by J. A. Little
But Kayla’s not a junkie. She was a rebellious teenager trying to find a way to make the pain go away. Rationally, I know that. And the farther away from her I get, the more I feel like a complete dipshit. Kayla is not Stephanie.
I pull into the driveway at Wyatt House, thinking I’ll call Kayla to apologize, but I’m immediately distracted. The second I open the door to Wyatt House, I know something’s wrong.
I follow the sound of voices to the den.
“Let me go!” Curtis shrieks.
“Fuck you, motherfucker!”
Jax and Curtis are at each other’s throats. Aiden and Bray are trying to pull them apart, but they keep throwing wild punches and spitting. Clothes are torn and blood is dripping from Curtis’ mouth. Jax’s eye is already swelling up. Aiden turns to me just long enough to tell me to hold off. He’s trying to get ahold of the situation; throwing me in there may just make things worse.
“I told you not to touch my fucking girl, Curt,” Jax roars.
“She came on to me, asshole. Maybe you just aren’t doing it for her anymore.”
Jax breaks free from Aiden and launches himself at Curtis. Brayden loses his balance and both he and Curtis tumble to the ground with Jax on top of them. Brayden gets an elbow to the face, and I can no longer just stand here watching. If more boys start fighting, there’s no telling how bad this will get.
Aiden and I go for Jax, pulling him backward as Brayden regains his footing, grabbing Curtis before he can attempt to go after his foster brother.
“KNOCK IT OFF!” I shout. Curtis stops right away, but Jax is still screaming profanities.
“You!” I point to Curtis. “Get your butt upstairs and stay there.”
“I wouldn’t go to sleep tonight if I were you!” Jax spits. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
Goddammit. A fight is one thing. We can handle a fight, but a threat like that? There’s no turning back.
“Jaxon James, shut your mouth!” I shout. Jax’s face is defiant and angry until he realizes I’ve just used his full name. Suddenly, the fight goes out of him and we’re practically dragging him down the hallway to my office. “Sit down!” Jax collapses into a chair and covers his head with his hands.
“He fucked my girl,” he sobs. “I love her and he just—”
“Okay, wait,” Aiden stops him. “How do you know this?”
I walk to the filing cabinet and grab the forms I need.
“Her sister told me. She just fucking called and said that Tia told her last night that she screwed Curtis in the girls’ bathroom between fourth and fifth period on Friday.”
I shake my head. This is un-fucking-believable.
“Did you talk to Tia?” my brother asks.
“No. I just… I just reacted.”
I take a deep, frustrated breath and hand Aiden the incident report form.
“Jax.”
“Don’t. Please, don’t,” he begs. He no longer looks like the tough teenager who struts around this house like he owns it. Now he looks like the lost kid he was when he showed up.
“We don’t have a choice,” Aiden sighs. “You threatened to kill him, Jax.”
“But I didn’t mean it.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t stay.”
“W-well, where am I gonna go?”
“We don’t know. That’s not up to us.”
“You’re just going to throw me out?”
“No,” I say sadly. “We’re going to call your worker. She’s going to have to find you a new placement.”
“Come on. I only have six months ‘til I’m eighteen. They’re going to send me to an RTC.”
I flip through the Rolodex on the desk and pick up the house phone. I don’t have a cellphone number for Jax’s caseworker. She’s never given it to us. I don’t have any other choice but to call the emergency line, and I know that one by memory.
“DHS, this is Roberta,” a voice on the other end answers. I explain to Roberta what’s happened. “I’ll send someone out to pick him up right away,” she says emotionlessly.
“Is there any way you can get ahold of his caseworker, Frances Williams?” I ask, knowing it’s a long shot.
“No, sir. Our caseworkers aren’t required to be on duty over the weekend. That’s what the emergency line is for.”
“So you want me to send a child who’s lived here for three years away with a person neither he nor we know?”
“The on-call caseworker will have the appropriate identification, sir.”
I wish I could take back the last hour. If I had been here, maybe I would have been able to put a stop to things before they got out of hand. Unfortunately, I was…distracted.
“Fine.” I hang up the phone without saying good-bye. I’m pissed. “You need to go upstairs and pack your things,” I say quietly. Jax looks absolutely shell-shocked. He’s trembling and pale.
“I’ll fucking kill myself. If you make me leave, I’ll do it.”
I run my hand over my face. He’s only making it worse. I’m required to report any threats to others or himself. If I don’t and he does something, I’ll be in a shitload of trouble and Wyatt House could lose its license. Now Aiden or I have to be with him every second until we hand him over to the DHS worker. His threats have almost guaranteed that he’ll end up in an RTC. The worker has to disclose them to the new placement, and no regular home will want to take the risk. Maybe a therapeutic foster home will, but it’s doubtful. Aiden escorts Jax upstairs to gather his things while I finish up the report.
It’s almost an hour and a half before the caseworker shows up. Her name’s April. I don’t like her. I have a short-sleeved shirt on and she’s staring at me like I’m some sort of fucking leper. I let Aiden deal with her.
