by J. A. Little
I felt left out most of the time. I watched as my perfect baby sister was doted on and spoiled. At the time, I hated her. I saw her as the reason my parents split up and the reason my mother could barely look at me anymore.
I decided that negative attention was better than no attention at all, so I turned on the obnoxious switch. I started doing things that I knew would annoy them. I would leave dishes on the countertop, towels on the bathroom floor, and clothes everywhere but the hamper. When I was thirteen, I graduated to stealing money and shoplifting cigarettes. By fourteen, I was ordering pay-per-view porn on the daily, and when I was sixteen, my mother walked in on me riding my boyfriend Jimmy in my bedroom. That resulted in the fight that had me packing my bags for my dad’s house.
It wasn’t until I left that I realized how much I actually loved Claire. It wasn’t her fault that our parents were cheaters and liars. At first, Richard refused to even let me see her. He was afraid I’d be a bad influence, but eventually Mom convinced him that my absence was hurting Claire more than it was helping.
Walking in the front door of the penthouse, I set my purse down on the entryway table.
“Anybody home?” I call out.
I round the corner and laugh as I see my sixteen-year-old sister. She’s wearing a long-sleeved, threadbare white shirt over a navy-blue tank top and the shortest pair of shorts I’ve seen in awhile—especially for the middle of winter. She’s got her earbuds in and is swaying her hips, occasionally singing as she cleans the countertop. She twirls around and lets out a scream as she spots me, grabbing at her chest.
“Kayla,” she screeches, taking out her earbuds and letting them hang limply at her neck. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Well, that’s not my fault,” I laugh. “Where are Mom and Richard?”
“Last minute errands,” she says, shrugging.
“Are you ready to go?” I could wait for my mother and stepdad to get back, but I don’t really want to. They seem to tolerate me now that I’m an adult, but I think they hold a lot of things against me, and I know that Richard doesn’t trust me. The only reason he’s leaving me with his baby girl for two weeks is because Claire begged him nonstop for a month, and I think he grew tired of saying no. She likes spending time with Andy and me—we’re not as uptight as her other options. Compared to the kids that we deal with, Claire’s an angel.
“You don’t want to wait until they get back?”
I raise my eyebrows at her. I don’t think my sister knows the whole story of our parents—I’ve never told her and I doubt anyone else would have, either. Despite being raised by an egocentric fuckhead and a cheating bitch, Claire has a good heart. It would devastate and embarrass her to know what they did to my father, and how badly they’ve treated me. But she’s smart enough to realize we’re not on good terms, and that there’s no way in hell I want to stick around and wait for them.
“Right,” she laughs. “I’ll go get my suitcase.”
“So we’re going to have to get up pretty early to get you to school on time,” I tell her as we drive back to my place. My sister attends a private school not too far from their penthouse. It’s the same one I went to until I was sent away. It’s completely out of my way, but Richard refuses to let her get a license, so I’m stuck driving her every morning.
Claire is lost in her phone and doesn’t answer. She spends the entire drive texting. When we get home, she heads straight to the guest room to put her things away. My phone rings, and Andy’s picture pops up.
“Well, hello,” I greet happily.
“Hey, buttercup,” he says. “I’m guessing you’ve got the package, and she’s getting herself settled?”
I laugh. “I guess so. She’s been glued to her damn cellphone since we left the penthouse.”
“She’s a teenager, Kayla. That’s what they do. You know that.”
“I didn’t do that,” I protest.
“That’s because cellphones didn’t exist that long ago,” he teases.
“Shut up, jerk,” I laugh. “Yes, they did. And you’re older than I am, so I wouldn’t play that game. What’s up?”
“I’m heading home. Do you want me to pick up some food?”
Just as I’m about to answer, Claire wanders in.
“You hungry?”
“Starving,” she moans.
“Andy’s picking up food. What are you in the mood for?”
“Chinese?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.
“You hear that?” I ask Andy.
“I got it. I’ll be home in about forty-five.”
