Becoming Hank: A Trellis Family Novella (Building the Circle) Read online

  "Ha!" Tom yelled, rejoicing in his vindication even though he didn't know the man.

  The man smiled. "You don't mind if I also offer a toast, right kids?"

  Before anyone could respond, the restaurant fell unnaturally silent and still. The charged air felt like a thunderstorm.

  "A toast," the man's words echoed and boomed through space, turning all heads, though he didn't seem to be shouting. "Rarely does true love shine so brightly. So, I offer my blessings and wishes of good fortune and happiness, along with a prediction for the future.

  "Hank and Darla," he said, adding emphasis to the names, "may you live your lives in joy, forever partners and friends. The road will not always be easy, but it will never be lonely. Life will bring you nine children—"

  "NINE?!" Darla sputtered, laughing hysterically. "I don't think so, buddy!"

  "Nine children," the man said again into the silence. He waited, ensuring everyone was paying attention before he continued.

  A fearful warrior, a raging protector, and a gatherer of the scattered.

  Pure joy, a son of time, and another of passion.

  Gentle madness, a peaceful shepherd, and a righteous princess...

  The man’s face crinkled, as if he was confused. He opened and closed his mouth twice before continuing.

  Around your table, they'll survive,

  With your love, they'll thrive.

  Bring us a circle of yore,

  Deliver us the balance long forgotten.

  The final words rang with command, reverberating around the room.

  The man paused, his expression showing confusion as he waited for the echo to stop. "To Hank and Darla: a lifetime of happy years to come, may you rise to greatness, always wealthy in love, together!"

  The crowd cheered again on cue.

  "Cheers, kids, the next round's on me." The man took a drink of his beer, saluting the woman who'd come to stand by him.

  She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "You could have made it rhyme. But really? Nine? I didn't agree to that. I'm sorry, kids."

  He snorted. "Everyone's a critic."

  "I'm going to need more than one drink if there are nine kids coming!" Darla laughed, meeting the stranger's eyes.

  He bent down then, speaking softly, just to her. "Don't tell Evelyn, but it was always going to be you. Blessed be, granddaughter of my heart."

  And then they were gone.

  "That was weird," Darla noted, looking around. "Where'd he go?" She grabbed another slice of pizza. "Do you think he actually bought the next round? I'm guessing they dined and ditched. All their food is still on the table."

  "Did you see that woman?" Tom slurred. "I swear she had purple eyes!"

  Claire laughed so hard she snorted. "You're going to puke in the cab. I just know it."

  "I thought they were violet, too!" Sue slapped the table, then nearly fell over. “I'm with him on this. The boomy guy had a woman with purple eyes!"

  Claire propped both Tom and Sue up, trying to help the drunkards with their balance.

  "Nine kids," Hank laughed. "Yeah, right."

  “Nine?” Darla asked, the memory already fading. “I don’t think so, Hank!”

  By morning, no one would recall the odd couple or the booming toast, but Tom heard about puking in the cab on the way home for months afterward.

  Epilogue — Sam & Beth

  "Okay, I give up!" Beth shouted as she stomped back into the living room. "I can't find them, and Noah is gross. This is it, Sam. This is your chance to redeem yourself as a great storyteller. Tell me the story."

  Sam blinked. "Really?"

  "Yep. Let's do this." Beth looked like she was bracing herself for tragedy.

  "I can tell the story?" Sam grinned, sitting straighter.

  "Go for it."

  "Right now? You want me to do this right now?"

  "Do you need to prepare or something?" Beth asked, fighting off an eye roll.

  "I can do this!"

  "I just know I'm going to regret this," Beth muttered.

  "Okay. I'm going to tell it."

  "Okay."

  "Here goes," Sam took a deep breath before falling silent.

  After a moment, Beth sighed. "The words have to come out of your mouth, Sam."

