Angel of Redemption

by J. A. Little

  “Yes, you will.” I hang up the phone and shake my head. I can’t believe I just did that. I’m such a fucking tool.

  Chapter 17

  Dean

  “I’m so tired of doing this,” Emily groans, burying her head in her arms on the table.

  “We’ve only got three more left, sugar,” Aiden soothes. “Then we’ll have a nice, new, shiny employee.”

  I roll my eyes. Emily’s right. This whole process is exhausting and tedious. I would have had my dad do it, but he’s not the one who has to actually work with this person. He’d take the one who looked best on paper. Unfortunately, the one who looked best on paper was a total douche.

  “I don’t think any of these people are going to work,” I grumble.

  “Don’t say that. I don’t want to have to do this all over again,” Emily whines.

  “You all want some lunch?” Tracey asks from the doorway. Aiden and Emily both nod affirmatively. Tracey looks at me.

  “I’m going out for lunch,” I say, hoping no one asks me for details. No such luck.

  “You are?” Emily asks. “With who?”

  “I have a business lunch with Kayla,” I mutter.

  “Where are you guys going?”

  “I don’t know. She might just be coming here. We were supposed to meet last week, but she had an emergency court hearing.” I’m trying to play this off as no big deal, but I’m not sure I’m doing a very good job. I can see my brother literally biting his tongue.

  “Okay,” Tracey says, smiling. “Have fun. By the way, Bill’s in the basement working on the water heater, but I think we’re going to need a new one.”

  I frown, but nod. I figured as much. That water heater is only ten years old, but it’s taken a beating.

  “Are we done for now?” Emily asks, looking at me and then at her husband.

  “Yes,” we both answer.

  “Good. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment later, so if I don’t see Kayla, tell her I said hello.”

  “Will do.”

  “Have fun,” Aiden says, smiling cheekily at me. Bastard.

  I sit in my office for a few more minutes before my phone rings. Speak of the devil.

  “You better not be calling to cancel on me,” I warn playfully. “I’ll show up to your office and you will not be able to get rid of me.”

  “Are you trying to get me to cancel?” Kayla teases.

  This feels an awful lot like flirting. Is it okay for friends to flirt? I think it is. I like flirting with her.

  “Kayla.”

  “Oh, calm down,” she laughs. “I’m not calling to cancel. I’m downtown. You want to meet me at The Kitchen?”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “At one o’clock?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  A few hours later, I make my way into downtown Minneapolis. Parking can be a bitch at this time of day, but eventually I find a spot.

  Kayla’s already seated when I get into the restaurant. She stands when she sees me, and I’m nearly bowled over. She looks incredible. I suddenly feel like a scrub in my black button-down and baggy, ratty jeans.

  Kayla has on a black skirt that hits at her knees and a blue sweater. Her hair is pulled back away from her face. And of course, because I’m a freak, I look at her feet—she’s wearing a pair of black, heeled boots. I yank my cap off my head and run my hand through my hair.

  “Well, hello there,” she says, grinning.

  “Hello yourself.” She leans in for a hug and I oblige, trailing my hand from her shoulder blades to the small of her back before letting go.

  Just as I sit down, the waitress appears. She takes our drink orders and then disappears again.

  “I probably should have dressed a little better,” I mumble.

  Kayla frowns at me. “Why? You look fine.”

  “Yeah, but, uh, you look much better than fine.” I glance away quickly and then look back at her amused face.

  “I had court this morning and then a visit.”

  “People are going to think I’m one of your clients.” I don’t know why this bothers me so much. I’ve never really cared what people thought before. My mother does enough of that for all of us.

  “You’re being ridiculous, Dean. I’m the one who’s overdressed. Who gives a shit what they think, anyway? It’s none of their business.” She smiles as me, and suddenly I’m too distracted to care what I look like anymore.

  “How was the rest of your weekend?” I ask.