After hanging up, I reach into the fridge and grab two bottles of water, handing one to Claire. We flop down on either side of the couch and I pick up the remote, flipping through the channels aimlessly.
“So how’s school?” I ask after awhile.
“Same old, same old.”
“Oh, please, little miss straight As.”
Claire frowns at me and pulls her legs up to her chest. “I’m just bored, Kayla. My life is so monotonous. I wake up, go to school, and hang out at the same places doing the same things. Mom and Dad are so freaked out I’m going to do something wrong, they don’t let me do anything at all.”
“Sorry, honey. They wouldn’t be like that if it weren’t for me.”
“Yes, they would,” she grumbles. “Dad’s got a stick permanently wedged up his ass. He won’t even let me date. The cutest boy in school asked me to go to a movie—a movie, Kayla. Not a party, not a dance—a movie. Dad said no way.”
“What did Mom say?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘I can’t go against your father.’” Claire sits up straight when she says this and her voice gets all hoity-toity. I grin at her. She sounds just like our mother. “It’s bullshit.”
“Oh. My. God!” I gasp. “Did Claire Graeme just swear?”
“Shut up.” She giggles, sticking her foot out to kick me.
“Well, you’ve got two whole weeks in the lap of luxury right here, so live it up. But no booze, no boys, and no sex.”
“Well, what the heck is left?” she squeals. I snort and then realize what she’s just said.
“Wait…please tell me you’re not doing those things already.” I know I’m being a hypocrite, but I don’t want my sister taking the same path I did.
“No.” Claire frowns. “I’ve only ever had wine and I’m not even allowed out with a boy, so sex is pretty much off the table.”
“Oh, good,” I sigh, relieved.
“Topic change. How’s work?”
“Same old, same old,” I mock. The front door opens and Andy wanders in, holding two bags of takeout. Claire and I descend on him like vultures.
“Holy shit!” he yells. “What is this, feeding time at the zoo? What is wrong with you women?”
Claire opens one of the Styrofoam containers and pops a piece of sesame chicken into her mouth.
“We’re hungry. You took too long.”
Andy narrows his eyes at my little sister, but he can’t hold it. He smiles.
“Hey, Claire-bear. How you been?”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you for talking to Daddy,” Claire says, wrapping her arms around Andy and hugging tightly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he feigns nonchalance. It was Andy who finally convinced my stepfather that Claire would be okay staying with us. It doesn’t matter that I’m a completely different person than I used to be. It doesn’t matter that I’m an adult with a respectable job that requires a background check and random drug tests. I will always be the troublemaker; the stepdaughter he never wanted.
After dinner, I pull out my laptop to work on my court report while Andy and Claire watch TV. After a couple hours, I’m done. The words on the page are blurring together, and I accidentally typed the same sentence three times.
“I gotta go to bed, guys,” I groan, standing up and stretching my arms over my head.
“Good night,” Claire yawns.
“You’ve got school tomorrow. T
ry not to stay up too late, please.”
“I won’t,” she assures.
“Night, buttercup,” Andy mumbles.
As wiped out as I am, I don’t sleep well. Every time I close my eyes, I see green ones staring back at me. By the time I wake up in the morning, I think I’m even more tired than I was before I went to bed. Luckily, Friday is an easy day. I’m on call, so I sit in the office all day long catching up on paperwork and phone calls.
I’m very tempted to Google Dean Wyatt, but I’m afraid of what I’ll find. It couldn’t be that bad, or they’d never let him work with kids, but, at the same time I’m pretty sure those are prison tats he has on his knuckles. I wonder where else he’s inked? No, I don’t—or at least I shouldn’t…but I do. Damn it.
Claire and I do girly shit on Friday night while Andy goes out with some of his buddies from work. It’s fun. I don’t get to see my sister as much as I’d like to. We end up renting some teen-scream movie, which isn’t very good, but Claire has a crush on one of the actors, so I go with it. We paint each other’s toenails, put on mud masks, and pass out around 1:00 a.m. on the living room floor.
