by J. A. Little
“Oh, come on. Have I ever put you someplace bad?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“They’re all bad,” he huffs, folding his arms across his chest.
“So where do you suggest I take you guys, huh?” I ask, trying not to get pissed off. It’s not working well, though. I’m tired, cranky, and ready to go home to my nice, warm bed.
“Why can’t you just take us home with you?” he pleads.
“Are you joking?”
“Why not? You like us, don’t you?”
I can’t look at him for two reasons. One, it’s dark, and I’m heading into an area I don’t know very well, and two, I can’t stand to see the look in Logan’s eyes.
“It’s not about liking you, Logan. It’s against the rules.”
“Kayla,” He whines, sounding like a five-year-old.
“Give it a chance, Logan. Please.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him look back at Matty again.
“Fine,” he grumbles.
I don’t hear any more complaining, and soon enough we’re pulling up in front of a huge manor house. The place certainly doesn’t look like a group home. It looks like someone’s private house—or mansion.
“Is this it?” Logan asks, his eyes wide. Matty gets out of the car and stares, his mouth agape.
“Uh, yeah. I think it is.” I double check the address.
“Goddamn.”
It’s nearly midnight, but lights still illuminate the main level of the house. Before I can even raise my fist to knock, the door opens. In front of me stands a woman about my age, maybe a little younger. She’s shorter than I am and skinny, almost waiflike. Her shoulder-length blond hair is hanging in her face.
“You must be Kayla,” she greets.
“Yeah, uh…”
“Emily Wyatt. Dean asked me to keep an eye out for you.” She thrusts her hand at me, and I shake it awkwardly.
“Oh, great. Hi.”
She grins and peers around me to look at the boys. “Well, hello, fellas.”
I turn to look at Logan and try not to laugh at his scared expression. The kid is easily twice her size. What the hell is he afraid of?
“This is Logan, and this is Matty,” I say, pointing to each of the boys.
“Come on in. It’s cold out there.” She waves us inside. We follow her through the heavy, double front doors and into a foyer.
“I’ll give you guys a tour in the morning, but tonight I’ll just show you up to your rooms.”
“They’ll have separate rooms?” I ask, looking at Matty to gauge his reaction. Before they came into care, the boys rarely had their own sleeping space. Most of the time they shared a bed—or a mattress. In the time they’ve been in foster care, they’ve only had their own rooms once, and it didn’t go well. Matty suffers from extreme anxiety, and within a few days of that placement, he had a major attack and ended up hospitalized. Of course, that was four years ago, so I have no idea how Matty will react this time.
“Yes. I hope that’s okay,” Emily says, glancing between Matty and me. Matty just shrugs. I guess we’ll see.
“That’s good,” Logan says happily. “Now he won’t have to pretend he doesn’t know when I’m gettin’ busy.”
“No girls in the bedrooms, Logan.” Emily shakes her head. “Sorry.”
“What?” It’s an echo of the panicked voice he had in the car.
“House rules. Female visitors are only allowed in public areas.”
“No, no, no. I’m not doing this.” Logan turns around to leave, but I stand in front of him. I stare into his eyes and shake my head. “Aw, come on, Kayla.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” I expect more of a fight, but he just hangs his head in defeat and groans.
“I’ll go ahead and take you up, and then you can head to bed,” Emily says. “Kayla, would you like to see their rooms?”
“Yes, thank you,” I say politely.
“Great. Follow me.” She turns around and puts her hand on the railing of the staircase. “We’ll need to be quiet. The rest of the boys are asleep…or they should be,” she says, pursing her lips.
“How many are there?” I ask.
“Five. Well, seven now,” she says, turning to smile at Logan and Matty.
We follow her as she climbs the stairs and walks down a long, dimly lit hallway, stopping just outside one of the open doors. It’s an average-size room with wooden floors covered by an area rug. The double bed has a sturdy wooden frame, and there’s a desk in the corner. The walls are painted a cream color, and heavy, navy-blue curtains hang at the windows.