  “Fine. I had to send my sister back to my mom and stepdad’s. It was harder than I thought it would be.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. She was in tears. She’s stayed with us before, but I’ve never seen her like that when she had to go back. I tried to give her a little freedom, and now I’m not sure it was such a good idea.”

  “She doesn’t get that at home?”

  Kayla scoffs. “My stepdad is a real prick. If he could keep her locked up, he probably would.”

  “She seems like a good kid, though.”

  “She is, but I wasn’t. I think her parents are punishing her for my past bad behavior.”

  “You were a little hellion?” I ask, smirking.

  “Something like that,” Kayla replies quietly, looking over her menu. I do the same while wondering just how much trouble she got into when she was younger. Was it just normal, teenage hijinks? I can’t imagine her getting into serious trouble. And I’m pretty sure she never spent any time in juvie. I have a pretty good eye for that. I frown. If she thinks she was a bad kid, what would she think of the things I’ve done?

  The waitress brings back our drinks and sets them down. “Are you ready to order?” she asks timidly. She glances at me, but when we make eye contact she quickly looks back at Kayla.

  We order our lunch and she leaves us again. Kayla takes a drink of her iced tea and then looks up at me.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You look ticked off. That poor waitress probably thought you were going to bite her.”

  I quickly adjust my expression. “I was just thinking.”

  “About something that made you mad?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “About what, then?”

  I don’t want to tell her what I was really thinking about, so I improvise. “I think Logan has a girlfriend,” I blurt out.

  Kayla’s eyes widen. “Like a girlfriend girlfriend? Or like some girl he’s messing around with? Because he does that a lot. Mess around, I mean.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “I think it’s more than just a fling, though.”

  She furrows her forehead. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “I just… He has so much going on right now. I’m not sure a girlfriend is such a good idea. Maybe I should talk to him about waiting.”

  “Good luck with that one,” I laugh. Kayla groans and leans her head back against the booth. “I’ll talk to him if you want me to, but I don’t think he’s in the mood to listen to me this week.”

  “Why not? What did you do?”

  “So quick to assume it was me?” I ask, feigning insult.

  “No! That’s not…”

  I chuckle. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just teasing you. He snuck out on Saturday night to see said girlfriend.”

  “Oh, shit,” she groans.

  “And he was already on restriction.”

  “What the hell did he do to get put on restriction?” She leans forward and takes a few sips of her drink. I’m distracted by the pursing of her lips as she pulls the liquid through the straw.

  “Dean?”

  I startle, trying to remember what I was saying. “Uh, he came in past curfew on Friday night.”

  “Jesus Christ, Dean,” she growls. “You’ve got to tell me these things.”

  “Sweetheart, if I called the social workers every time one of those jokers got into trouble, I’d have the phone per
manently attached to my ear.”

  She smiles, but then frowns again. “I’m not just another social worker, though.”

  “You’re not?” I ask, smirking.

  “No.” She grins at me. “I’m your friend.”

  “Well,” I say. “You weren’t technically my friend when some of this went down, so…”

  “Shut up,” she giggles.

  “Seriously. If it’s anything big, I promise I’ll call you right away, okay?”

  “Fine,” she huffs. “How’d you find out anyway?”

  “Matty.”

  “Matty?”

  “Yeah. I took him to Costco with me on Sunday, which went well, by the way. I got him to talk to me a little bit.”

  “In more than one- or two-word sentences?”

  “Uh-huh.” I grin. “I think I got at least five or six words in almost every sentence.”

  Kayla chuckles. “Well, that’s an improvement. And he told on Logan?” Her expression suddenly becomes a little pained.

  I nod. “I promised him I wouldn’t rat him out. Logan has no idea.”

  “He’s never done that before, not even to me. Those two are tight. That kind of worries me.”

  “He thinks Logan’s going to leave him. The night we went to dinner, he was sitting on the porch when I got home. I sat down and talked to him a little then, too.”

  “He said that?”

