Hit & Run

Chapter Two: Hit & Run

Piper Belle-Harwood.

Hit & Run

 

“Brace yourself,” Fleur whispered to me as we stepped into the living room of our childhood home.

Her warning was well headed.

“Piper! Fleur! My darlings!”

“Hi, Mom,” we coursed moments before our mother enveloped us in a shared hug.

She pulled away and beamed at us, her golden blonde hair framing her heart shaped face and her hazel eyes shining, as she showed off her perfectly white teeth in a bright smile.

Oscar winner Tracy Belle met our father thirty years ago at a charity function in California. He was twenty-one and had just been drafted into the NFL, and she was nineteen and has just landed a main role on a TV show that would run for four successful seasons and earn her the undisputed title of America’s Sweetheart.

Romantically and professionally, things only went up from there.

“Odette had a student council meeting but that should be over soon, and I think she already picked Ryan up from daycare, so they should be back any minute. Celine and Lucille had soccer practice today but should be on their way home after they pick Rowan up from her play date and they’re all very excited to see you two! And is your father here? Why isn’t he-”

Suddenly, a low grunt was heard from behind us. 

“I’m right here, carrying all the luggage our daughters casually left behind for me to bring in.”

We turned to face our father.

“Sorry, Daddy,” we spoke together, but neither of us made a move to help our father. He rolled his eyes and dropped our luggage in the doorway before he walked over to our mother. He pulled her into his side a dropped a kiss of her forehead before he turned to face us, his arm still around her shoulders.

The contrast between them was like night and day.

While our Mom was our height at 5’ 5”, light haired, hazel eyed, and overall pretty small, our father was 6’ 4” with bright grey eyes, brown hair, and broad shoulders.

“Let’s be real, Daddy. You used to play football and therefore have more muscles than Fleur and I, combined. It made more sense for you to carry our bags than for us to,” I explained, a bright smile on my face.

He scoffed.

“Piper, you and Fleur are twenty-four years old and more than capable of-”

“Ryan! Don’t run! You’ll trip over the –too late.”

I turned back to the door and watched as my mother rushed out of my father’s arms to help the small boy off the floor. The five-year old had tripped over the many bags in the doorway.

“Baby, are you okay?” My mother asked, pulling Ryan to his feet. She kissed him on his dark forehead and hugged him tightly to her only to roll her eyes playfully when he pushed her away.

“I’m fine, Mommy. Look! Piper and Fleur are home!” He continued his run towards us and I caught him mid-jump and let him rest on my hip.

“Hi, Ryan,” Fleur cooed, grabbing one of his chocolate-colored hands to place a small kiss on the palm. Two years ago, Mom and Dad adopted Ryan from New Orleans. He was three-years old at the time and it’s assumed that most of his family had been displaced or killed during Katrina, so when his parents both died, there was no one to take him in.