“This one and the one next to it are almost identical,” Emily explains, “except the curtains in the other room are green. The bathroom is just down the hall.”
Logan throws his bags on the bed in the blue room, leaving the green one for Matty.
“Are you guys all set?” I ask. “Do you need me for anything?”
“Nope,” Logan says quietly.
“Matty?” I ask, putting my hand on his back.
“No.” His head is bowed, but I can see his eyes scanning his surroundings.
“Breakfast is served between six and seven o’clock, gentlemen. There’s an alarm clock already set. The bus leaves for school at 7:25.”
“Oh, I’ll be picking them up tomorrow morning to get them all set up in school,” I explain, making eye contact with both of them to make sure they understand.
“Okay. If you guys need anything during the night, Dean’s number is on the paper above the desks.” Emily says, pointing toward the desk in Logan’s new room. “There’s a house phone in the hallway. He’ll go over the rules and regs with you before dinner tomorrow night.”
They both nod in understanding.
“Good night, guys.” I smile and hope that placing them here isn’t a mistake. It seems nice enough, but I never know. If Logan’s unhappy, he’s bound to blow it.
“Good night,” Matty says softly.
“Night, Kayla,” Logan retorts, his voice thick with agitation. He doesn’t look at me as he kicks off his shoes and lies back on his bed.
I turn and follow Emily back down the stairs. The house is so quiet. The only noise is the sound of our footsteps as we descend.
“So Dean is in his office,” Emily tells me. “I’ll take you back there.”
“You guys are night owls, huh?”
“Dean is,” she says softly. “He doesn’t sleep well. I’m only on the night shift twice a week. I’ve got kids.”
As we walk down another dark hallway toward the back of the house, we pass by a formal dining room with a table that must sit at least twelve and then a large kitchen.
“Sorry I’m in such a hurry,” Emily says. “I’m supposed to head out at midnight and Aiden won’t go to sleep until I get home.”
“Aiden?”
“My husband.” She stops in front of a closed door. “Do you know much about Wyatt House, Kayla?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I mean, I have coworkers who have placed kids here, but I’ve never …”
“Oh, okay,” she says taking a deep breath. “Well, Wyatt House was founded as a home for orphaned boys back in 1938 by brothers William and Henry Wyatt. In 1964, it was taken over by Henry’s oldest son, Alexander, and William’s second son, Rupert. In 1986, Alexander’s only son, Joseph—Joe—took it over. Four years ago, Joe and his wife Maria’s oldest son, Aiden, took over the business. His brother Dean joined him a year later.” By the time she’s done, I’m grinning widely.
“Give that speech much?” I laugh.
“Ugh, just about every day,” she groans. “I’m their PR agent as well.” She rolls her eyes and then smiles at me.
“So,] I’m meeting Dean, then?” I ask. Emily tugs at a strand of her hair and shifts her weight.
“Yeah. Uh, he’s had a rough day today so he’s a little…grumpy. Don’t let him put you off. He’s great with the kids.” She smiles, gritting her teeth like she’s praying I
believe her. I raise my eyebrows. What have I gotten my boys into?
“He can be a bit abrupt, but he’s a good guy,” she adds just as the door to the office opens. “And…I’m gonna shut up now.”
“Great idea, Em,” says the same deep voice that spoke to me over the phone. “Aiden just called looking for you.” I turn my head and find myself staring straight into a broad chest covered in black cotton. I glance up. Oh. My. God.
My heart jumps up into my throat. Scruffy jaw, messy, dark hair, deep-green eyes. His lashes could probably sweep the floor, and his plump, juicy lips are curved into an annoyed smirk.
Did I just call his lips plump and juicy?
“Kayla,” Emily says, thankfully stealing my attention and keeping me from gawking like a complete idiot. “This is Dean Wyatt. Dean, this is Kayla Brooks, Logan and Matthew Davidson’s social worker.” She takes a breath. “I hate to be rude, but I need to head out. It was nice to meet you, Kayla. I’m sure we’ll see plenty of each other.”
