

Chapter 7

It was nearly forty minutes before the war zone settled down. Ryan, thankfully, had followed Blake’s instruction and was safely barricaded somewhere upstairs, likely preparing an ambush. The shrieks had subsided into low, furious mutterings, which meant the social worker was either cleaned up and gone, or Laura had managed to drag her inside Paul and Francis’s house for damage control.

The front door finally opened, and Laura walked in. She was wiping her damp hands on her jeans, her face scrubbed clean of all emotion, adopting the dead-serious look that was always worse than the yelling. She was wearing her stress like a straitjacket.

Blake was sitting on the couch, the sole source of light now the pale blue glow of the TV. Mark was asleep on his chest, a warm, inert weight of innocence that Blake clutched like an anchor.

Laura’s eyes immediately swept the living room, searching for the small, murderous twin. “Where is he?” she asked, her voice dangerously flat.

“Hiding,” Blake confirmed, keeping his voice equally low so as not to wake Mark. He didn't offer any details about the crime itself; there was no point.

Laura groaned, pulling off her thin winter coat and throwing it over living room chair. “He better be. Paul is absolutely pissed. Francis, surprisingly, was crying from laughing too hard. She thought the look on that woman’s face was hilarious.”

She plopped down on the couch next to Blake, the shift in weight barely disturbing Mark. Laura immediately nestled her head into Blake’s shoulder, her own tension slowly starting to drain away.

“God, I’m tired,” she mumbled into his thermal shirt.

Blake remained still, feeling the warmth of his sister’s familiar weight against him. “They’re going to have their hands full with that one next door,” he observed. “She looks like trouble.”

“Frankie and Paul know it. They’re scared of her, honestly,” Laura said, her voice dropping lower. “They may need our help from time to time, Blake. Especially yours, once she starts school on Monday. Just until they get enough money to pay off Francis’s student loans.”

Blake’s jaw tightened beneath the sleeping weight of Mark. He knew the deal: their family's survival was intrinsically linked to their crazy neighbors, and now, he was being drafted to help stabilize Francis’s goldmine. He resented the request, but he also knew the two hundred-dollars he'd earned yesterday were proof that his family needed Francis to succeed.

He took a slow, deep breath, letting the resentment go. “Fine,” he conceded, the word heavy and flat.

Laura shifted, sighing contentedly, and gently kissed the soft, messy hair on his head. “Thank you, B. You’re the best little brother.”

She let out a soft, ragged breath and slowly, utterly succumbed to the exhaustion of a week spent functioning as seven people’s parent. Her breathing evened out, her weight settling heavily against his shoulder.

Blake sat perfectly still, trapped between the warmth of his sleeping sister and the weight of his sleeping brother, a living, seventeen-year-old pillar in the collapsed architecture of their family.

---

Monday morning arrived, cold and bitter, the new snow already hardening into treacherous ice. The Copper house was in its usual, frantic pre-school ritual. The smell of cheap coffee and slightly burnt toast hung in the air, a familiar comfort.

Blake, back in the grind of his routine, was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee from a chipped mug. He wore a thick black hoodie pulled low over his forehead, and over that, a dark, worn leather jacket, completing his signature rugged look.

Maddie was trying to braid Mark’s hair while he sat in his booster seat, mesmerized by the colored cereal floating in his bowl. Ryan was loudly describing a new, non-lethal trap he was designing for the school janitor.

Blake was about to take a soothing sip of coffee when a new kind of chaos entered through the side door leading from the dining room.

Francis burst in, her orange hair a violent splash of color against the dim morning light, followed closely by Olivia. Liv stood just inside the doorway, her dark, striking beauty immediately commanding the room’s attention. She looked intensely annoyed to be there. She was dressed entirely in black—a form-fitting black sweatshirt that showed off her perfect, lean physique, and heavily ripped jeans—her defiance palpable.

Francis snatched a piece of bacon off Ryan’s plate before he could stop her.

“Hey! That’s mine, little s**t!” Ryan hissed, his eyes narrowed, momentarily forgetting his janitor trap.

Francis chewed loudly. “It’s mine now, little s**t. And you’re lucky the caseworker believed you were f*****g retarded, because if you ever throw dog s**t at a government official again, I will personally sell your organs to pay off my tuition.” She smirked, clearly enjoying the threat.

Liv stood silently by the door, her beautiful, cold eyes scanning the room. She was looking at the peeling paint, the mismatched furniture, and the sheer volume of children. She didn't look at any of them, merely taking inventory of her new surroundings.

Francis finally sashayed into the kitchen, carrying the energy of a one-woman parade. “Alright, everyone! This is Olivia!”

Liv sighed, the sound barely audible over the din of the children. “It’s Liv,” she corrected, her voice low and sanded-down.

Francis scoffed under her breath. “Whatever. Liv, meet the Copper infestation.”

Blake raised his mug, ready for another sip of coffee—his only source of sanity—when Francis snatched the cup out of his hand. She took a deep, theatrical gulp, closing her eyes and moaning sensually.

“God, you make it so good, B,” Francis purred, then spun on her heel, already walking toward the living room. “And thank you for walking ‘Liv’ to school this morning, sweetie! Paul and I have a mandatory training session, and you and Travis are going to be great guides!”