I think I hear Andy stumble in at some point, but I have no idea what time. I wake up with a sore back and a horrible crick in my neck. Worst of all, those damn green eyes haunted my dreams again last night. I don’t remember anything else, just the eyes. It’s pissing me off how that infuriating man is starting to invade my thoughts. I wonder what he does on his days off. Is he clubbing or partying? Does he have a girlfriend? Is he married? He wasn’t wearing a wedding band, but that doesn’t mean a whole lot. Lots of people don’t wear wedding bands even when they’re married. I shouldn’t be this curious—it’s none of my business—but I am.
“What’s the story behind the Wyatt brothers?” I spit out the second Andy gets home from the gym that afternoon.
“What do you mean?” he asks, pulling a beer out of the fridge.
“I mean, I just placed Logan and Matty there, and I’m hearing rumors. Should I be concerned?”
Andy clears his throat. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. Shit, he can see right through me.
“I think it’s a good placement for Logan. For Matty…” He shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. I guess time will tell.” I watch him take a pull of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine. “As for the brothers, I don’t know much about them. I usually deal with Emily or Aiden. He’s a good guy. Funny. I’ve only met Dean once. I think he’s more guarded, but he’s got a perspective that most don’t. The kids seem to respect and trust him, which, for those kids, is huge.”
“What does that mean? What’s his perspective?” I ask hastily. Andy takes a deep breath.
“He did some time a few years back. Got into some trouble as a kid, spent some time in juvie, and then blew his probation when he got out.”
“So, he served hard time?”
“Yeah. A few years, I think.”
I can tell Andy knows more details, but just as I’m about to demand to hear them, Claire walks into the room.
“Hey,” she waves. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”
I look at Andy, but I can tell he’s said all he’s going to about Dean for the moment.
By the next afternoon, I’m feeling much better. Andy and Claire are busy beating each other up on Wii boxing. It’s hysterical. They’re trash talking, and my sides hurt from laughing so much. The children’s lawyer vs the honor student. I don’t even know half the words they’re slinging at each other. When my phone rings, I answer without even looking at it.
“Hello?” I say, laughter still in my voice.
“Kayla? This is Aiden Wyatt.”
I’m immediately on alert, my amusement at Claire and Andy’s antics fading.
“Hi, Aiden,” I say tentatively. I’m already wincing. This can’t be good. I see Andy glance back at me, his expression a mixture of concern and annoyance.
“I’m sorry to be calling you, but is there any way you can come to the house? We’re having an issue.”
“What’s Logan done?” I sigh.
“Not Logan. Matty.”
Chapter 8
Dean
“You’re such a dick.”
“And why’s that?” I ask my brother flatly, pressing my palms into my eyes. He’s just returned from the grocery store and apparently is now chastising me.
“You want me to make you a list?” he deadpans. “You could have at least been nice to her.”
“I was nice.”
Aiden scoffs. “You were an asshole. What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter. It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long week. I’m just ready for a break.”
My brother sits down and crosses his ankle over his knee. “You’re full of shit, but nice try.”
I don’t want to listen to this. “Just leave it alone, please?”
“Okay. Fine, I will. But tell me this first,” he starts. I know he’s about to piss me off because he scoots his chair back a little, out of reach. “Is it because Stephanie really fucked you over that badly, or is it because you don’t think Kayla will understand about the Wildes?”
“Fuck you!” I shout, standing up and sending my chair flying backward into the wall. He’s lucky this desk is between us. My brother shakes his head.
“I just think it’s a shame,” he says, standing up and walking toward the door. “In the five minutes of interaction you had with her when she first got here… Man, I haven’t seen you look at a woman like that in ten years. Ten years, Dean. That’s how long it’s been. Do you realize that?”
I grit my teeth together so hard I think I might chip a tooth.
“You are so worried about people understanding, but if there’s one person who could, it’s most likely her. And you’re going to let her walk away? You’re an idiot.”
I want to punch him, but I can’t. We don’t allow physical violence on Wyatt House grounds. Hitting Aiden now would make me a fucking hypocrite. “By the way, Mom and Dad want you to stop by their house on Saturday night for dinner. Mom seems to think you’re avoiding her.” He walks out and shuts the door firmly behind him. Prick.