Jax has gone from disbelief to intense anger. He’s refusing to even look at us. The rest of the kids are staying out of the way. None of them like this. Jax is a part of this family. Watching him go hurts all of us. Curtis is afraid to even come out of his room. Emily dropped her kids off with my parents and is on her way. I’ll send her up to talk to Curtis when she gets here. She’s good at that kind of stuff.
“Can you avoid an RTC?” I ask April.
Her face wrinkles in confusion, like I shouldn’t be asking the question. “I don’t know where he’ll go, but he’s in no condition to go to a regular foster home. Other people’s safety would be at risk.”
I want to tell her that he’s not a danger to anyone, but I can’t. I think right now Jax is only a risk to himself.
Emily shows up just as Jax is getting into the car. She hugs him tightly despite the caseworker’s warnings. I don’t actually hear her, but when I read her lips, I can see she’s telling him he’ll be okay.
“What the hell is going on in this house?” she barks, slamming the door. I think it’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t answer. I walk past her and lock myself in my office. I rest both hands on the outside edge of my desk, but they don’t stay there long.
“FUCK!” I yell, picking up the first thing I can get my hands on and hurling it across the room. It slams into a photo on the wall, shattering glass everywhere. I don’t give a shit.
For the rest of the afternoon, the house is fairly quiet. The boys don’t argue when I ask them to bring their bed sheets down and wash them. They straighten up their rooms, clean the bathrooms, and vacuum the carpeted areas. Meanwhile, Emily talks to Curtis.
“It’s not the first time she’s initiated something,” she sighs as she recounts the conversation to me. “He says she’s been trying for weeks, and he finally gave in.”
I want to slap that kid across the head. How could he not know this would happen?
“This shit starts younger and younger every year,” I sigh.
“Yep.” Emily nods. “How’d coffee with Kayla go, by the way?”
I wince, remembering the disastrous coffee date.
“Okay, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt this time since last time I jumped to conclu
sions. What happened?”
“I think I fucked up.”
“Again?” she moans. “I don’t need the details, Dean, but what did you do?”
“I just got all freaked out and… I don’t know.”
Emily looks annoyed. “You better fix it, then. I like her.”
“I will,” I promise. And I will. But first I have to make dinner and calm down my house. Jax’s departure is going to ruffle some feathers.
Some of the boys are more upset than others—I think it has to do with their different attachment issues. I spend all evening with them, watching for signs of emotional distress and trying to keep them focused on anything other than the loss of their foster brother. It’s going to be a long night.
* * *
First thing Monday morning, Simon shows up for his training. He walks right in without knocking just as the boys are getting their things together for school. Several of the boys tense up. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Not a good first impression.
I make quick introductions simply to settle things down before I throw them all out to go to school. I count six boys and then recount before remembering sadly that Jax is no longer here. I give Simon a tour of the main living areas and then head upstairs, pointing out each of the boys’ rooms.
“There aren’t any locks on the doors, but we allow them their privacy whenever possible.”
“I’m assuming you do random checks, though, right?” Simon questions.
“No. Not unless we have reason to suspect they’re holding. Why?”
“They’re always holding, Dean. How long have you been doing this?”
I stare at him long enough for him to get uncomfortable. I’m not answering that fucking douchebag question. He looks away, and we head downstairs. I show him into my brother’s office, which will become his. Aiden’s got boxes of things packed up. He’s decided to just move his shit into Emily’s office since they’re used to sharing space anyway. Whatever doesn’t fit, he’ll take home.
“What’s all this crap?” Simon asks, opening up one of the boxes and peering in. I slam my hand down on top of it.
“That crap belongs to my brother—your boss. He’s busy running this place, so he’ll move it when he gets around to it.”
This guy is not going to last long if he keeps this up. I already don’t like him, and I will personally kick his ass out of this house if I have to. After my outburst, he seems to chill a little. I spend most of the day going over the rules and regulations and what to do in the case of an emergency. I also talk to him about what happened with Jax. We eat lunch and then go over the basics of working with the DHS caseworkers.
“Are there any hot ones?” he laughs. “I cannot seem to meet a good woman who knows how to lick my stick properly.”
I shrug, even though what I really want to do is punch his fucking face in. Who the hell walks into their new job and talks to their boss like that? I may not hold the position Aiden does, but I’m still above this douchebag, and I am not his friend.
I’m also irritated because there is a hot social worker on my mind these days, and the idea of Simon getting anywhere near her makes me want to fire him on the spot. Thinking of Kayla reminds me that I still haven’t called her. The longer I wait, the more I worry about what I’m going to say. I need something professional to talk to her about, just to start things off, but Matty and Logan are behaving. I’ve got nothing.
Simon stays for a couple hours after the boys get home from school. I show him the homework and dinner routine. He tries to joke around with the boys, but he’s too forward with them and they don’t like it. I make a serious attempt to hide my contempt for the guy, but I know they sense it. He eats dinner with us before leaving for the night.
