by Zoey Parker
“Boys don’t cry,” Dylan said, his voice wobbling a little bit. “That’s what Mommy always said. I can’t cry.”
“Can I let you in on a little secret?” Kira said, dropping her voice a little bit so that Brent had to listen harder to make out what she was saying. “Everybody cries. Everybody. Anybody who’s said they’ve never cried is a liar.”
“Really?” Dylan asked.
“Really,” Kira said confidently. “So don’t worry about it. You don’t have to run to your bathroom to cry. You can cry in front of me and your daddy if you want.”
“He’s not my daddy,” Dylan replied stiffly.
“Right. I’m sorry. Me and Mr. Barkley. Brent. You should call him Brent if you want,” Kira said. “You can cry in front of us if something is wrong, and we’ll try to help you feel better.”
Dylan sniffled a few times, probably considering her suggestion for a long moment before he finally spoke again. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure,” Kira said.
“I have bad dreams. All the time,” Dylan said in a hushed whisper. “Mommy said to stop talking about it, so don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”
“What happens in your bad dreams?” Kira asked.
“I don’t—I don’t know,” Dylan replied. It was clear from the awkward, stilted way he spoke that he was lying, but Kira didn’t push the issue.
“Okay, honey. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry about your dreams, though. You can always come to me if something scares you in the middle of the night. Do you know where my room is?”
“Yes,” Dylan said in between sniffles.
“All right. Well, I’ll leave you alone. You can always come to me, though. Remember that,” Kira said. Brent immediately backed away from the bathroom door, not wanting either of them to realize he’d been listening in the whole time.
Kira stepped out the next minute, frowning deeply.
“Well?” Brent asked, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door.
Kira grabbed him by the elbow and led him down the hall to an empty room, waiting until they were safely inside with the door closed before turning to him and hissing under her breath, “He’s having nightmares.”
“And?” Brent asked, confused as to why Kira’s tone seemed so urgent. Nightmares weren’t a big deal, right?
“Well, I’m pretty sure his mom leaving him is really messing with his head,” Kira said in a rough whisper. In the darkness of the empty bedroom, she was a shadow among other shadows, but if Brent squinted a little he could make out the fire in her eyes, the passion that seemed to simmer underneath her skin. “I don’t think he would have told me about the nightmares unless they were happening a lot, or unless they were really bad. I think it’s a problem, Mr. Barkley.”
Brent was a little weirded out by constantly being addressed by his last name. Even his patients called him by his first name. But he chose not to say anything about it. He would feel strange forcing Kira to use his first name unless she felt comfortable doing so. “How do you know that it’s a recurring problem, though?” he asked. “He could just be complaining about one nightmare.”
Brent saw Kira shake her head in the darkness. “No, he’s not like that,” she argued.
“How would you know?” Brent asked. “You only met him yesterday.”
He could tell even by Kira’s long silence that he’d fucked up somehow by saying that, even though he’d only pointed out the truth. Kira finally sighed and backed further away from him, turning around and walking to the bed in the center of the room to sit. “All right, well, I guess you can keep that in mind, but if you want my opinion, just speaking as a mother, I’d look into getting him some help.”
“Help? Like psychological help?” Brent asked.
“Yeah, like a child counselor or something, I don’t know,” Kira said with a sigh. “He just seemed…really upset. And scared. His mother has taught him not to come to you with his problems, and that’s a bad habit that you need to get him to break as soon as possible.” She paused again, and Brent saw her hang her head low between her shoulders, like the fight had seeped out of her. “If you care, anyway…” she muttered under her breath.
The words stung, but it wasn’t like they were untrue or anything. As far as Brent was concerned, Dylan wasn’t really his son, not in any way that counted. There was no room in Brent’s life for a child, not even one that seemed as smart and sensitive as Dylan.
“You made a mistake in there, you know,” Brent said.
“Oh well, I’m sure I made more than one,” Kira said, tugging at her hair again with the towel even though by now it had to be mostly dry. “Which one are you referring to, though?”
“You promised him you’d always be there for him,” Brent said. “That’s not true, is it?”
Kira got to her feet then and crossed the room again, stopping mere inches away from Brent’s face. He was keenly aware of her body, how her chest heaved up and down with her breathing, bringing her just a little bit closer to touching him on every exhale. He realized he could still feel the aftershocks of his orgasm from earlier, the way pleasure had rocketed through his every cell just thinking about Kira’s beautiful naked body.
“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Kira asked, her soft tone contrasting sharply with the visible tension in her shoulders and arms.
“He’s not staying here for good,” Brent said firmly. “I mean it. One way or another, he’s going to be out of this house in a year.”
“Well, maybe I’ll follow him,” Kira said defiantly, glaring up at him in the darkness for a second before stepping around him to get to the door of the bedroom. “He’s got to have one stable figure in his life, at least.”
