by J. A. Little
I wake abruptly at 5:00 a.m. Friday morning, shooting straight up like an arrow in bed. It’s sad when you wake up because you’re freaked out from not having one of the nightmares you’re plagued with almost every fucking night. I lie back on my pillows and close my eyes, hoping that I can get back to sleep, but it doesn’t happen. Eventually I give up and get out of bed.
After starting the coffeepot, I try to find something for breakfast. I find bread, but it’s moldy. There are breakfast sausages in the fridge, but I’m not brave enough to eat them. I can’t remember when I bought them and that’s always a bad sign. Finally, I pour a bowl of Fruit Loops. Unfortunately, when I sniff the milk, I figure out it’s fucking rancid, so I sit down and eat my cereal dry. Whatever. I don’t care. Food’s food, right? I take a bite. Stale.
I guess I know what I’m doing today.
The grocery store sucks. I always either buy too much or not enough. Tracey taught me to cook and I’m pretty good at it, but I’ve never figured out how to shop for myself. I’m always halfway in-between one place or the other, and I don’t always anticipate the amount of time I’m going to spend in either one. On top of that, my apartment kitchen is old and barely functional, so I don’t really like cooking there.
After stocking up on food for the next three days, I spend the majority of the day in front of the television. I could be doing any number of things, but I’m just enjoying the fact that I don’t have to do them. Eventually, I do get up. My ass is numb and I feel like a loser. Putting on a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt, I make my way to Hudson’s Sports Bar.
A hockey game’s on tonight, and there’s already a pretty decent crowd. Sitting down at the bar, I see my buddy Lance working alongside Jodi, a stunning blonde who has hit on me every time I’ve come in for the last two years. She’s not subtle about what she wants from me, but I’ve never taken her up on her offers. Honestly, she’s not really my type.
As if she can hear me thinking about her, Jodi looks up from serving a couple down at the other end of the bar and waggles her fingers in my direction.
Lance comes over and sets a cardboard coaster down in front of me.
“Hey, man. Haven’t seen you in here for awhile.”
“Yeah, I’ve been working a fuckload of hours,” I respond, picking up the coaster and twirling it around with my fingers.
“I hear that. What can I get for you?”
“Sam Adams, please.”
I watch as he tilts the glass in front of the tap, reducing the head. I’ve known Lance for a long time. His twin sister, Kimberly, was Aiden’s high school sweetheart, and he used to come over and hang out frequently.
“How’s Aiden?” he asks, setting the pint down in front of me. I take a long, slow pull.
“Fine,” I grunt. Yeah, I might still be a little bitter about Aiden calling me out yesterday. “How are Tina and the kids?” I ask.
“They’re good. The older the kids get, the busier life seems, but we’re managing.” He shrugs. “Uh, we’re pregnant again.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
He nods with a grin. “Thirteen weeks.”
“Holy shit! Congratulations, motherfucker.” I slap his hand. Lance and Tina are good people. I stayed with them for a few weeks after I was released. I didn’t want to go back to my parents’ house, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“Hi, Dean,” Jodi purrs, sliding up next to Lance. He raises his eyebrows, clears his throat, and excuses himself.
“Hey, Jodi. What’s up?”
She bites her lip seductively. I know what she’s trying to do, but it’s not going to work. “Not much. I was wondering where you’ve been. I’ve missed you.”
“Have you?” I say nonchalantly, taking another drink.
“Of course I have.” She leans over the bar a little, giving me a direct view of her tits. She’s wearing a purple lace bra and I can’t help but look. I like a good set of tits. I’m pretty sure hers are fake, but they give a good show.
“When you gonna take me home with you?” she whispers. “You know I’m dying to suck your cock, right?”
Yeah, not subtle.
“So you keep telling me.” I smirk. She leans backward again and crosses her arms, pushing her tits up so that they’re practically spilling out of her top.
“You’re such a tease, Dean. You have no idea what you’re missing.”
In fact, I do know. The guys around this place like to brag about what I’m missing. I know she’s a good fuck, but I really don’t want to lose my favorite hangout over a one-night stand. Jodi leaves me with a hair flick and makes her way over to some new customers.
“She’s jonesin’ to ride you,” Lance laughs as he pours another beer for me. I hadn’t even realized I’d downed my first one so quickly. “Why don’t you just give in? When was the last time you got laid?”
“She’s been around too much for me.” I shudder, ignoring the latter half of his question.
“Yes, she has,” he says, glancing down the bar. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
I spend the next four hours hanging out, watching hockey, drinking beer, and making small talk. At just after midnight, Lance calls me a cab. I’m not drunk, but I’m not sober, either.
“If you hang out another hour, I can give you a ride,” Jodi offers, her double entendre very clear. She’s relentless. I’d say she’s desperate, but the woman could go home with any number of guys in this bar. She’s not hurting for dick.
“Not happenin’, Jo,” I mutter, not even trying to be polite.
“Suit yourself,” she pouts. “Maybe next time.”
I walk away from her and make my way out front to wait for my cab. The cold air feels good. I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder and pull back my fist.
“Whoa there, D,” Lance says, putting his hands up. “Sorry. I should have known better.”
