by J. A. Little
“Whatup, ladies?”
I grin as Warren enters the room with a travel tray full of Starbucks.
“Warren, you’re my hero,” Sara sings, jumping up and grabbing a paper cup from the tray.
“So mami,” he purrs, sitting down on the edge of my desk and handing me a coffee. “Word on the street is that you placed the Davidson boys at Wyatt House. How was that? Did you get to meet Mr. Hottie-with-a-Body?”
Kate reaches over, grabbing a coffee and listening intently for my answer. I work with a bunch of teenage girls.
“Jesus Christ, you all are pathetic.”
“Oh, don’t go there, princess. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.” He doesn’t even have to clarify. Of course I noticed. I noticed more than I should have.
“Dean was an asshole to her.” Sara laughs. I frown.
“Was he now?” Warren says, sticking his tongue out and biting on it.
“Have you had a kid there?” I ask.
“No. I go to their Christmas fundraiser every year, though. My papi donates big time.”
Warren’s father is Jose De Jesus, a corporate big shot in the world of finance. He’s worth $1.2 billion or something like that. Warren makes forty-one thousand dollars per year and donates every cent to a local LGBTQ foundation. He’s one of the nicest, most generous guys I know. He’s also extremely good-looking; one of those gender-neutral beauties. He’s ripped like the sexiest of men, but there’s a feminine quality about him, too.
“Sadly, I believe the younger Mr. Wyatt prefers the ladies, “ Warren adds with a pout. I can’t deny the stab of jealousy that courses through me. There is no rational reason for it, though. I just met the guy, and I don’t even like him. He’s irritating and mean.
I ignore the rest of their chatter when the topic changes to one of Warren’s court reports. Pulling up my email I see that I do, in fact, have a message from Dean Wyatt. My stomach flip-flops in the same way it does every time I hit a downslope on a roller coaster. I hate roller coasters.
Kayla,
Here is the list of all Wyatt House employees. If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to call.
All my best,
Dean A. Wyatt
Opening up the attachment, I read all the names as well as their positions. Aiden Wyatt, CEO; Dean Wyatt, COO; Emily Wyatt, CFO; Tracey Halloway, Assistant CFO/House Manager; William Halloway, maintenance. Joseph and Maria Wyatt are also listed along with a handful of others who appear to be mostly contractors. I print out the list to put into Logan and Matty’s files and sign off my computer.
“All right, I gotta get out of here,” I grumble. “I guess I’ll do my court report at home.”
“Did you put in for your overtime?” Kate asks.
“Yes. Do you think I’ll actually get paid for it this time?” I ask, picking up my coffee and my bag. Kate laughs and shakes her head.
“At least you’ll get comp time.”
“Fantastic,” I say sarcastically. In the six years I’ve worked for DHS, I have accumulated well over six months of comp and vacation time that I will probably never get a chance to use.
I confidently head through the door, past the security desk, and out to my car. By the time I reach Wyatt House, my stomach is in my throat.
Chapter 6
Dean
My day has been absolute crap.
My brother and I spent an exhausting hour talking about what’s going on in the house. Afterward, we tried to shoot the shit, but I was too tired to keep my focus.
Around noon, Emily and Tracey joined us in my office to go over the budget. I fucking hate money. It never feels like we have enough to cover all our expenses. We’re a private 501(c) nonprofit. We receive a subsidy from the state of Minnesota for each child and the rest of our finances are covered by donations and grants. My parents are no longer running the house, but they still spend a huge amount of time raising money for it. My mom loves throwing parties. I despise them. My parents insist I attend, but I feel like I do more damage than good. People see me and wonder if their donations are being appropriated properly. In their eyes, I’m still the fuckup with the drug conviction and blood on my hands.
“Is that it?” Aiden asks, standing up after we’ve finished with the books.
“Yeah,” I groan. I need a cup of coffee before I fall the fuck over.
“So when are you expecting Ms. Brooks?”
The mere mention of her makes my blood pressure rise. I think about the dream I had about her. I think about the things she did and said in that dream. I think about the things I did to her. Jesus, I’m such a hypocrite. Didn’t I just give my brother a lecture about being professional? I’m pretty sure fantasizing about two kids’ social worker would be considered unprofessional.
“Dean?” Aiden is still looking at me.
“What?”
“When is she getting here?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Huh. All right, whatever. I’m going to my office to return some phone calls. Let me know if you need me.”
Aiden’s office is across the hallway. It’s smaller than mine because he doesn’t spend nearly the amount of time here that I do. His bedroom is smaller, too, for the same reason. He has a fucking life.
Tracey fixes me a quick sandwich before she heads out. She’ll be gone all afternoon and then back to supervise dinner. It’s Eric and Edgar’s night, and the two of them cannot go two minutes without fighting. The last time they were left to cook without supervision, we ended up with ground beef on the ceiling. I’d separate them, but it’s important for them to learn to work together. At least, that’s what Tracey keeps telling me.
I know the exact moment the boys get home from school. It’s like a herd of elephants has invaded. I hear Emily yelling, and I smile to myself. They love to mess with her. My guess is that they’ve probably dropped their bags and coats in her office, which is at the front of the house. They know they’re not supposed to do it, but I’ll give them a break since I also love torturing my sister-in-law.