I pick up my stapler and am about to hurl it across the room when I realize it might leave a nasty dent in the door. Instead, I grab the stress ball Brayden got me for Christmas and hurl it across the room. It hits the door with a dull thud and falls to the ground unceremoniously.
I know how fucking long it’s been. I don’t need my brother or my parents—or anyone else for that matter—reminding me. Fuck them. They have no idea.
I glance at the clock on my phone. It’s time for me to go home. Standing up, I pick up my coat, grab my shit, and head out, locking my office behind me.
“I’m outta here,” I say, popping my head into the den where most of the boys are.
“Adios, amigo,” Edgar sings.
“Ciao,” Curtis waves.
“Gute Nacht,” Logan says, making the rest of the boys snicker. “What? I thought maybe we were doing some sort of international farewell thing.”
“You’re such a douche,” Brayden laughs.
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, scanning the room.
“Matty’s probably in his room,” Logan tells me, looking back down at the book in front of him.
“All right. Tracey’s supervising dinner tonight. Edgar.” I wait until he’s looking at me again before I continue. “You and Eric better not give her a hard time, understand?” Edgar stares at me with a blank look on his face, and I have no idea if he’s actually heard what I said. “Edgar?”
Brayden kicks his foot out, knocking against Edgar’s thigh.
“Ouch, asshole.”
“Edgar?” I say a little louder and much more aggravated.
“What?”
“Did you hear me? Do not—”
“Give Tracey a hard time. Yeah, I heard you. I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
Making m
y way to Emily’s office, I knock on the door even though it’s open. She’s sitting at her desk, staring at the computer screen, but looks up when I enter.
“Hey, you leaving?” she asks.
“Yeah. I’m going to go crash for the next twelve hours. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Surprise, surprise.” She frowns. I shrug, and she continues. “I’m heading out in a few, too. I promised my kids I’d eat dinner with them at your parent’s house tonight. Oh, did Aiden tell you—”
“That my presence is required on Saturday night?” I interrupt.
Emily laughs. “Come on, Dean. Give the woman a break. She loves you.”
“I know she does. I’ve never doubted that for a moment.” I love my mother, I do, but I can’t stand the constant criticism. She doesn’t like the way I live. She doesn’t understand why I live in a shitty apartment when I could afford a decent place in a nicer neighborhood. She thinks I’m too good for the women I choose to spend my free time with. She refuses to acknowledge the things I’ve done or the fact that my mistakes are entirely my own fault. She wants me to be someone else. And I can’t. I don’t deserve better.
“I’ll see you in a few days, Em.”
“Yep. Night, Dean.” I don’t bother saying good night to my brother. I’m still pissed at him for bringing up Steph and the Wildes. As if I don’t think about that shit every single day. Fucker. Yes, I’m acting juvenile, but I don’t care.
* * *
My apartment is cold. Fucking freezing, actually. That’s the biggest problem with living in a shithole. Nothing ever works. It’s two hundred degrees in the summer and twenty below in the winter. There’s no point in complaining because my landlord’s a dick.
I don’t bother with the lights. I just head back to my bathroom, stripping my shirt off as I go. I shower quickly, pull on a pair of flannel pants and climb into bed. I don’t even care that it’s only seven o’clock. I’m exhausted.
I love my sheets. They’re like silk. They are among the few things I insisted on getting immediately after I was released. Prison beds are not comfortable. The food was gross, but whatever; methods of entertainment were all right; but the beds… The very first thing I did when I got out was buy the softest bedding I could find, and I’ve never looked back. The beds at Wyatt House are nice, but they aren’t quite as soft, so whenever I come back to my apartment, I’m like a child with his favorite blanket. I’d buy a set for the house, but then I’d probably never leave; and sometimes I really need to leave. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the boys—their lives, their pasts, their futures. Most of the time I welcome the obsession. When I focus on their lives, I don’t have to dwell on mine.