  “Not in so many words, but I know exactly how he feels. I felt the same way when Aiden was getting ready to go to college. He suddenly had no time for me. I haven’t talked to Logan. I don’t know if he’s distancing himself on purpose or what.”

  Kayla nods and looks like she’s in deep thought when our food arrives.

  “Thank you,” she says to the waitress, licking her lips. I watch her tongue and wonder what it would feel like against mine. “Let’s talk,” she says, interrupting my little fantasy.

  “What do you want to talk about?” I ask, picking up my burger and pretending I wasn’t just having dirty thoughts about her tongue.

  “One big thing, remember?”

  I sigh and set my burger down again. “What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with these,” she says quietly, reaching forward and stroking my knuckles.

  “That’s quite a place to start.”

  “They’re visible to everyone.”

  “It’s not like I can hide them. They are what they are.”

  “Tell me,” she murmurs, never taking her eyes off mine. The compassion I see on her face is nearly tangible. Aiden was right. Of all people, she might be able to understand.

  “Did you know I was in prison?” I ask her, my voice low. Kayla looks at me warily and nods her head. “Do you know why?”

  “Sort of,” she admits. “But I’ve learned that the truth is never told completely by others. I want you to tell me.”

  I take a drink of my iced tea in an attempt to wet my suddenly very dry mouth. Kayla continues to run her fingers over my left hand. “I was in Fairbault Correctional for three years,” I begin, setting down my drink. “There’s a sort of caste system inside, except it doesn’t really matter who you were before or where you came from. You have to earn your place. When I first got there, I was really fucking scared. I thought I was tough, but I wasn’t. It took less than two days for me to get into my first fight. I was fresh meat for them. They taunted me, and I practically pissed myself waiting for them to get to me. It was a big guy named Shank.”

  “Shank?” Kayla scoffs. “As in…”

  “Yeah. Original, right? Luckily, he wasn’t trying to kill me. He just beat me to a bloody pulp. I was in the infirmary for a couple days, but then they sent me right back. I could barely move. I had three broken ribs and my face was all busted up.” I’m focusing completely on Kayla’s touch. I don’t know if she realizes just how much it’s comforting me right now. “My cellmate, Leo, took pity on me, which was surprising because he didn’t take pity on anyone. I still don’t know why he did it. He protected me from certain…aspects of prison life.”

  “That really happens?” Kayla gasps. “How can they allow that?”

  “They don’t, officially. But Faribault has more than two thousand inmates. They can’t monitor everything. There are dozens of battles every day. The sex offenders and pedophiles get the worst of it. No one has sympathy for them.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “I still needed to earn my place, though. Leo helped me work out—get stronger so I stood a chance. Eventually, I was able to survive the fights without much more than a black eye and a few scrapes. And then I started winning.” I glance down at where Kayla is still rubbing my knuckles. “Those are my wins.”

  “Is that a lot?”

  “I lost more fights than I won.” I shrug. “But people tend not to pick on you so much once you can beat their shit back.” Kayla puts the thumbnail of her free hand in her mouth. Her eyes are scrunched up as though she’s upset. “Sorry you asked?”

  Her gaze flickers up toward me and softens. “No. I’m just trying to process everything. I mean, it’s one thing to see it in movies, but to hear someone who’s experienced it is a little surreal.”

  “Yeah, well, it was a little surreal being nineteen and locked up with a bunch of hardened criminals, too.” I realize quickly how harsh my words sound. “Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.”

  “It’s okay,” she says quietly. Kayla pushes my shirt up a little, revealing the bottom of my ink. She tilts her head and peers up at me. She wants to know about the rest, but I’m not ready for that. Not yet.

  “Maybe we can leave those for another day,” I suggest. She nods, and the smile she gives me makes my stomach drop. I really am a fucking pussy.

  We finish our meals without any more discussion about our pasts. Instead, we talk about Matty and Logan. Despite Logan’s little act of defiance, he’s doing well. Kayla says his teachers report that he’s adjusting better than expected and his grades are good so far. His counselor even mentioned that he asked her for some brochures on local colleges.