“‘Sall right,” I slur, relaxing a little. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’. You seen Gage lately?” he asks. I shake my head. Gage used to be my best friend. We haven’t talked much in recent years, but I occasionally run into him at Hudson’s.
“He’s off the grid again?”
“I don’t know. He hit it with Jodi a few weeks ago and I haven’t see him since. Just thought I’d ask. I’m sure he’s fine, though.”
“Yeah.” I nod.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Night, man.”
I really wish Lance hadn’t brought up Gage. Thinking about him fucks with my head.
I don’t escape my nightmares that night. There’s pain and fire and screaming and…Kayla. She’s lying on the ground just a few feet from me, crying…burning. And I’m just standing there, watching. I want to help her, but I can’t move. Her eyes are glowing with fear. I’m completely helpless.
I wake in a cold sweat, my heart beating hard and fast. It hurts. My pillow is soaked. Pain radiates through the muscles in my back and upper arms. I dig my fingers into my shoulder, but it doesn’t help. The only way to make that kind of ache go away is to create a different one.
The gym is exactly 3.2 miles from my apartment. I run there as a warm-up, work the heavy bag for an hour, and then run back home to cool down. I try to work out five days a week. It helps keep me in control—usually.
The day goes by too quickly and before I know it, I’m late. I’m supposed to be at my mom and dad’s at six o’clock. It’s only a twenty-five minute drive, but the clock reads 5:50 p.m. I grab my coat and take off as quickly as I can.
Pulling up to my childhood home, I try to ready myself. My mother is out the door before I can even get my seat belt off.
“Hi, Mom.” I smile weakly. Her hands are on her hips.
“Do not ‘hi’ me, Dean Allen,” she scolds. I kiss her cheek and follow her inside. “It’s been three weeks. Where have you been?”
I’m not quite sure how to answer that question. I want to be a smart-ass, however I’m pretty sure that my mom is
irritated enough that I’ll never hear the end of it. Instead, I decide to go with a relatively safe answer.
“Where I always am, Mom.”
My mom frowns. She could have easily visited me at Wyatt House, but she doesn’t like to. I don’t know if she’s afraid of the boys, or if she doesn’t like to be reminded. The boys in our house all come from horrific backgrounds. None of them had parents who doted on them like she did with Aiden and me. None of them had the support—physical, emotional, or financial—that I had. In her eyes, the world expects boys like ours to end up in jail. No one expected her son to be the one behind bars.
My family is fairly well off. I wouldn’t call us exceptionally wealthy—we don’t have a private jet or homes all over the world—but I never wanted for anything. I lived in a big house with my mom, dad, older brother, and two dogs. We had a housekeeper who came in once a week. I played little league and got good grades. But even kids from stable homes find themselves faced with peer pressure and the temptation to do questionable things.
“Well, you haven’t been at Wyatt House for all that time. You could have at least called. We’ve got the Spring Gala to plan.”
I snort loudly. “That’s what you do, Mom. I deal with the kids.”
“You don’t even want to help?” she asks, pretending to be offended. She knows what my answer will be.
“No.” I show up dressed in my best, I smile politely, and I answer the people who ask me questions. I don’t swear, and I try not to get too drunk. That is my contribution to the fundraising for Wyatt House. Mom pouts out her lip, but doesn’t push the issue.
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s in the office.”
I walk to the back of the house where my dad’s office is. His door is open, so I peek my head through.
“Hi, Dad.”
He’s on the phone and holds up a finger. His six-year-old German shepherd, Roxie, is lying on the floor next to the door. She lifts her head, her tail thumping against the hardwood.
“Hey, girl,” I say, bending down to pet her. She licks my hand and nuzzles against me.
“Yes. Okay, that’s fantastic. Thank you, sir. Yes, I appreciate it. Okay. Good night.” My dad hangs up the phone and motions for me to come the rest of the way in. “Hi. Hey, I’m going to need the house financials for the month.”
Right. Business first, family pleasantries later.
“I know. They’re almost ready. I had two new kids come in on Wednesday night, so I had to make some adjustments.”
“Two? You’re maxed out, then?” My dad raises his eyebrows. He ran Wyatt House for too long not to know the dynamics. He knows that being at capacity is a risk. For some reason, the seventh kid seems to throw off the balance.
“Yeah. They’re brothers—package deal.”
My father looks at me skeptically. “How are they adjusting?”
“So far, so good. I honestly haven’t spent a lot of time around them yet. Matty seems pretty quiet, keeps to himself. Logan’s much more verbose.”
My dad chuckles. “Which one are you more concerned about?”
“Both,” I admit. “Logan’s putting up a front, I guarantee it. But I’m not sure about Matty. He’s hard to read. He seems able to relate to Kayla, though, so there is hope.”
“Kayla?” He cocks his head to the side.
“Social worker.” I shrug, trying to ignore the fact that just her name has me on edge. My dad is studying me, and I’m positive that he can hear my heart beating in my chest. I look away, refusing his eye contact.
“Dean,” he finally says, his voice sounding odd. “Your mother is worrying herself sick over you.”
