by Loren, Roni
Rebecca pressed her hand to her breastbone, her brain and her heart in a screaming match. There really was no choice here, right? She had to report it. That was the only course of action. She had no idea if all the things Steven was saying were true. He could be putting on a show to get out of it. Armed robbery wasn’t some petty crime. He could do it again. Could kill someone the next time.
But the fears wouldn’t crystallize in her head. Her black-and-white world had gone hazy gray. Every part of her instincts was telling her that this kid was being honest. That he’d made a huge mistake but wasn’t an inherently evil person. He regretted what he’d done. He had a terrible situation at home that had driven him to desperate measures. His father was a cop who authorities were going to be more prone to believe.
She took a deep breath, trying to grab hold of the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. “How did you get the bruise on your head?”
He looked down and swiped at the escaped tears with the heels of his hands. “I tried that recipe I told Chef G about last week. I was cooking while my dad was sleeping off a night shift because he doesn’t like me doing the chef thing. He says it wastes money using all those ingredients and that only a sissy would want to be a chef. But I burned the meal, stunk up the kitchen, and set off the smoke alarm. It woke my dad up. When I tried to explain what had happened, he shoved me and I banged my head on the corner of a cabinet.”
“Christ.” Rebecca let out a shaky exhale. How the hell was she going to call the cops on this kid and report the robbery? Juvenile detention might be safer than his current home, but it wasn’t going to be good. If the kid had any shot at making something of himself, being locked up would just make it that much harder. However, she also couldn’t stand by and do nothing. If nothing else, she had a duty to report the abuse. She rubbed the spot between her brows.
“Please, Ms. Lindt.”
“We have to report your father again, and you have to tell the investigators the truth,” she said finally. “If you need a lawyer to help you through that process, to advocate for you, I could help. You should document the incidents that have happened in the past, build up your case. Take a photo of today’s bruise. Try to think of anyone who’s ever witnessed him treating you abusively or maybe heard him yelling at you so we can get a statement from them. I assure you, your dad won’t be able to sweet-talk past me. He may be a cop, but he’s not invincible.”
Steven blinked, his lips parting. “Wait, you want to help me?”
The question fell between them like a heavy stone. She could barely believe she’d made the offer herself. What was she doing? This wasn’t her area of expertise or her job. But her answer came more easily than she expected, the rightness of it feeling solid in her gut. “I do. But,” she said, eyeing him and using her no-bullshit tone, “I’d need an agreement from you that you will take this chance like the lifeline it is. What you’re going through is awful and needs to be fixed, but it does not excuse what you did. An animal was injured. You could’ve killed me or someone else. Whatever happens with your dad, it’s not going to be easy. It may involve foster care. But there will be no more breaking laws. No more guns. You will give me back everything you stole from me. And when this is all done, you will volunteer somewhere—an animal shelter or food bank, something to give back and make amends.”
He nodded, his expression still stunned. “Of course. Anything. I swear.”
She stepped closer, her posture formal, and put her hand out. “I am making you a great deal, Steven. I need you to shake on it and keep your word.”
He swallowed hard, eyeing her hand, but then he put his hand out, taking hers. He gave it a firm shake. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And I’m going to have to report what you told me about your dad.”
He winced. “When?”
“Right now. I can call, and they can interview you here.”
His eyes went wide. “No. Please. Not here.”
“Why? We can keep you safe here and—”
He shook his head. “I don’t want anyone here to know. The kids here actually like me, treat me like I’m just another guy. Last time CPS was called, it was humiliating when they came to school. I had to hear all these gross comments about how my dad was probably touching me and stuff. I ended up in so many fistfights over it that I nearly got expelled. I don’t want the kids here thinking that stuff about me.”
“Steven, they won’t—”
“Just give me a few hours. Until seven tonight. My dad’s working middle shifts this week. I can get home before he’s off work, get my stuff and the money I stashed out of there, and go to my friend’s house. I promise I’ll tell the social workers anything they want to know, but please not here. I need this place to stay the same.”
“I—”
“Hey there, overachievers,” Wes said, startling Rebecca as he poked his head into the bus. “Stop working so hard. It’s snack time.”
Steven quickly dropped Rebecca’s hand, and Rebecca forced a smile Wes’s way, hoping the thick tension in the air didn’t betray her. “Sounds good.”
But Wes was far too observant. His gaze met hers, his eyebrows lifting and questions hovering there.
She shook her head slightly, hoping he wouldn’t prod. “Lead the way, chef.”
Steven sent her one last pleading glance, and she was hit with a bone-deep reminder of that boy so long ago. Not the scary version of Trevor. Not the warped-beyond-repair killer. The boy he’d been before. The lost one. The depressed one. The one who’d trusted her with his vulnerability, only to have Rebecca crush it in her hands.
Her stomach rolled.
Steven was asking for a small reprieve. To give him just a few hours so he could save face in front of the only group he felt a part of. He wanted to have at least one safe space where he was just another kid, someone who was liked, accepted. A place where he was the kid who could cook his butt off and riff on recipes, not the kid who was humiliated on a daily basis by his father and peers at school. Not the criminal.