“I don’t like him, D,” Brayden says, sitting down in the chair in front of my desk.
“Give him time,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Maybe he’s one of those guys you just have to get to know.”
“He’s a fucking douche.” I don’t disagree, but I don’t tell Brayden that.
“Didn’t you think the same thing about me?” I look up at him and grin.
“No.” He smirks. “I knew you were a douche.” I laugh and throw my stress ball at him. He catches it easily and squeezes it. “Seriously, though. You think he’s okay?”
I dodge the question. “I think it’s going to be hard to have someone new in here no matter who it is. Give him a shot.” I’m talking to myself as well—but it physically pains me to say it.
* * *
I honestly hoped Simon would decide not to come in on Tuesday morning, but I’m sorely disappointed. Emily deals with him for the first hour so I can go to church, but when I get back, I have to spend another day with the guy going over procedures, including what to do if a placement call comes in the middle of the night. Word will get around that we have an opening, and I’m sure it won’t be long. During the day, if he has any questions, he can call us, but none of us want to be woken up at two in the morning on our nights off.
Tuesday night, I’m off duty. I stay as late as I can at Wyatt House, but eventually, Aiden pushes me out the door.
“Either you go home, or I will,” he demands. “I’m not going to be away from my wife and kids if I don’t need to be.”
“I’m going,” I grumble.
I head out around nine thirty, stopping by the 7-Eleven to pick up a bag of chips, a bottle of Coke, and a box of Pop-Tarts—staples of my bachelor diet.
I finally make it back to my empty apartment and settle down in front of the TV with my snacks. I’m trying to distract myself. Brayden was right: I am a douche. I should have called Kayla two days ago, but I’m even more clueless about what to say than I was before. Looks like I’m in for a long, lonely night.
Chapter 21
Kayla
I’m completely frustrated by the enigma that is Dean Wyatt. He says he wants to be friends and yet when he looks at me, it feels like he’s begging for more. More of what, I don’t know. He lets me in just a little bit and then pushes me back out again. I realize we haven’t known each other very long, but I want him to trust me. I don’t think he does. When I was telling my story, I saw his jaw tense. His whole body language changed. I think something very bad happened to that man.
I can’t explain what I feel when we touch. There’s a pull between us that we’re both fighting. I don’t want to fight it anymore, though. I want to touch him—to feel him. I want him to feel me. I’ve never ached to have someone’s arms around me, and yet that is exactly what happens every time I’m close to him. He has so many secrets and I’m dying to find out what they are—not out of nosiness, but because I know they’ve made him who he is. Despite what he thinks of himself and the way he presents himself in public, I’ve seen glimpses of the man underneath. The man who cares so much for the kids he’s entrusted to take care of—who goes out of his way to make sure they become something other than what society tells them they’ll be. The man who goes and has a look-a-like doll made for his niece because he knows she’ll love it.
But now I’m worried I’ll never see that man again. I want him to call or text—something to show me we’re still okay. That we’re still…friends.
* * *
A couple days after my coffeehouse confession, I arrive home from work to an empty house. It’s been one of those busy days without time to think about anything other than work, which is a good thing because I haven’t had time to dwell on just how much I want to talk to Dean.
I change out of my work clothes and pour myself a glass of wine. I’m just getting comfortable, curling up to watch some TV, when my phone rings. I know better than to get my hopes up, but I do anyway, only to be disappointed when I look down at the screen. Wonderful.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer. “What can I do for you?”
“Richard and I have been trying to reach Claire on her cellphone, but she’s not picking up. Can I speak with her?”
“Uh…” My brain is trying to pr
ocess why my mother is asking me to talk to Claire. “Why are you asking me?”
“No need for that tone of voice. My Lord. I just want to speak to my daughter.”
Ouch.
“You are speaking to your daughter,” I say flatly.
“Oh, you know what I mean.” She tsks, brushing me off like she always does.
“Well, Claire isn’t here, so you’re out of luck,” I bite. I am quickly losing patience with this woman.
“What? Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t it your job to keep track of her? You know, as her mother?”
“She told us she would be spending the evening with you and Andy doing some social charity project for school.”
Oh, shit! My little sister’s been telling fibs. Without knowing what the hell is going on, I err on the side of covering for her.
“I don’t know, Mom. Andy isn’t home. If Claire said she’s working on a project, she’s probably with him.”
“Well, can I have his cellphone number?”
“I’m not authorized to give that out,” I say, sounding like I’m talking to a client. “I’ll call and have him tell Claire you’re looking for her, okay?”
My mother huffs a few times, but I don’t care. The only thing I can think about right now is finding my sister and seeing what she’s up to. After I hang up with my mom, I call Claire’s cellphone. She immediately picks up. Clearly, she’s screening her calls.
“Hi, Kayla,” she says as a greeting. Her voice is cautious.