  "Okay. So, Grandpa Trellis wasn't nice. Dad and Uncle Tom went for pizza where Mom worked. But she wasn't Mom yet. She made fun of Dad, but he wasn't Dad yet. He was Trip because he was the third Henry Trellis. That's why none of us are named Henry. He wanted us to each be our own person. But Mom always called him Hank."

  Beth sighed again.

  "Then they went on a date, and Dad had to wear bowling shoes. He walked Mom home from work and gave her his coat. Then there was a bad guy at the zoo, and Dad threw hot chocolate on him. Mom told Dad that she loved him, but then Dad broke up with her because Grandma Trellis was horrible, and Dad didn't want Grandma to hurt Mom."

  Sam paused.

  "Are you done?" Beth asked, clearly offended.

  Sam frowned. "Almost. Then Aunt Sue and Mom were shopping and ran into Dad with Auntie Vanessa, and Dad realized he didn't need Grandma and Grandpa to be happy. He just needed Mom. So, he and Mom got married the day before Christmas because they never wanted to be apart again. Mom made eggs benedict on Christmas Day, and Mr. Canton showed up and gave Dad a job managing people because Dad is good with people. There. That's the story."

  Beth blinked. "How are you so bad at this? And, where'd that bit about Dad throwing hot chocolate at the zoo come from? That's not right."

  "Yes, it is," Sam disagreed. "They just don't tell that part. Anyway, that's the story."

  "That's not the story," Beth said flatly.

  Sam frowned. "Fine. You tell the story, and I'll listen. How about that?"

  "I only know the version where Santa brings Mom's love to Dad," Beth complained.

  "Oh. Well, the real version is better. Dad got down on bended knee and asked Mom to marry him. She said no."

  "She said no?" Beth was horrified.

  "He was so sweet, too, but Mom teased him anyway. She couldn't help it, but they shone with so much love. You have no idea. I can feel the truth of their love every time," Sam rambled.

  Beth narrowed her eyes. "Huh?"

  "Anyway," Sam hurried on, "she said no. But then she kissed him. Aunt Sue suggested they hurry up and get married because she had another roommate lined up to move in during January. So, they did."

  Beth was silent, considering.

  "That first year, Mom and Dad gave each other love, and they wanted for nothing else." The words were quiet, almost reverent, falling from Sam's mouth.

  Beth nodded, then hugged her middle brother. "Okay."

  "Okay."

  "You're a terrible storyteller."

  "I know," Sam admitted. "I get lost trying to use words."

  Beth rolled her eyes, not understanding. "You should sleep. The words come out better when you sleep."

  "I know." Sam yawned.

  "Ho Ho Ho!" Hank Trellis yelled, coming in the front door from work. It was his greeting of choice to announce his daily homecoming during December.

  "Dad!" Beth yelled, jumping out of Sam's hug and running for the hallway. "You'll never guess what happened at school today! Tell me the real story! Was there really hot chocolate at the zoo? I can't tell if Sam is teasing me. Sometimes he knows things. Also, Noah's a jerk!"

  Sam smirked to himself, finally lying flat on the living room floor. "A son of time and a righteous princess..." he muttered, drifting off to true sleep.

  Thanks for Reading!

  Meet Hank & Darla’s nine children in the steamier Building the Circle series.

  If strong language and love scenes are not your bag, you’ll want to skip Building the Circle. But, if you enjoy characters who grow and evolve as the story progresses, you’ll enjoy the series - even if “paranormal” is not your normal genre of choice.

  Follow the adult Trellis siblings as they uncover their psychic, empa
thic gifts (and find love) while trying to behave at Darla’s dinner table. It’s not your typical shifter, vampire, or witchy paranormal story.

  Read on for the first chapter of The Call, Book 1 in Building the Circle.

  As always, if you enjoyed this story, your rating and/or review on the platform of your choice are most welcome.

  As a new author, reviews are imperative to attracting new readers.

  For updates on my releases, please subscribe to my newsletter at https://maggielilybooks.com/sign-up/.

  You can find me on Facebook, Instagram, and Bookbub.