She slammed the door hard behind her, leaving in Brent alone in the bedroom with his thoughts.
She was right. Dylan deserved better than him. He deserved to have someone like her. So no matter how awkward it became, how excruciating it might be to have Kira around and never touch her, Brent was going to make sure she didn’t leave. For Dylan’s sake.
Chapter Seven
Kira
Over the next few weeks, Kira got use to living in what was essentially a mansion, complete with a hot tub in the back yard. The best part, though, was being with Lucian and Dylan all day. For the most part, Kira didn’t see much of Brent, encountering him only briefly very early in the morning or very late at night, and only ever communicating in a very perfunctory, to-the-point way.
Brent would ask, “How’s Dylan?”
And then Kira would say, “Fine. Look into a counselor yet?”
To which Brent would say, “Working on it.”
In a way, she felt like the house was hers—in a way. She definitely got more use out of it than Brent did. She wondered sometimes what he did with his days, why he had so much money. Maybe he’s in the mafia, she thought to herself with a grin while sipping a late-night glass of wine one evening after she’d put Lucian and Dylan both to bed. No, that can’t be right. He would have a family if he were a part of the mob.
Just then, the front door crashed open, and Brent stumbled through it, cursing under his breath. He was halfway to the staircase before he noticed Kira sitting on the couch. “Oh. Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked. Before she could offer an answer, Kira realized that he was clutching his arm to his side.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, immediately putting the glass of wine aside and getting to her feet to attend to her boss.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Brent said, protesting weakly when she tried to touch his arm. “It’s a little sore, that’s all.”
“Looks like more than just a little sore to me,” Kira said. “Come on, sit down, let me look at it. I used to be in school for nursing, you know.”
“You were?” Mr. Barkley asked.
“Yeah, don’t sound so shocked,” she said with a laugh, gently prying the jacket off of Brent’s body so she could look at his arm. “Oi, cheese and crackers,” she exclaimed,
wincing a little at the sight of Brent’s bruised, bloodied arm. “What the hell happened here?” she asked as she reached out to gingerly touch it, just to see if it was still bleeding. Mercifully, the blood flow had stopped, but the cut was clogged up with clots and mucus.
“Nothing, just a couple guys got on my nerves. Believe me, I got the better end of the deal tonight,” Brent said, gritting his teeth a little as her fingers made contact with his bloody skin.
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re the big macho man who wins fights, don’t worry,” Kira said a little mockingly, rolling her eyes but offering him a teasing smile when he looked offended. “Sorry, just trying to make light of the situation. You get into bar fights often?”
Brent hesitated a little before answering the question. “Um, not really. Not so much recently.”
“But you’re getting back into the habit?” Kira asked, raising her volume so her voice would carry as she got up to grab a first aid kit from the kitchen.
“I don’t know. It didn’t feel too bad, I’ll tell you that much,” Brent said with a half-smile as she returned with bandages and disinfectant for his wound.
“Really? Looks like somebody pulled a knife on you, man,” Kira said as she attended to the gaping hole in his skin.
“Probably,” Brent said, waving his other arm dismissively as if a knife attack is nothing to be concerned about. “Why aren’t you a nurse instead of a nanny if you went to school for it?”
“Got knocked up,” Kira said as she began to wind a bandage around Brent’s bicep. “Had to get a job doing data entry to pay for the kid, since his piece of shit father could never be depended on. No time for school.”
“Ever think about going back?” Brent asked.
Kira shrugged. “I don’t really have what it takes.”
“Bullshit. What does it take, then?”
“Money,” Kira said with a grin, highly amused with herself, even though she was just telling the truth. “That’s the crucial thing you need to be a success.”
“It definitely helps,” Brent admitted, flexing a little bit to get comfortable as she finished tying up the bandage on his arm. “Thanks,” he muttered, staring down at his lap rather than making eye contact with Kira.
“No problem,” Kira said. She reached over to grab her wine and took another few sips to reward herself. “Hey, do you want a drink, by the way? You look like you could definitely use one right about now.”
“Sure,” Brent said, getting to his feet. “I’ll get it, though. You’re not a waitress.”
“Used to be!” Kira said with a laugh, going up with Brent and bringing her almost empty wine glass so she could get a second serving. “I had several jobs on my travels before I came here. Which reminds me…what do you do, exactly?”
Brent burst into laughter, right in the middle of pouring the wine, so that he spilled a little on the front of his shirt. “Ah, shit,” he groaned. “Oh, well. The red will go with the blood I got on it earlier,” he said with a smile. Kira thought that she’d never seen him look this light, this free. Maybe fighting really was therapeutic for men.
“What was so funny, anyway?” Kira asked, holding out her glass so Brent could pour her some wine as well.