I wonder if Logan and Matty are with them or if Kayla picked them up. My question is answered as I walk down the hallway and see the younger Davidson hanging his coat up in the closet.
“How was school?” I ask. He startles slightly, but turns to face me with a shrug. “That good, huh?”
“It was fine, thank you.” His voice is soft, unsure.
“Are you going to hang out with the other boys?”
He shakes his head, and I wonder why. I could ask him, but prying into his life less than twenty-four hours after he was placed here is not the way to earn his trust.
“Why don’t we do this? I’ll go get your brother and we’ll go over the house rules. Is that all right?” I offer. He nods, but doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Emily?” I say, peeking into her office. “Will you show Matty to my office, please?”
“Sure.” She smiles and stands up. I can hear her gentle voice talking to Matty as I walk away. As much as I enjoy giving her a hard time, she’s good with the boys and I love her for it.
“Logan,” I call over the mayhem happening in the den. Of six boys, four are playing Rock Band, and two are shouting at the others from the couch. Logan is singing. It sounds like a fucking cat dying, but he looks like he’s having a great time, and the rest of the kids seem to be enjoying it.
“What’s up, Dad?” he asks, grinning.
I raise my eyebrows at him as the rest of the boys start snickering. Rolling my eyes and taking a breath, I motion for him to come with me. He tosses the microphone to Jax before strutting over. He’s bigger than me, but I’m not intimidated. I’ve dealt with much bigger threats than him. He’s still a child whether he wants to admit it or not.
“Let’s go. I’m gonna give you the lowdown on the rules and then Emily will take you on a full tour, all right?”
“Yeah, whatev,” he grunts. We’re obviously going to have to work on communication skills with
these two.
When we get to my office, Matty is already seated in one of the chairs, and Emily is perched on the edge of my desk. She hops down quickly, knowing how much I hate it when she sits there, and sets her hand on Matty’s shoulder. I might even see a hint of a smile on his face before she pats his arm and leaves.
I go over the basic house rules with them. No drugs, no alcohol, no parties. I realize that I don’t really have much control over them when they leave the premises, but none of that shit is allowed in this house. Friends have to check in, and girls have to stay on the main floor. Sexual activity is not allowed on Wyatt House property. I say this firmly, but I know that the boys completely disregard this rule. I found Brayden banging a cheerleader—still in uniform—out back last fall. I can’t tell you how many blow jobs and hand jobs I’ve either walked in on or completely thwarted. Poor kids. I’m not telling them not to do it, though, I’m just asking them not to do it on my property.
No stealing, no physical fighting, personal spaces are not to be violated. I go over the computer and television rules. No porn. I make sure to say that twice and there’s also a big sign over the computer. I have parental blocks, but some of the little smart-asses get around them.
They are not to leave the property without telling whoever’s in charge. That can be Aiden, Emily, Tracey, or me. I don’t mind swearing for the most part, but if they disrespect me or any other adult, there are consequences.
When I finish up telling them that other rules will be addressed as they come up, I call Emily in. She shows them the offices and the location of Aiden’s and my personal spaces before heading up front where I can’t hear her anymore. I need to enter Logan and Matty into the computer system, so I grab their files and start the input. I’m so distracted by the effort that I’m completely taken off guard for the second time today when Aiden calls my name.
“Shit, man, what’s the matter with you?” he snorts.
“I was fucking working.”
“Yes, well, I thought you might like to know that the lovely Ms. Brooks has entered the building.”
I fight the urge to jump over my desk and bolt to the front door. Aiden laughs and leaves me. The second he’s out of sight, I’m on my feet. I wish I knew what the fuck I looked like, but I don’t have a mirror. Not that I care, but…I’m a professional. I should look like a professional, right? I tug down the sleeves of my shirt, hiding my arms from sight before running a hand through my hair and walking as slowly as my legs will let me.
“Ms. Brooks, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Aiden says smoothly as I walk forward.
“Thank you, Mr.…”
“Please don’t,” he laughs. “You know how the saying goes? ‘The mister is reserved for my father.’” He glances over at me. “Or this guy.”
I scowl. I have repeatedly asked Kayla to call me Dean. Aiden knows I hate being called “mister.” It’s what they called me in lockup. Always “Mr. Wyatt, get your ass over here,” and “Mr. Wyatt, do I have to remind you that fighting gets you sent to isolation?”
No, you don’t have to fucking remind me. Tell it to the fucker with his gorilla hands around my neck.
“Hi, Kayla.” I scan her briefly and notice that she still has the red heels on. Of course she does. They’re there to remind me of something that will never happen.
This time she just nods at me. I assume she’s still mad at me, but as her eyes remain on mine, I see a hint of something else in them. Before I can interpret it, Matty comes down the stairs, and her attention shifts to him. Kayla smiles at him, and he smiles back.
“How was school?” she asks, walking toward him.
“It was good. That algebra class I didn’t want to take turned out to be the best one.”
