Reclamation (The Wild White Orchid Trilogy Book 3), page 1
Reclamation
R. Collins
Copyright © 2024 by R. Collins
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The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
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First edition 2024
To James and Genevieve for bringing my romance writing journey to life. XX
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Prologue
Jude Jackson James Barlow - 1933
Ihope to God no one can see or smell the blood all over my jacket. When I told Wyatt and Frank my ideas for the Council Entry Ceremony, they assured me that they understood my vision. I should’ve known not to trust them with something so serious. Things only get done correctly when I do them myself.
When my brothers, cousins, and I formed our society last year and made our blood pact, we decided that once our first son turned eighteen, we’d have our first Council Entry Ceremony. My little Maxwell is only two, so it’ll be a while before that happens, but I don’t like to procrastinate, and as the Head Father of this society, I want to establish a solid system early.
I run my hands through my messy black hair while I wait for the last person to arrive. Normally, Rebecca helps me style it in the mornings, but she refused me help today because she’s angry with me. It’s her twenty-first birthday today, and it also happens to be mine. I was supposed to take her to her favorite spot for breakfast, but I had to cancel last minute for this meeting.
Things are going well in our society. Our perfume business is growing exponentially, which was the main reason for this meeting today. However, we also need assistance with our meat distribution as well as our home products, and we also want to bring in someone to help with societal operations. Currently, I manage everything, but with Max’s high energy and another little one on the way, I’m burning the candle at both ends.
I met with a manufacturer a few days ago at our flagship perfume location in Newburgh, and he offered to collaborate with me and take on our brand with the goal to open fifty new locations within the next year. I agreed, and he introduced me to two other men. One will be working on our home products with the goal to eventually create food products as well, and the other will take over our meat manufacturing. The last man is the only one I haven’t met yet, and he’s fifteen minutes late which means the blood on my suit jacket should be dry at this point.
I didn’t plan on showing up to this meeting with blood on my clothing. It happened completely by accident.
While describing my vision to Wyatt and Frank, I explained to them how I wanted all new council members baptized in animal blood. If they made it through the Council Entry Ceremony, they’d be cleansed at the end with water. We agreed that we should run through the ceremony a few times with a few of us to test out the ritual, and we decided on my home being the testing location. Little did I know it would result in me having a shit start to my morning.
In addition to this meeting today, I promised the guys we’d perform our trial Council Entry Ceremony afterward which is another reason I had to cancel breakfast with Rebecca.
If my wife wasn’t addicted to my irresistible body, I’m pretty sure she’d try and leave me. But I’d never let that happen, and I’m working on a provision right now to ensure that if any of our wives ever try and leave us, they’ll go through hell first. And I’m setting the provision in place for our son’s wives too.
I woke up on time and was ready for the day, but things went downhill when I went out to my garage to get in my car. It was dark, and I couldn’t see very well. As I neared my vehicle handle, my foot slipped on something slick, and I fell on my ass. Fortunately, my pants didn’t get wet, but my hands did. And what I had on them was not what I expected.
Without thinking, I dragged my hands over my coat, and then my nose was hit with the most overwhelming smell. Once I opened the garage, I saw the disaster of what had happened. Wyatt and Frank placed a tub of blood beside my car, and before they sat it on the ground, they managed to splatter it everywhere. The worst part was that there wasn’t nearly enough blood for what I had planned, and I was frustrated that they didn’t follow my instructions. Not to mention, my clothes were soiled, and I didn’t have enough time to wash and change, so I got in my car reeking of pig guts to come to this meeting today.
After twenty minutes, the door opens and the final man walks through. He’s tall and muscular like me, but he’s got a silly mustache and glasses that are too big for his face. He sits down at the table across from me, and Bill, the first one I met, stands and begins the meeting.
“Thank you, Jude, for meeting with us on such short notice. As you can imagine, it’s hard to get all of us in the same room at once, and today worked best for all of us.” He takes off his burgundy blazer and looks toward the other men. “I met Jude here recently at his perfume shop. We got to talking, and as I let you all know previously, he is the leader of his society known as The Wild White Orchids.
“The Wild White Orchids are a group of men interested in maintaining a sense of . . . order within their family while contributing to our economy. As we’re all aware, right now is not a good time for our economy, but Jude and his family have been surviving the storm, and things are only going to get better from here.” He looks toward me and I stand.
Glancing down at my blazer, the blood isn’t visible on my dark jacket under the lighting in this room, and that gives me all the confidence I need.