  Want to chat? My Facebook reader group is cozy and fun (and decidedly NOT for promotion.) Otherwise, you’re welcome to email at [email protected].

  The Call - Building the Circle - Book 1 Sample

  Opening

  Jake wiggled and scooted until Matilda was on her side with him cuddled behind her.

  “Sigh,” Matty said.

  “Did you just say the word ‘sigh?’”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Cuddling is nice. I’m so cold without you. But I miss sexy time,” she whispered.

  “Matilda, I love you more than life itself, but there is no fucking way we’re having nookie in this hospital bed. The pool table was just about as adventurous as I get, and I’m never fucking living that down.”

  She laughed. “The garden was way worse than the pool table. Also, ‘nookie?’”

  “I’ve mentally blocked the garden. What’s wrong with nookie?” Jake chuckled.

  “Every third word out of your mouth is ‘fuck!’ But, hey, nookie. Whatever.”

  “Fuck sounds too ugly in that context. ‘Making love’ is probably the most accurate but sounds way too dramatic. What would you prefer?”

  “Umm. Sex, frolicking naked, making the beast with two backs, doing the humpty dance, balling, banging, adult naptime, aggressive cuddling, a bit of the bam-bam—”

  Jake was laughing hard enough for the entire bed to be shaking with him. “Aggressive cuddling?! What the fuck?”

  “I grew up in a bar. I can do this all day. Amorous congress, assault with a friendly weapon, beating guts, attacking the pink fortress—”

  “Oh my God, I love you so much,” Jake gasped between laughs.

  “Belly bumping, boning, batter-dipping the corndog, dinky-tickling, the wild thang, fornicating, crashing the custard truck—”

  Jake fell out of bed, laughing hysterically. “CRASHING THE CUSTARD TRUCK?! Did you just make that up?” he gasped out.

  Sixteen Months Earlier

  The Call - Chapter 1

  Thunder boomed outside the forty-third-floor window as the wind made the skyscraper rock.

  “I hate being up here when it storms like this,” Sam said as he stared out the window.

  Jacob tapped the pocket and lined up the shot. The eight-ball sunk as directed. “It’s fine. Suck it up, man. You chose the building. Another round?”

  “Na, you’ve kicked my ass enough for today. That woman will be here soon, anyway,” Sam said as he hung up his cue.

  “Tell me why we’re contracting this strategy work out again. Why can’t we just use the existing plan for the launch? The agencies have sucked.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this.”

  “Remind me.”

  “I’m not opposed to the existing plan. I just want you to consider other approaches. It’s a new industry for us. This woman has a strong reputation for no bullshit. Let her play devil’s advocate and poke holes in our plan. We have nothing to lose.”

  “Time. We have time to lose. I’m swamped.”

  Sam delivered his patented shut-the-fuck-up look. “We just spent twenty minutes shooting pool. If you’re swamped, all the more reason to bring in help. Dad will be a few minutes late. I’m out of here.”

  “You’re dumping this woman in my lap and not even staying for the meeting? Fuck you!” Jacob laughed at his younger brother.

  “I’m the boss. I don’t have to stay for meetings. I delegate. Plus, this chick might be terrible.”

  “And I say again. Fuck you!” Jacob called out to Sam’s back.

  Before the door closed completely, Jen stuck her head in. “The Beer Team is here.”

  “Thanks, Jen. They can come in and get settled. This woman should be here any minute.” It was five minutes to three in the afternoon.

  Jacob began racking the balls on the pool table.

  Matilda Benton was flummoxed.

  She had been impeccably dressed and styled at the start of her journey to her meeting. Hair gathered in a loose chignon at her nape, just enough makeup to highlight, but not enough to distract. Pristine light gray pantsuit, a black tank with a swoopy neckline, chunky black ankle-high boots. Her lucky black leather carry-all, a gift from her dad.

  No blingy jewelry, no super girly frills. The Trellis family was reportedly stocked full of men with short tempers and low tolerances for distraction.