I’m a little stunned as they walk away from me toward the living room and sit down. The kid can actually say more than two words at a time. Go figure.
“Dude, are you kidding me?” Aiden whispers, making me jump slightly. His breath is on my ear, and he’s too close. If he weren’t my brother, I probably would have decked him. “You’re really going to let her get away? She’s hot.”
“Last time I checked, she wasn’t exactly clamoring to get in my pants,” I bite. “I’d even venture to say she hates me.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. You’re just a little abrasive. I know you have a soft side in there somewhere. Just show it to her.” I know he’s trying to tease me, but I’m not in the mood.
“Fuck you. Doesn’t matter. She’s the social worker for two of our residents. How would that look to the board?”
“Legally, there’s nothing wrong with it. Interagency dating happens all the time.”
He’s right, but I’m not going to admit that. “Regardless, she has a say in whether those boys stay here or not. We get paid to have them here. Conflict of interest.”
“Whatever. You always find a fucking excuse, don’t you?”
“Leave it alone, Aiden.” I walk away, pretending I don’t hear his grumbling.
* * *
“Thank you, Mr. Wyatt,” Kayla says, popping her head into the kitchen about half an hour later. I turn to face her as she walks into the room. She looks around in awe. I have to admit, it is an amazing gourmet kitchen. Another of my mother’s designs.
I think about how my brother called me abrasive. Maybe I could try being a little less of a dick.
“No problem,” I answer. “Can you do me a favor, though?”
“Um, sure,” she answers, tilting her head.
“My name’s Dean. I can’t stand being called Mr. Wyatt.”
“Oh. Okay,” she says, looking slightly conflicted.
“Yeah.” I shift my weight, feeling like a complete dipshit. “Uh, I’d also like to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I was…abrupt last night.” I can see from her expression she’s expecting more. The words “I’m sorry” don’t exactly roll off my tongue easily. I’m always an asshole to new people. Normally, I don’t care what they think, but, for whatever reason, this time I do. I take a deep breath through my nose, swallowing my pride. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, Dean,” she sighs with a wave of her hand. “I just want Logan and Matty to be happy here—to be stable. We’re going to have to work together in order for that to happen because Logan will challenge you.”
I nod in understanding.
“No, you don’t get it,” she laughs humorlessly. “Once he gets settled, he will do everything he can to get under your skin. That’s how he works. He doesn’t trust people, so he’d rather push them away before they can hurt him.”
I understand him better than she could possibly know. The thought puts me back on edge.
“I’ve done this before, Kayla. I know what I’m doing, but thanks.” I can hear the agitation in my voice and know she can, too. She looks disappointed, but I can’t bring myself to backpedal.
“I’ll check in on them next week, assuming there aren’t any problems before that,” she huffs. She turns around and walks away, the objects of my fucked-up fantasies clicking against the floor. I scrub my hands over my face. In the span of two minutes I’ve gone from apologizing to screwing up all over again. I cannot let this woman get to me. She wouldn’t understand—wouldn’t accept me. And she shouldn’t. I’m fucked up. I have too many demons. They would destroy her. No matter how tempted I am, I absolutely cannot let Kayla Brooks into my life.
Chapter 7
Kayla
Storming out of Wyatt House, I stop on the porch and breath in the crisp, cold winter evening.
The door opens behind me and I glance back, pulling my coat closed. Aiden walks out, pulling on a hat.
“Hey.”
“Hi. Uh, sorry, I’ll get off your porch,” I say, forcing myself to smile.
“Don’t worry about it. I saw you out here and was hoping I’d catch you. I just wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I know my brother can be
tough to deal with sometimes.”
“Oh,” I chuckle lightly. “Well, that’s his problem, not yours. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. He’s not a bad guy, Kayla. He’s used to being defensive, so that’s his first instinct. He’s good with the kids, though. He has an insight that most of us don’t. I don’t want you to worry about Matty and Logan.”
I smile, and this time it’s genuine. “I’ll do that no matter where they are.”
“Yeah, well, you know what I mean.”
I nod. “Thanks, Aiden. I really appreciate it. Are you leaving?”
“Just for a minute,” he says, shaking his head. “I have to go get a few things at the grocery. I caught a nasty bug from my kids a few days ago and was out sick. Dean’s been covering for me, but that means he’s been on for a week straight. I’m here all weekend. If you have any questions, you can always call me. Or if there’s a problem, I’ll let you know.”
“No offense, but I really hope I don’t hear from you,” I say, laughing. “I’ll see you later.”
Aiden winks. “See ya.”
I step off the porch and climb into my car.
* * *
My mom and stepdad, Richard, live in a three-bedroom, high-rise penthouse in the heart of Minneapolis. Richard is a cardiothoracic surgeon, and my mom’s a surgical nurse. I lived with them for awhile when I was a kid, but it didn’t work out so well. Richard’s never liked me. I was an unwelcome part of the package when he married my mother.
My parents divorced when I was ten after my mom found out she was pregnant. The baby was not my dad’s. A few months later our house was sold, and my mom and I moved in with Richard, who she’d been having an affair with for over a year. I was confused and sad—and then I was angry.