“Thank you all for meeting with me today. As Bill stated, my family and I are doing quite well right now, and we’re looking to expand and improve things for everyone. You men helping us means more jobs for more people and that means more food on the table for our friends and families. Each of you will be overseeing operations for our businesses apart from you.” I gesture to the man across from me. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Shane.”
“Nice to meet you, Shane. You’ll be overseeing our societal operations. Currently, that’s what I do, but I need a little help right now. You’ll all report to me, but when I’m no longer Head Father, the next Head Father will report to all of you or your successors, that is. You’ll be a private group that only the Head Father and potentially his right hand will know about. You all will be known as The Caledonia Council.”
Caledonia orchids are Rebecca’s favorite. I came up with the name on the way over here.
Shane nods his head. “That sounds excellent. I’m looking forward to working with you, Jude. I’ll also make sure all of our operations remain private. No one needs to know about the society unless they’re in it or are a friend of it.”
“I agree.”
He leans back in his chair. “What all will I be overseeing?”
I sit down in my seat. “To start, you’ll help me keep track of budgeting and spending. Make sure no one’s going over their limit, and report all expenses to me. I want to know where every single penny goes. I want all men employed, and you’ll make sure they’re working and that they are working one of the pre-approved jobs I’ve chosen. You’ll help me keep an eye on everyone and make sure that the tenets are being followed, and if you notice anyone breaking any rules, you’ll report the infraction to me immediately. You’re my eyes and ears, Shane.”
“Absolutely, Father.”
Bill smiles. “Jude is the Head Father, and I am right under him. Jim, you’ll manage the home products and food expansion, and you’ll be under me. Derek, you’re over meat, and you’ll be under Jim. And Shane will report directly to Jude, but when Jude is unavailable, he’ll report to Jim.”
I clear my throat. “That’s fine with me. But I don’t see myself being unavailable. I need to always know what’s going on.”
Bill winks. “Of course. We won’t let you down, Jude.”
“Good. I’m counting on all of you. You’ll lead your sectors quietly and privately, and I’ll follow up on who your direct reports are later today.”
Bill stands. “We’re looking forward to it, Father. May The Wild White Orchids always prosper.”
Chapter one
James
May The Wild White Orchids always prosper. God, I hate that fucking phrase. It’s at the bottom of nearly every page in my Head Father’s Text, and every time I see it, I want to slam my head against my desk.
I’m sitting in my new office downstairs while Gen is upstairs sleeping, and my mother is in her guest room with my baby.
My little girl was born a week ago, and I’m fucking miserable. I should be happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. And I want to be, but I can’t. And I can’t because I’m scared shitless about meeting with The Caledonia Council, and I’m worried out of my mind about my Gen.
After Zahara was born, Gen was fine. At least I thought she was. I placed our baby girl in her arms, and she held her while I looked over my cryptic note from The Caledonia Council. I had to tell her what was on it right away, and once I made sure no one was lurking outside the hospital, we agreed that we’d worry about the note later.
I stayed glued to my girl’s side day and night. She was tired after giving birth, and when she tried to breastfeed, Zahara wouldn’t latch, and she got really upset and cried for nearly an hour. At first, I thought Gen was just overwhelmed after her traumatic experience, but when I got my girls home, I knew something was wrong.
Genevieve has been home from the hospital for four days, and she’s cried every single day. She wakes up crying, and she goes to bed crying. And I don’t know what the fuck to do.
When I called Meredith and told her what was going on, she told me the one thing I never expected her to say. Something I never even considered and something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. My wife has postpartum depression. I don’t know shit about postpartum depression. Or at least I didn’t an hour ago. But when I got off the phone with Meredith half an hour ago, I decided that I was going to learn everything there is to know about it and help my wife feel like herself again.
I want Gen to feel like herself again because I love her. And I’m terrified. I’ve never seen her so distraught. I know she’s dealt with depression before, but this is my first time being aware of her depression as it’s happening. I don’t think her depression has ever been quite like this.
When Zahara didn’t latch at first, Gen tried again a few times, but by the third time, we decided it’d be best for her to start pumping. I help her pump every few hours, and apart from that, she won’t let me anywhere near her. My own wife won’t even let me shower with her. I try to hold her at night in bed, and she won’t even let me touch her. And she hardly touches our baby.
As much as my mother’s overbearing nature annoys me, I asked her to stay with Gen and me for the foreseeable future. I’m hoping I can send her home soon, but I know I need help. I have to take care of Gen and Zahara, and I can’t take care of them both on my own right now. I could if I had to, but it’s easier with my mom’s help. And since Gen won’t let me help her dress and shower, my mother helps her.