  Matilda had to get this right. It was a career opportunity that she wouldn’t see again. A chance to launch a new alcohol label on a global scale. If she got this right, her product consulting would be poised for growth and acclaim. She’d get this right. She could do this. She would do this and do it well.

  As she left her apartment building, the air felt charged. Weather reports predicted intense spring storms later in the evening. Maybe the rain would finish melting off and breaking down the last of the dirty snowbanks. It was fifty degrees outside—no coat needed after the long, cold winter.

  With almost an hour before her meeting, Matilda would walk from River North into the Chicago Loop and have time to stop for tea.

  It started misting rain. She had an umbrella; all was well. The rain got serious, sheeting down in waves.

  Onward, she mentally coached herself. There is money to be made today!

  A block later, the wind was blowing the rain horizontally. The umbrella was utterly useless. She stepped out of the flow of foot traffic to order a ride.

  Uber and Lyft had a double surcharge and no one available within the next ten minutes. She ordered the Lyft and tried to catch a cab in the meantime. If she got stuck with a cancellation fee, so be it.

  There were no cabs. Ten minutes later, the Lyft was now fifteen minutes away. The clock was ticking.

  Matilda decided she would finish the walk. There were shortcuts through other buildings. Everything would be fine.

  I have almost twenty minutes to spare. I’ll be a little damp, she acknowledged to herself while wiping water and makeup from her face, but it’ll be fine.

  She stepped back out into the flow of foot traffic and started moving quickly.

  A rude, oblivious woman with a damn wheelie bag slammed into Matilda, knocking her ass over teakettle into a giant puddle. Matilda’s carry-all flew into the street and got run over a couple of times before she was able to rescue it. Her laptop and phone were destroyed.

  Sitting on the muddy curb in the rain, Matilda started panicking in earnest. Covered in sleet street muck while the temperature was dropping, she was out of time. Without her phone, she couldn’t even call the office.

  Matilda could go home and try to reschedule for a future date. But it would probably cost her the opportunity.

  She could show up for the meeting looking like a muddy, drowned poodle in a ruined suit without pretty hair and makeup.

  Showing up like this was decidedly not ideal. But it would demonstrate her commitment to the project. She could show up and do great work. Without her laptop. Or phone. Her notes might still be readable.

  Onward. Muddy is forgivable. Explainable. There was a mishap on the way into the meeting.

  Not showing up would cost her the contract.

  She had mentally prepared for the pity and quasi-dismissal that came with meeting new work contacts for the first time. Most people saw the disability and wrote her off as incompetent until she proved otherwise.

  It would be wo
rse this time. Much worse. She was showing up less than perfect in appearance and lacking—everything.

  People were staring at her as she walked down the street toward the meeting. Correction: People were staring more than usual.

  This did not bode well.

  The Trellis family had strong opinions about wasting people’s time and energy. When Samuel Trellis launched his company, he incorporated that respect for other people’s time into the culture.

  Unexplained tardiness for meetings was not tolerated by anyone. Meetings started on time, and people showed up prepared. To show up late or under-prepared was a waste of everyone’s time and considered extremely rude.

  Hank Trellis was going to be late because of a delayed flight. He informed the entire team as soon as the flight times changed. The team would carry on without him, knowing that Hank would join as soon as he could.

  It was Jacob’s project; Hank was along for the ride. And the beer. All Trellis men liked a good beer.

  Otherwise, the marketing and product development team in charge of the beer launch showed up early. They were well-organized and ready to start work promptly at three p.m.

  Jake checked the time on his phone. Three oh two. He sighed.

  “Hey, Jen,” he called out his door. “Have you heard from security? Are things backed up down there?”

  “There’s no wait time. I haven’t heard from them,” she replied.

  He rechecked the time. Three oh three.

  “Would you please try calling her?” The weather was terrible. Maybe there was an accident or something.

  A few minutes later, Jen entered the doorway to let the team know that the call went to voicemail. Jacob grunted in frustration. The whole team shifted uncomfortably.