She had to afford him that. She’d seen what humiliation could do to a person, how it could kill off the good parts inside someone. So she nodded, agreeing against her better judgment to grant him a few hours. His face sagged in relief, his eyes full of gratitude. He turned for the door, sealing the deal. She followed Steven out, trying to keep her expression casual, but her head was tangling with worries and what-ifs, vines knotting around her thoughts.
Wes helped her down the bus’s steps and waited until Steven was out of earshot. “Everything okay?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s fine.”
“Why were you two shaking hands?”
She glanced at Wes, his expression one of curiosity, not suspicion. Now was not the time. “Nothing important. Just telling him what a good job he did in there.”
“Oh,” Wes said, his smile reappearing. “Great.”
Yeah, great.
Everything was just peachy.
Her stomach sank a little deeper.
What the hell had she just agreed to?
chapter
TWENTY-THREE
“He’s gone from dopey and pitiful to resident howler,” Marco said, leading Wes and Rebecca to the back of the clinic. “The other dogs let him lead the chorus each night. I can hear him all the way upstairs. So I have to say, I’m glad he’s better, but I’m not sad to see him go.”
“Oh, fantastic,” Rebecca said, a hint of worry beneath her playful tone. “My neighbors are going to love me when I bring home a howler. How am I supposed to make sure he doesn’t do that?”
“Read him a bedtime story, and bring him a warm cup of milk,” Wes suggested.
“Shut it, chef.”
Wes laughed, amused by Rebecca’s nervous Nellie routine. She was acting like she was on the way to pick up a baby instead of a dog. “Don’t stress, Bec. Knight’s used to being wild and free. I’d howl, too, if I were locked up in a cage and had to stare at Marco’s ugly mug all day.”
Marco flipped him off without breaking stride.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine once you give him some room to run around,” Wes said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “He just wants his new mommy.”
Rebecca shot him a narrow-eyed look. “I’m not his new mommy. This is temporary. I am fostering him.”
“Uh-huh.”
She huffed. “Why does everyone do that when I point that fact out?”
“Because you’re secretly a softie. And a softie’s kryptonite is sweet, fluffy, sad-eyed animals.”
She rolled her eyes. “Marco, tell him that people foster pets all the time and are able to let them go when they find a permanent home.”
Marco glanced back. “Of course they do.”
“See?” she said petulantly.
Wes bent his head close to Rebecca’s ear. “Yes, but my brother doesn’t know you like I know you. I’ve seen sides of you he hasn’t. Very private sides.”
She pursed her lips and flicked her hand in Marco’s direction, her cheeks darkening. “Hush. Your brother is right there.”
Wes chuckled under his breath. He’d been talking about seeing the side she’d shown with the kids this afternoon. But he loved that the mere hint of something sexual could send her mind into that place and make her flushed and flustered.
Since his talk with Marco the week before, Wes had backed away from Rebecca a little bit, had given her some space—both to give her a chance to focus on her work and to give him a chance to prove to himself that he wasn’t obsessed like Marco had accused.
He and Rebecca had seen each other once over the weekend and they’d talked on the phone a few times, but he’d dialed down the intensity. Nothing catastrophic had happened. He was a big boy. He could handle it just being a fling. He’d accept it when it was time to move on from each other. He had come to terms with the situation.
At least he thought he had.
But seeing her with his students today had stirred up more than he’d expected. The way she took the kids seriously and talked to them like adults, the genuine kindness she showed them, the easy laugh she rewarded them with when they were goofing off to get her attention. All of it had made him think things he shouldn’t. Feel things he shouldn’t.
And he was beginning to forget why he shouldn’t feel them.
“Here he is,” Marco said, breaking Wes from his ruminating.
A forlorn howl started up, ringing through the kennel and riling up the other animals.
Rebecca burst into a laugh, her hand going to her mouth. “Oh my God, that is the saddest, most obnoxious sound I’ve ever heard. He sounds so heartbroken.”
“He’s quite dramatic,” Marco said with an affectionate smirk.
“Aww, don’t cry, Knight,” Wes announced. “Your new mom is here!”
“Stop.” Rebecca smacked Wes’s arm, earning a lifted brow from his brother. A brow that seemed to say, So you’re still doing this?
Wes gave him a back-off look.
Rebecca crouched next to the kennel, oblivious to the silent argument between the brothers. “Hey there, cutie pie. You ready to go home? Huh? You ready?”
Wes bit his lip at the baby-talk tone Rebecca used and tried not to laugh. He would’ve bet money she wasn’t capable of such behavior, but the tough lawyer dissolved into a pile of mushy words at the sight of the happy dog.
Knight, who’d graduated out of the head cone, got to his feet, his tail banging against the side of the kennel, and went from howling to whining and snuffling.
“He’s made a great recovery and can do all the normal things,” Marco reported. “But his body is still recuperating from all that healing work, so he’ll probably tire out quickly. Don’t let him get too confident.”
Marco gave Wes a pointed look.
Wes sniffed. “I think he’s ready to take on the world.”
Marco reached down and unhooked the latch on the door. But before he could loop the leash over Knight’s head, the dog barreled out of the kennel and launched himself at Rebecca. His big paws landed on her shoulders, and he knocked her right onto her butt, licking her face like she was made of bacon.