“Yeah,” I answer, nodding. “Thank you.”
She stares at me for a second before turning on her heel and walking quickly down the hallway.
“Ms. Brooks.”
I have to look at him because he’s talking to me. And I’m a professional. A professional social worker. Here to place children in his care.
“Hhhh-hi,” I stutter stupidly. “Sorry, I… Emily—”
“I heard what she said. Remind me to fire her tomorrow.”
“No, she—she didn’t do anything—”
“I’m kidding,” he states, turning around. “She’s my sister-in-law. Even if I wanted to fire her, I can’t. Come on in.”
I follow him into the office. There are two large desks on opposite sides of the room. Oak? Mahogany? Something a hell of a lot more expensive than the pine and particleboard piece of shit I work on. The back wall has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the left wall is covered in windows. On the opposite wall hang artwork and a few photos of various groups of people.
I glance back at Dean. He’s standing at a filing cabinet with his back to me. I take the opportunity to appreciate his…assets. He’s wearing a loose-fitting pair of jeans hung low on his hips and a pair of dark-blue leather Doc Martens. His shirt is plain, but tight enough to show that he’s built. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it for several hours. The filing-cabinet drawer slams shut, and he walks to his desk without looking at me.
“Have a seat. I’d like to get you out of here quickly.”
I sit down in the chair in front of his desk and reach into my shoulder bag for the Davidson files. I hand them to him, and he snatches them quickly, flipping through the papers. His fingers follow the words, and I notice his knuckles. They’re covered in crude black Xs. I scan the rest of him quickly. Ink peeks out from just below the collar of his shirt, too. I wonder how much of him is covered.
“Okay, so look,” Dean interrupts my thoughts. “I’m at capacity with your boys. I’m approved for seven, but I usually prefer to keep it to five or six, depending on the issues involved. Are they on any meds?”
“No.” I shake my head, frowning. I know Emily said he was in a bad mood, but I’m not used to caregivers being so…rude. I’m about to tell him about Matty’s anxiety when he starts talking again.
“All right. I’ll go over the rules verbally with Logan and Matthew tomorrow. I’m sure you can handle reading them on your own.” He glances up at me. “Can’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I say, insulted. It feels like he’s implying that I’m incompetent.
“Good,” he responds, looking back down. “I’m assuming you’ll be registering them in school tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’ll pick them up in the morning and take them over. I have copies of their records and—”
He waves me off. “That’s fine. As long as you’re going to do it, and I don’t need to worry about it. I’ve got a 90/10 rule. If they follow the rules 90 percent of the time, I can deal with the 10 percent where they slip up. What’s your visitation schedule like?” I am so stunned by the curt way he’s talking to me that I almost forget to answer. Luckily, I still have a few brain cells working.
“For the first month I’ll visit once a week. The second month, I’ll see them every other week, then once a month after that.”
“That’s a lot of visits. Is that how you handle all your cases?”
“It’s case by case,” I say, agitated. “Logan’s about to age out, and the Independent Living Program is completely maxed. I offered to prepare him myself.”
“Do you do that for all your kids, or is he special to you in some way?”
“Excuse me?”
“You seem awfully invested. Since the boys will be living here, I’d like to know exactly what’s going on in their lives that may affect how well they acclimate.”
I can feel my face flushing with anger. If I were a cartoon character, steam would be pouring from my ears. As it is, I try my damnedest not to rip into this arrogant asshole.
“I have known those boys almost half their lives. They were the very first kids in my caseload. Believe it or not, I care about them.”
Dean rests his elbows on his desk and clasps his hands together, holding them against his mouth. He doesn’t say anything—he just studies me. It’s unnerving and irritating.
“Okay, I think I have everything,” he finally says after a few minutes of silence. I reach into my shoulder bag and grab my purse. Finding my cardholder in one of the pockets, I try to keep my hands from shaking as I flick it open and pull out one of my business cards. I set it down in front of him with a little more force than necessary before standing up.