I know my mother and my wife are close, but being shut out hurts. I hate that Gen won’t let me be there for her. It makes me feel like I did when she first moved in, but worse. Not only is she distant with me, but she treats me like a stranger. Since our baby was born, I’ve kissed Gen a total of three times. Three. She won’t let me close enough to her for more.
How did this happen? How did I end up here? Everything in my life was good. Really good. And now it feels like I’m losing everything. The only thing I’ve gained is a baby who I can hardly stand to see without wondering if I’ve made a mistake. I feel so horrible for feeling that way, but I’ve wondered what it would be like if we didn’t have a baby. I know my wife wouldn’t be depressed right now.
I love my daughter. Deep down I know I do. I love her smile and her eyes and how she looks like the perfect blend of me and the love of my life. But right now, my favorite person in the universe is sadder than she’s ever been, and my entire world is gray as a result.
Chapter two
Genevieve
Isit in bed staring out the window. Zahara was born eight days ago, and I feel . . . nothing. I mean, I feel something, but it’s not overwhelming love for my baby.
I wipe the tears from under my eyes that I shed fifteen minutes ago. Or was it twenty? I don’t know when my crying ends or when it begins. All I know is that it happens on and off all day long, and I can’t believe I have any tears left.
I remember the day I woke up at the hospital. I heard James come into the room when I was getting ready to open my eyes. And I heard our baby. I was nervous about James becoming a father due to his aversion to kids. But I had nothing to be worried about. He’s incredible at it. James is way better at being a dad than I am at being a mom.
Fuck. I wish I would stop fucking crying.
When I first held Zahara, I swear I was happy. I thanked God that I survived and that my baby was okay. And I couldn’t believe how much she looked like me and James.
I can’t remember when I first started feeling this way, but I started feeling sad pretty quickly. I thought the sadness would pass. That I’d feel better within a day or so. But I’ve been home for days, and I’m miserable.
Zahara is in her crib sleeping. It’s next to my side of the bed on the right, a few feet away. James sleeps on the left side of the bed by the door. He swears Zahara sleeps better when she’s closer to me, but I think he’s just trying to be nice. I know he wants me to hold her more than I do, but I can’t. I want to hold her, but I’m scared. Scared that I might drop her or hurt her.
James got up early this morning to feed her, and he went downstairs to the office afterward. He was there for hours yesterday, and he’s been there a few hours so far today. And we’ve barely spoken to each other the past few days.
I don’t know what to say to James. I want to talk to him and spend time with him like everything’s alright, but everything isn’t alright, and I can’t pretend to be happy when I’m upset. I want to tell him how I feel, but when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out. I freeze up and can’t find the words to say. I can’t figure out how to tell him how broken I feel. How empty I am inside.
How do I tell my husband that I don’t feel connected to our baby? I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, but I don’t feel attached to her like I’m supposed to. How do I tell him that I look in the mirror and hate what I see? All I see are my stretch marks and my swollen belly and the scar beneath it. None of my clothes fit like they used to, and I’m most comfortable wearing a blanket wrapped around myself to cover up everything.
How do I explain that I feel damaged? Like something is terribly wrong with me. I’ve been depressed before and dealt with anxiety, but I’ve never felt like this. I’m sad every second of every day. I don’t want to eat or move or do anything. But I have to eat and I have to move and I have to pump because I’m no longer living for myself anymore. I’m a mother whether I want to be or not.
James sits on the bed bottle feeding Zahara. I remember when I first tried to feed her, and she wouldn’t latch. I felt like a failure. I still do. But I’m honestly glad she prefers bottle feeding. I guess I’m not a complete failure if she still wants my milk at all. And bottles allow James to feed her which helps me sleep. And as natural as breastfeeding is, I don’t know if I can handle connecting with Zahara that way right now. I feel like a stranger in my own body and don’t want anyone interacting with it, including my husband.
He glances at me watching him and takes a breath. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. Something that I think might help you feel better.”
The past few times James and I have talked since I’ve been back home, he’s hinted at me getting help. He hasn’t elaborated on what help I should get, but I’m figuring he’s going to be more direct now.
I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and lean up against my large black pillow. “And what’s that?”
He sighs and cradles Zahara tighter against his navy blue T-shirt. “I think—maybe it would be helpful for you to talk to someone.”
Therapy. He wants me to go to therapy. He’s the one who needs fucking therapy.