Wes jumped forward to help, but Rebecca was hugging the dog and laughing while trying to turn her head and avoid the slobbery onslaught.
Marco managed to get the collar and leash on and tugged Knight back. “Calm down, boy. Sit. Sit.”
Knight eventually yielded but didn’t look happy about it, and the high-pitched whining started again.
Wes squatted down and ruffled the fur on Knight’s fluffy head. “Yeah, man, you got to slow it down. Woo her a little first. Buy her dinner before you try to kiss her. I recommend Indian food. And fancy cheese.”
Knight barked.
Rebecca laughed. “Try Italian. That’s his favorite. He pilfered garlic bread from me the night we met.”
Knight panted and bumped Rebecca’s knee with his snout. She sighed and petted him as she looked to Wes. “I’m so done, aren’t I?”
Wes smiled, warmth sliding through him. “Absolute toast, lawyer girl.”
Or maybe that was just Wes.
*
Rebecca collapsed onto a stool at her kitchen counter and glanced at the clock—half past seven. She’d called Child Protective Services a little earlier while she was walking Knight and couldn’t help wondering if the authorities had headed to Steven’s place yet. Her nerves were brittle, but she tried to shove the thoughts to the back of her mind because she’d done all she could for now. The proper channels had been notified.
At least about the abuse. She hadn’t said a word about the robbery.
She let out a sigh, mentally exhausted and physically drained, her muscles sapped from the bus scrubbing, a harrowing walk with Knight, and a too-hot shower to wash off all the grime. But Wes had no idea what was going on yet, so she tried to keep her tone light. “Well, if nothing else, I’m going to be able to eat extra dessert now. Knight’s going to be like having a gym membership.”
Wes smirked from his spot in front of her stove and slid her a bottle of water. His hair was still a little damp from the shower he’d grabbed while she’d walked Knight, and he looked downright edible. She hated that she’d had to keep something from him, but his obligation to report had no gray area. If she was ever pressed for why she waited hours to report, she could claim attorney-client privilege since she’d offered to represent Steven and there wasn’t an urgent threat of substantial bodily harm. Steven was going home to an empty house. No immediate threat. But Wes was Steven’s teacher. He would’ve had to report any kind of abuse immediately, no fine print. She couldn’t have told him before the seven o’clock deadline. And now she just needed a break from it all.
“And that’s Knight in recovery mode,” Wes said. “Imagine how long he’s going to want to walk when he’s fully healed up.”
“I’m trying not to think about that.” She opened the bottle and took a grateful gulp of water. “He hates the leash. Kept trying to back out of it and shake it off. But I’ve got news for him. I’ve watched The Dog Whisperer. I’m prepared to show him who’s boss. And if nothing else, I can outlast him for now. He’s snoring in his kennel.”
Wes flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and grinned. “Strays aren’t used to taking orders from anyone. Just ask Ed and Carolina. I don’t know why they didn’t ship me off to military school within the first few weeks of when I arrived at their place. But smart strays also know a good gig when we see one. I have no doubt Knight will shape up and give in once he realizes how sweet he’s got it now.” He dipped a wooden spoon into the sauce he was making. “Here, taste this. I didn’t have the ingredients to do a proper spaghetti sauce, but I doctored up your jarred one.”
She leaned forward, blowing on the steaming sauce and then tasting it. The spicy, garlicky flavor made her stomach rumble for more. “Damn. That’s good. You definitely have a gift. I eat that sauce at least once a week, and it tastes nothing like that. What’s that smoky fl
avor?”
“You had some bacon in the freezer. I chopped up a few pieces and sautéed them with the onion and garlic before dumping the sauce in.”
“Of course you did, because you’re a genius.”
“Obviously.” He cocked his head to the side. “Want me to open a bottle of wine? That chianti you have will go good with the sauce.”
A glass of wine sounded amazing after the day she’d had, but she frowned. “No, that’s okay.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “That wasn’t very convincing, Ms. Lindt.”
She shrugged. “I feel weird drinking in front of you.”
His grip tightened on the spoon. “It doesn’t bother me, Bec.”
She eyed him. “You sure?”
“Yes, I…” His lips flattened into a line, and he set his spoon down. “No, that’s not entirely true.” He looked at her like he was trying to find the right words. “Truth is, I miss wine. Not in the jonesing-for-oblivion kind of way. Wine was never my drink of choice when things were bad. But I miss how it tastes with food, how it can enhance a meal, the experience of sharing it with friends. So it’s not that it bothers me to see someone else drink, it just pisses me off that I was stupid enough to put myself in the position to never be able to have it again.”
The honesty in his words hit her in the gut. She could tell it cost him something to admit all that. She got up and stepped around the bar. She wasn’t sure how he’d react, but he let her wrap her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry. It’s not about stupidity, but I’m sorry that you had to lose another thing.”
He set his chin atop her head and hugged her back. “Thanks. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a small price to pay in exchange for not being a complete degenerate. I get better stuff in return. No hangovers. A steady job. A beautiful woman to cook for and do unspeakable things to. There really is no contest.”