  Matty, on the other hand, is not adjusting well. His counselor thinks he needs more structure—educational goals laid out for him in smaller steps so he can see his progress. On the plus side, I think he’s beginning to trust me—at least somewhat. Kayla must think so, too, because she starts explaining what she does when he panics. When we’re done I pay the bill, much to her chagrin.

  “It’s a business expense,” I say, stealing the leather check folder and tucking my credit card inside.

  Back at the house, Kayla grabs Logan and sits down at the dining room table. I listen for a second as she talks to him about sneaking out. He’s still defiant, but he apologizes anyway. Kayla doesn’t linger on the topic. She quickly moves on to his Independent Living study. Emily stops in and offers to take him to the bank to open an account on Saturday morning. I head back to my office as they continue talking. I figure it’s time for me to stop eavesdropping when they start discussing detailed steps, goals, and plans. I’ll need to know, but Kayla can go over it with me later.

  My dad calls while they’re deep into their session, and I’m still on the phone when Kayla pops her head in and waves good-bye. I want to see her out, but I can’t. My dad is going on and on about some big-time donor he met with this morning. I’m not really listening to him. I can’t stand talking about money, but I can’t just tell him to fuck off, either.

  “My dad,” I mouth at her.

  “Ah,” she mouths back with a nod and a smile. It’s her smile I think about as my dad continues rambling on.

  * * *

  Oh, God. It hurts. What happened? Gage? Ow. Pain. Pain. Pain. Blood. Screaming. It hurts. Make it stop. Make her stop. I don’t want to see this. Please, God, I don’t want to see this. Her face. Her eyes. Crying. I can’t move. I can’t help her. Where’s Gage? What’s that smell? I can’t do anything. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  I bolt straight up in bed, sweat dripping down my temp
le and back. Fuck. I hate that dream. At least her face didn’t morph into Kayla’s this time. It’s horrible to think, but it’s true. I know what I did to her—to them. But when she turns into someone else, someone I really care about, I can’t handle it.

  I scrub my hands over my face, trying to make the lingering images go away. For years the figure changed into my mom, and then it became Steph. Sometimes it’s Emily, but most recently it’s been Kayla.

  It’s still dark out, and I don’t really want to get out of bed, but there’s no way I can go back to sleep. I feel like shit. My arms ache, but that’s not new—I’m used to the phantom pains. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I look down, staring at my blemished skin. The scars aren’t as bad as they could be. My father made sure that only the best plastic surgeons worked on Gage and me. But it’s never mattered. It’s the memories that come along with the scars that make them ugly.

  Gage.

  I haven’t talked to him in ages. I hope he’s doing okay. I should check in on him, but I’m a chickenshit. I can’t face him when he’s out of control. It’s my fault he ended up like he did. If I had just listened to him, none of it would have happened. I’ve got to call him. I will. Today. Or maybe tomorrow.

  Chapter 18

  Dean

  Aiden, Emily, and I finally decide on one candidate. His name is Simon Waterford. He’s thirty-four years old with degrees in sociology and juvenile justice. He went into the military when he was eighteen and served four years. When he got out, he went to college and has spent the last eight years working at two juvenile detention centers in Portland and Denver.

  I’m wary of him, though. He’s too arrogant for my tastes, but his references said he did his job well. Three out of his four shifts will be overnight anyway, so after his training is complete, I’ll have very little interaction with him. He starts on Monday and his training is expected to take about two weeks.

  I’m not sure how I feel about having more nights to myself. My parents think this is a fantastic idea, but I’m beginning to wonder if they know what a loner I really am. It’s great for Aiden and Emily because Aiden will only have one overnight shift, and Emily won’t have any. They can spend almost every night with each other and their kids. I, on the other hand, will go home to my empty apartment and probably get fucked up in a piss-poor attempt to keep myself from having nightmares.