“Thank you, Mr. Wyatt. I’m sorry to have put you out this evening, but I appreciate you taking my boys. I’ll show myself out,” I say coldly. I don’t wait for him to respond. I’m too tired and angry. I storm out of his office, down the hallway, and out the front door as quickly as I can. I am absolutely petrified that he’ll catch up with me and tell me he’s changed his mind. I get into my car and slam the door shut. I have no idea what just happened.
I’m halfway home when I realize I didn’t ask for a list of who else lives in the house. I need that information to find out with whom I’ll be communicating for my reports.
“Shit!” I grumble to myself. Now I’ll have to talk to that asshole again.
As I pull into my driveway, I notice that the lights are still on in the living room.
“Waiting up for me again?” I ask after walking inside and setting my keys and purse down on the table in the foyer.
“Sorry, I don’t like it when you’re out this late,” my stepbrother says quietly from his seat on the sofa.
I sit down beside him and let out a huge breath.
“The Davidson boys again?”
“Andy, I don’t know what I’m going to do with them,” I sigh, laying my head on my brother’s shoulder.
“There’s nothing you can do. Logan’s about to age out, and then Matty can stay in one spot.”
“You know it’s not that easy,” I whisper sadly. I wish it were. Christ, do I wish it were that easy.
“Yeah, I do, but I’m their lawyer; I’m supposed to have faith that everything will work out. And so are you.”
I nod, feeling my cheek rub along the fabric of his T-shirt. Andy is a children’s attorney for the state. It’s his duty to represent the best interests of the children involved in the foster care system.
“I placed them at Wyatt House,” I sigh.
Andy takes a heavy breath. “Group home.”
“Yeah.” My eyes are heavy, and I don’t have the energy to keep them open anymore, so I don’t even try.
“Well, it was only a matter of time. It’s a shame Matty couldn’t have stayed with the Barkers, though.”
“She offered. He wouldn’t.”
“No surprise there. I suppose if anyone can handle Logan, it’ll be the Wyatts.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I do.”
I yawn, thinking about the evening’s encounter. Emily seemed perfectly nice, but I don’t know what to think about Dean. Was he really just in a bad mood, or is he always like that? I can see a confrontation with Logan on the horizon. The thought gives me a headache. I know Andy has had a kid or two at Wyatt House over the last couple years, and part of me wants to ask if he knows what Dean’s deal is, but asking means I’m interested, and being interested means I have to admit that the man is insanely good-looking. I really don’t want to think about how good-looking he is, because he was asshole. An asshole I’m going to have to deal with. Probably regularly.
I feel my heart speed up slightly and frown.
“Go to bed, buttercup,” Andy says, standing up. “Everything always looks clearer in the morning.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I’m not so sure about that this time.”
Chapter 3
Dean
Fuck me sideways. I’m in trouble.
I stand in the doorway of my office, watching as Kayla Brooks storms down the hallway, pulls open the front door, and walks out. The moment she’s gone, I lean against the wall and bang the back of my head against the wooden doorframe. Unable to continue avoiding what’s been plaguing me for the last ten minutes, I reach down and adjust my dick. Shit. Big trouble.
When I answered the phone and accepted the Davidson boys, I never in my wildest dreams imagined that their social worker would look like that. Not that it would have made a difference in my decision, but it was definitely a surprise. I’ve met a few workers who were nice to look at, but this one…this one…
Holy shit, this one’s gonna kill me.
In the few minutes she sat in my office, I had to remind myself more than once that this is my workplace and not a bar. She’s a worker—in other words, off-limits. Despite my attempts to turn off my libido, my mind kept wondering how difficult it would be to seduce her. Or how easy. But then what? With my luck, she’d be a lousy lay with obsessive and psychotic tendencies.
I finish looking through the Davidson boys’ files while propped up against the headboard of my bed. These two are something else. Well, Logan is. Petty theft, assault, possession, indecency… The list goes on and on. He’s going to spend some time in prison if something doesn’t change quickly. I have a pretty good track record when it comes to straightening kids out, but sometimes I get them too late.