“Oh, it’s just that you waited until you’ve been working here for almost a month before you asked me. I never figured you were the shy type.” He finished pouring Kira’s drink, but before she could take another sip, he lightly tapped the side of her glass with his own. “Cheers, or something,” he muttered before tossing half of his glass down his throat in one gulp.
“Cheers,” Kira repeated before taking a sip. “I’m not shy. It’s just…I don’t know, to be honest with you, before right this moment, I figured you didn’t want to talk to me for any reason unless it was absolutely necessary. You know, like you’re a very intense guy.”
“What? No, I’m not,” Brent protested, pouring himself some more wine and going to get another bottle for good measure. “I’m a very simple dude, really.”
“Oh yeah? Simple? That why you’re still dancing around telling me what you do for a living?” Kira said, making a point to raise her eyebrows as high as they could go.
Brent lifted his hands in surrender, smiling and shaking his head at her. “You’re a real interesting woman, Kira. Nothing gets past you.”
“I’m like a verbal goalkeeper,” Kira said, laughing at her own lame joke before taking another sip of the sweet wine. “But anyway, I’m not going to let you get away without answering me directly.”
“I didn’t mean to be evasive, really,” Brent said.
“You’re still evading me! Spit it out, god damn it!” Kira demanded, even though there was a broad smile splitting her face in half. She must have been feeling a little bit looser and freer as a result of the alcohol. It was also nice talking to another adult for a change.
“I’m a therapist!” Brent finally answered, laughing loudly after the words left his mouth. “I’m a psychologist. I work with people on their mental health. That’s what I do.”
“Wow, I would not have guessed that,” Kira said, staring at Brent harder to try to figure out if he was lying or not. It seemed like the type of thing he would do, lie as a joke. Or maybe even lie just for the fun of doing it.
“Is that an insult?” Brent asked, narrowing his eyes a little suspiciously.
“Hey, you’re the therapist,” Kira said, smiling so broadly her lips started to ache a little bit. “You should be able to figure that one out.”
“No, no, see, I don’t analyze people outside of the office. That isn’t a smart way to do business.”
“Ah, shoot,” Kira said, slapping her own knee in mock disappointment. “That’s a shame. I was looking for you to like, read my tarot cards and tell me my destiny, or whatever it is you shrinks do.”
Brent sarcastically clapped his hands together. “Wow, you’re so funny.”
“I’ll be here all week,” Kira said, sipping some more wine even though her head was starting to feel a little woozy. She definitely did not have the tolerance that she used to back in college. “Well, I’ll be here as long as Dylan is, anyway.”
Brent coughed a little awkwardly, tossing back more wine and looking uncomfortable, as if just bringing up the vague deadline he’d set for Dylan’s time here was too much for him to handle. Kira took the hint and decided not to push the issue, at least for now while they weren’t already fighting each other. She decided to fall silent, focusing on the sweetness of her drink for several long peaceful minutes until Brent decided to speak up again.
“So you were married?” Brent asked.
“Yeah, for a couple years,” Kira said. “It was…not the best experience of my life, I’ll put it that way,” she added with a laugh. Now she knew for sure that the alcohol was having an effect on her emotional state. She never used to like talking about Larry. In fact it often made her skin crawl whenever a coworker or neighbor or old friend or family member even mentioned him in passing. But for now, she was still comfortable, not raising her hackles in response to any question or comment about her failed marriage. She even…wanted to talk about him, for some reason. It was like she needed to get the words out of her system, releasing them out into the world regardless of their recipient. “He was a total fucking scumbag. Is, not was. He’s not dead, unfortunately.” Kira sighed and playfully slapped herself on the side of her own face. “Bad girl. I shouldn’t say things like that. He’s my son’s father.”
“So?” Brent asked, scooting his chair a little closer to Kira’s and dropping his voice, probably in case one of the boys was awake even though the chance of their conversation being heard from upstairs was slim. “Does it make him less of a scumbag, just because he donated some DNA at a crucial point in the kid’s lifeline?”
“I don’t know,” Kira said with a sigh. “A lot of people in Larry’s life would probably say the same thing about me, and…you know, I’m not a perfect mother, but I try really hard. Maybe from Larry
’s perspective, things are the same for him.” She shrugged, blowing out her breath as she thought of all the issues with her ex-husband.
“Well, that sounds like bullshit to me, but I can see you’re trying to be nice, so I’ll let it go,” Brent said, offering her a teasing smile that made her feel a little bit warmer inside even though her mood had fallen a little bit thinking about her ex. “So what’s the deal with him anyway? Deadbeat dad? Doesn’t have a job? What is it?”
“Sort of,” Kira said. “He has a job, but he still tries not to pay child support even though he can afford it. He’s a cop. Well, a parole officer, actually.”
Brent paused, his cup suspended mid-air between the table and his mouth, like the new information surprised him for some reason. “Interesting,” he said, clearing his throat. “Go on. Tell me more about him. Why do you hate him?”