Blake frowned, trying to grab the mug back, but Francis was too quick. He stood there, jaw slightly tightened, watching the back of Francis's bright orange head retreat.

It was in that moment, as Francis’s back was turned, that Liv’s face changed. Her full, matte-lipsticked lips curled into the faintest sneer, and she slowly, deliberately, raised her hand behind Francis’s retreating back, offering Blake a perfect, precise middle finger. It was a moment of pure, silent insubordination, a secret signal passed between two mutually cynical people.

Laura, who was always the functional parent, finally spoke, her voice warm and apologetic. “Liv, honey, I’m Laura. I know this is rough. Can I get you some toast? Or maybe a bowl of cereal?”

Liv finally shifted her gaze, her striking gray-green eyes briefly meeting Laura's kind, exhausted ones. She shook her head once, sharply, and just continued to stand by the door, the very picture of gorgeous, hostile resistance.

Blake watched the exchange, his mind already calculating the variables. He was being forced to walk this time bomb to school, and she had just silently communicated her total contempt for the entire situation. This wasn't going to be easy, but it was definitely going to be interesting.

The chaotic Copper morning routine finally funneled out the front door. Blake, Travis, Liv, Maddie, and Ryan formed a tense, awkward procession toward the schools. Blake and Travis had their usual detached silence, Maddie was vibrating with misplaced affection, and Liv was a hostile, silent wall of black clothing and bad attitude.

Maddie, sensing the stiffness, immediately tried to bridge the gap. She walked right up next to Liv, trying to engage the older girl with chatter about Barbies and dogs. Liv didn't acknowledge her with so much as a glance.

They reached the brightly colored elementary school. Maddie gave Travis and Blake their usual quick, practiced hugs, then turned to Liv. Driven by an innocent, overwhelming desire for connection, Maddie rushed forward and wrapped her arms quickly around Liv’s waist in a tight hug. Liv froze instantly, her entire body going rigid, unused to and unwilling to receive the affection.

Maddie, oblivious, giggled, released her, and ran toward the school doors with Ryan trailing silently behind.

Blake, Travis, and Liv continued their walk toward Northwood High.

Blake immediately pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the sharp scent of tobacco mixing with the cold air. He took a drag and then handed the cigarette to Travis, a silent communication they’d shared for years.

Travis, ever the diplomat, tried to make friendly conversation, focusing on the only bright spot in their housing situation.

“Francis said the back bedroom gets all the afternoon sun,” Travis offered, his voice gentle. “It's the warmest room in that house, so that’s a win, right?” Liv met his efforts with a silence so complete it felt like a deliberate insult.

Blake snatched the cigarette back from Travis, his tone dripping with dry amusement, meeting Liv’s cold indifference with his own sharp, competitive cynicism.

“Save your empathy, Trav. She’s clearly too sophisticated for central heating discussions,” Blake drawled, his gaze fixed on Liv’s unmoving profile. “She’s just calculating how quickly she can get transferred out of this 'pathetic little street. Seventy-five homes that's impressive.”

Blake’s sarcastic jab finally broke through her wall. Liv stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. She turned to face him, the mask of bored hostility cracking just enough to show the fire beneath.

She was 5'5", and he, at 6 feet, towered over her, his strong, masculine presence and intense gaze meeting her cold, distant one.

“The only thing impressive around here is the structural integrity of your denial, Copper,” Liv retorted, her voice low and raspy. “Denial that this pathetic little street is the best you’ll ever get.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine interest lighting his eyes. She was fast. “I’m not in denial. I’m just pointing out the obvious fact that you’re a walking felony charge waiting to happen.”

“There’s no point getting to know me,” she clarified, her gray-green eyes flat. “I won’t be here long. I never am.”

Then, she moved in close, invading his personal space, forcing Blake to hold his breath. Her gaze never left his eyes. With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached up. Her perfectly manicured fingers, tipped in black polish, delicately pinched the cigarette from between his lips, her knuckles lightly grazing his jaw. The touch was tactile and intimate, an electric violation of his personal boundary.

She brought the cigarette to her own full, matte-lipsticked lips and took a deep, deliberate drag, the red glow illuminating her sharp features. She pulled back inches, slowly exhaling the thin, languid plume of smoke directly into Blake’s handsome face.

“You taste like desperation and stale coffee, Copper,” she murmured, her voice a low, intimate growl that defied the hostility of the action. “But the smoke is good. Keep the lighter handy. You're going to need it.”

She didn't wait for him to respond. She simply dropped the cigarette into the snow, ground it out with the heel of her heavy boot, and turned on her heel. She started walking toward the school entrance, leaving Blake standing on the sidewalk, the cold scent of smoke clinging to his messy, dark hair.

Blake watched her go, his entire body charged with an electric tension. She was beautiful, arrogant, and entirely unafraid to challenge his masculinity.

Travis stared at his brother, wide-eyed. “Dude. What was that?”

“That, Trav,” Blake muttered, his voice rougher than usual, the initial cold burn of interest now a fast, dangerous heat, “was a declaration of war. And she fights dirty.”