“Dad, I could call her every day and she’d still find a reason to worry. I’m fine.”
He lets out a deep throaty laugh; he knows I’m right. Even after all this time, she still wants to treat me like I’m her little boy. Unfortunately, that ship sailed a long time ago. My dad stands up.
“Come on. I’m sure dinner is almost ready.”
We walk out together and head back to the kitchen.
“Are you planning on staying awhile?” My mom asks, sparing me a sideways glance.
“Uh, yeah, I guess. Why?”
“Then take off your coat and make yourself comfortable.”
Oh. Right. I probably should have thought about what I was wearing when I got dressed this morning. Or I should have remembered to change before I came over. But I guess there’s nothing I can do about it now. I pull off my coat and toss it over one of the stools. I’m wearing a short-sleeved shirt, my arms on display, and my collar is low enough that she can see the tip of the words printed across my chest. My dad purses his lips together and shakes his head. I know exactly what’s coming.
“Oh, Dean,” my mother sighs. “Why don’t you just get those things removed? You look like such a hoodlum.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I mutter sarcastically. I refuse to argue. Arguing only encourages her to continue. I like my ink. And it covers the scars. The ink is much easier to look at than the scars. I don’t think she’s thought about that.
“You do realize the quality of women you attract, looking like you do?”
“Maria, please stop,” my dad groans. He’s not a fan of my ink, but for some reason he’s defending me.
“I just think—”
“He knows what you think, honey. You tell him every time we see him.”
I gape at my father. This is fucking weird. He has always been of the mind that I should take responsibility for myself; fight my own battles. The day I was arrested, when I thought he was coming to bail me out, he just stood in front of me, emotionless.
“You deserve to be in prison if you’re going to make such stupid decisions, Dean. I will not feel sorry for you.” Then he walked out, leaving me in lockup with the drunks and prostitutes. It sounds harsh, but he was right. I had every opportunity in the world and I flushed them all down the fucking toilet—twice.
My mom is not happy. She pours herself a very full glass of red wine and drinks half of it down in two gulps. I excuse myself, grabbing a few plates out of the cabinet and some silverware from the drawer to set the dining room table. She’s about to lay the smack down, and I don’t want to be here for it in case I get caught in the middle.
I can hear them bickering, but the words aren’t clear. They’re intentionally keeping their voices down. A few minutes later, my dad comes through the doorway with water glasses. I wait for him to lecture me, but he doesn’t. We finish setting the table in silence. When my mom joins us, she doesn’t harp on about the way that I live or the fact that I don’t have a woman or that my apartment is too old, too small, and in a horrible part of the city. These are the things I usually hear about every time I’m here. I love my mother, but she’s a fucking busybody.
I stay a couple more hours. At least I’m not sitting on my ass at home alone.
Chapter 9
Dean
By the end of the weekend, I’m going fucking crazy. I show up at Wyatt House six hours earlier than I’m technically supposed to be there. I can hear the kids playing video games in the den, and I smile. I’ve missed the chaos.
“Dean!” someone shouts as I walk into the room. There are teenagers everywhere. Not only are all seven of my boys in here, but at least four other boys and three girls have been added to the mix.
I recognize two of the visiting boys as regular friends and one of the girls as Jax’s girlfriend, Tia. That chick is something else. She’s sitting on his lap, wearing a pair of skintight black shorts. She has on thigh high socks with that little cartoon cat that seems to be popular again all over them, and a pair of black Chucks on her feet. Her shirt has the same little cat dressed up like a vampire and it says “BITE ME.” I frown when I notice Jax’s hand is hidden underneath. It’s just barely moving, but I know what that little shit’s up to. He meets my eyes and smirks, but then removes his hand before I have to get on his case. I know there are much worse things he could
be doing, but if I gave him an inch, he’d take a mile.
One of the other girls appears to be Brayden’s flavor of the month. She’s sitting next to him wearing his sweatshirt, his arm casually draped over her shoulders. She and the third girl are whispering and giggling.
I’m surprised and happy to see that Matty is here, too. He’s hiding in the corner reading a book, but he’s here.
My brother is in the middle of a heated game of Halo with Edgar. Chips, popcorn, and soda cans are everywhere. I am not cleaning up this shit.
“Hey, you’re here early,” Aiden calls out without looking at me. “You get bored?”
“Yeah,” I respond stepping my way over teenage bodies in order to get to an empty chair. Brayden throws me a can of Coke, and I tap the top. I don’t trust these jokers not to try and give me a bath.
“Oh, come on, Dean. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Brayden laughs.
“Sure you wouldn’t.” I pop the top and lean back. It’s good to be back.
Later, Aiden and I head back to my office to chat. It’s about time to clear the air. I’m barely seated when he starts talking.
“Look, Dean. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it all up again. It’s just really fucking frustrating to watch you isolate yourself.”
“I don’t isolate myself,” I say defensively.
“Yes, you do. You’re twenty-nine years old and single. You should be fucking the shit out of anything with tits. Instead, you’re like a married old dude, except your wife is this house and she doesn’t put out. It’s sad, man.”
“I can get laid whenever I want to.”
