Good News!
I am alive and breathing.
Writing, though, is a different story.

Summer's here. And, I thought I'd finally finish this up.
if you remember the first chapter from when I posted it earlier in the year,
GREAT! Read it again.

If not, start from the beginning.
And, enjoy a piece I have beaten myself over for at least a year.
I've given this story a whole lot of attention, and detail. (so. much. detail.)
So, here's Morgan Goode.

Read up, and tell me what you think!

- Sweetly

P.S.
There are a whole bunch of references to the books in here, big and small.
See if you can catch them all!

When he was little,
Morgan Goode was blonde.
He had a small frame and weak lungs.

And, he was the exact opposite of his father
in every way possible.

Zach Goode had dark hair – easily mistaken for black.
He had broad shoulders and a full build.
Muscle tone was not and never would be an issue.

Morgan had yet to show any development of the muscle variety,
no matter how hard he flexed in his bathroom mirror.

Either way, Morgan didn't care.
He wanted nothing else but to be exactly like his dad.

But, this was easier desired than accomplished.
For starters, Zach was, of course, strong - to say the least,
in every sense of the word.

Morgan couldn't go to recess without his inhaler,
and three rounds of allergy medication.
A fourth in his pocket – just in case.

Zach was over six foot.
He was the only one in the house
who could any of the light bulbs with particular ease.

While, Morgan wouldn't ever come close to the ceilings
even if he stood on two chairs and a precariously perched step stool.

Zach's eyes were a definite deep, dark color.
Morgan's had yet to decide whether they wanted to be blue or green.

Zach was bold, unafraid – his son always thought – like a super hero.
Morgan was nothing but a scared-y cat.

Or, well. That's what Marcus Sanchez had called him every time
he refused to jump off the swing set on the school playground.

But, never was there a difference between Zach Goode and his son
greater than the whole name thing.

"What are you talking about?"
Zach would scoff every time the subject came up,
which was usually every morning.

"Morgan is a very manly name."

"Really?" Zach's son would ask in disbelief.
"Swear."

But, Morgan wasn't ever convinced.

Zachary was a name, indubitably, meant for a man.
A strong man. A man who could do a great many things.

But, there were three 'Morgan's in his first grade classroom,
and the other two weren't strong,
nor were they particularly manly.

In fact, they carried small purses.
With butterflies on them.

So, you could imagine why the small blonde boy
had developed a concern.

"Well, Morgan Rose doesn't think so."
Zach would shrug, "Morgan Rose is probably jealous."

"Why would she be jealous?" Morgan didn't see the point.

After all, her name was gender appropriate.
Her name wasn't the stopping her from being like Zachary Goode.

So, Morgan's eye brows would crinkle in confusion – just like his mother's.
Zach would read his son's mind like a map – just like he would his wife's,
stick a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and smirk.

"Because you're a Goode."
"So?"

"So," Zach would smile mischievously, more than aware of Cammie standing behind him,
"That cancels out the whole Morgan thing."

And, that would always earn him a swift punch in the arm.
Then Zach would rise to his feet, grab his irritated wife by the shoulders and kiss her.

Morgan would cringe.
One more thing he and his dad didn't have in common.

In Mo's mind, girls still had cooties.

So, he would just turn away – like always – shake his head, terribly unsatisfied,
and revisit his list of sources.

If there was one thing Morgan had that Zach didn't,
it was a long list of allies.

And, despite the fact that Morgan only had one grandparent out of the regular four,
the number of people genuinely trusted with his well being when his parents were gone
was far greater than Zach could have ever hoped for when he was a kid.

Sure, Morgan Goode lacked muscle.
He lacked height.
He lacked his father's dark hair, and a suitable name.

But, the one thing Morgan didn't lack
was people who loved him.

There was Grandma Morgan
who never let him get away with anything.
Especially sweets before dinner.

There was Aunt Abby, Grandma Morgan's sister,
who threatened that if she ever heard you add the appropriate 'great'
onto her 'aunt' title, she'd show you how painfully 'great' she really was.

There was Joe,
a man who was very much like his father.

Aunt Macey and Aunt Liz always brought presents,
mostly clothes from the former, text-books from the later.

And, then there was Aunty Bex.
Aunty Bex was the one with the funny accent.

But, more importantly,
Aunty Bex was the one who spilled the secret.

"Morgan used to be your mum's last name." Bex tried to explain
to the tiny boy seated at her kitchen table.

"Why did she change her last name?"
"She married your dad."

"Why?"
"God knows." Bex snickered.

But, Morgan didn't get it. So, he pressed on.

"Why can't I have a normal name?" Morgan's voice was small, and quiet.
Not anywhere near the depth of his father's.

The higher-than-expected pitch in tandem with its natural shake
had a knack for evoking sympathy – whether it was asked for or not.

And, maybe it was said evoked sympathy that made Aunty Bex forget the'classified' part of her and Morgan's parents' world – even for just a second – and start talking that night.

That night when Cammie was in "Boston"
and Zach was in "Chicago"
both on the occasional, yet frequent, "business trip".

Or, at least, that was as far as Morgan knew.

"Do you know who your mom is, love?"
Morgan's eyebrows crinkled, "Cameron Goode?"

Bex laughed and gave a nod, "What I mean is: your mom is a legacy."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that your family is made up of a lot of people who are very good at what they do."
"So?"

"So," Bex got up to scoop out the soup,
"Morgan is probably the best name you can have in this business…"

"What business?"

But, Bex didn't hear him.

Whether she was simply too focused on getting the partially-if-not-completely burnt dinner into a Morgan-Goode-sized bowl, or she was just far too concerned with trying to make the tiny asthmatic boy feel better about his family tree.

Either way, Bex kept going.

"In fact, your mum and dad were the first called to go to Hong Kong because—"
"Hong Kong?"

That's when Aunty Bex froze.
And, Morgan – being much smarter than most kids his age – knew something wasn't right.

"Did I say Hong Kong?" Bex tried, "I meant Boston."
"And Chicago?"

Aunty Bex whispered something sharp under her breath
then turned to Morgan.

"Isn't it your bed time?"
"It's 5:30"
"Right."