by J. A. Little
“I won’t let him,” I assure. “He’s finally doing well, Kate. Please?”
“I know you are fully capable of doing your job, but I can’t risk it. I’m sorry. We can try to keep him in the unit, but his case needs to be transferred.”
I don’t know what to say, so I wordlessly stand up and walk out of her office. I’m not mad at Kate. It’s her job to make sure the rules are followed. I am, however, devastated for Matty and for myself. And I’m once again furious at Logan and Claire.
“Fuck!” I groan, flopping down into my chair at my desk.
“What’s the matter, mi amor?” Warren asks.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble. He stands up and moves behind me. His strong hands find a place on my shoulders and he begins massaging. “Ohhhhh,” I moan loudly.
“Does that feel good?” he purrs in my ear.
“So good. Don’t stop. Ugh.”
“I’m gonna have to stop if you keep making those sounds. You’re giving me wood,” he teases. I giggle and drop my head so he has better access to my neck. I can’t help the sounds that come out of me, but Warren doesn’t stop. He doesn’t ask me what’s happening either, which I appreciate. After ten wonderful, glorious minutes, Warren bends down. “I’ve got paperwork to do,” he whispers. I whine and grasp his wrist to let him know just how much I love him. I miss Warren. We haven’t hung out in awhile. “Want to party this weekend?” he asks, apparently thinking the same thing I am.
“Yeah. I really do,” I admit.
“No SOs. Just you, me, and Sara. Although I’d love to see that man of yours move in a gyrating sort of way some day.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, grinning. I snort and push him away. I still feel like shit, but I feel a little less like shit than I did twenty minutes ago. That’s progress, right?
Chapter 52
Kayla
The rest of my day is filled with phone calls and meetings. Dana is taking Matty’s case. In return, she’s giving me two-year-old Garrett Turkins. Garrett’s mother, Lizzie, is a twenty-one-year-old former foster child who aged out of Dana’s caseload a few years ago. Now she’s back as an offending parent. Garrett was born addicted to heroin. Lizzie goes to court every six months, agrees to the permanence plan, plays the societal victim, and gets another chance. She does fine in the beginning, but as time passes, she pushes her limits and does the bare minimum required, stops showing up for parenting classes and visits, then fucks off completely until the week before the next court date. Then it starts all over. I really don’t want to play any games with her. Luckily there’s a meeting next month to determine whether or not we should move forward with termination of parental rights. Kate thinks Lizzie isn’t responding to Dana in any way, shape, or form. She’s hoping I will be able to finally get some permanence for Garrett one way or another.
Sara is in and out of the office all day. She brings me lunch and asks how I’m doing. I tell her I’m fine, and I am as long as I don’t think about the situation with Claire and Logan. When I do, I start to get sick to my stomach.
Dean texts me half a dozen times and calls twice. He says he’s just bored, but I think he’s worried about me, too. I’m heading over there at four thirty to talk to Logan about discharging from care. It shouldn’t take too long once we submit the paperwork. Claire calls to tell me her parents are on day shifts tomorrow, so they’ll both be home by eight.
Dana, Kate, and I have decided that since I’ve already done Matty’s monthly visit, it might be better not to tell him that I have to step down as his worker right away. He needs time to adjust to what’s happening before we hit him with that kind of blow.
At four thirty on the dot, I pull up in front of Wyatt House. Dean is sitting on the front porch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands folded between his legs. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt and holey jeans. His head is wet and his feet, bare.
“Hi,” he says, standing up.
“Shower?”
He runs his hand over his head. “Yeah. Logan and I were sparring.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“It’s good therapy. He got a few good jabs in there.”
I scan my eyes over him and notice a slight cut on the corner of his mouth. I reach for it. “He actually hit you?” Dean shrugs. “Did you hit him?”
“No.” He laughs. “I tap. It’s their therapy, not mine.”
I hum, stepping closer. “Did you sort things out?”
“We’re getting there. He’s still mad.”
“He’s being ridiculous.”
“He loves you, Kayla,” Dean says quietly. “He was already having a hard time with aging out—not having anyone care about where he is or what he’s doing. He thinks you’re gonna abandon him.”
I consider what he’s saying. Several of my kids who have aged out have gone through some sort of grieving process. It’s natural, especially for those who have grown up in the system. And I’ve found myself in much more of a parental role with Logan and Matty—I’ve spent so much time with them due to Logan’s behavioral issues.
I roll my eyes. I get it, I do, but I’m still angry. It’s hard for me to be sympathetic right now. “Yeah, well, he has a funny way of showing me just how much he cares.”
“Hey. No drama, right?” Dean pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are we still on for tonight?” he asks quietly.
“If you’re not too tired from your fight.”
“I’ll try to stay awake.” He grins.
“You do that.” As I walk past him, he grabs my hand and squeezes. I glance down at our fingers and then back up into his shining green eyes. How is it possible that he knows exactly what I need and when I need it? Heading inside, I find the house eerily quiet. “Where is everybody?”
“Brayden’s at work. Aiden took Curtis, Edgar, and Eric to the rec center. Logan’s probably upstairs getting cleaned up,” Dean answers, and then points to the dining room where Matty is focusing hard on a book and writing notes down on a piece of paper.
“Whatcha doin’?” I ask, leaving Dean in the door and making my way to Matty.
He looks up at me. “I have my biology final tomorrow.”
“Are you feeling pretty good about it?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. If I can get an A, I’ll get a B in the class.” Considering he had a D in biology when I transferred him, this is amazing news.
“That’s fantastic. How do you think your other grades are going?”
He blows out a puff of air through his mouth and sets his pen down. “I don’t want to move, Kayla. I don’t care what he did this time.”
“You’re happy here?”
“Yeah. Here and at school. I have friends for the first time in my life. Dean, Aiden, Emily…they treat me like I’m family, not some invader or charity case.”
It makes me feel good to hear him say this. Matty has spent the last seven years taking a backseat to Logan. He’s not once stated what he wants, not even to me. This is a different child than the one I brought here over three months ago. And I have Dean to thank for that.
“You don’t have to leave, Matty. But…Logan does.”
“What did he do?”
“I got Claire pregnant,” Logan says, walking into the room with an apple in his hand. Matty’s eyes go wide, and his mouth drops. He looks from Logan to me.
“Uh… Huh?”
“A baby, Matty. I made a baby with Kayla’s little sister.”
I grimace. Logan’s still trying to get to me, telling the truth in blunt comments he knows are going to bother me.
“What are you gonna do?” Matty asks, his voice squeaking.
I don’t give Logan the chance for another bite. “I’m discharging him from care,” I answer for him. “That way I can help without having a professional conflict. Emily is working on an apartment that’s close by. He’s going to work and take care of his responsibilities like the adult he keeps telling us he is.”
Logan grumbles under his
breath. I ignore him. Matty doesn’t say much after that. He listens while I talk to Logan about the process and procedures of discharging.
We don’t talk about Claire. I’m a little worried about what Richard will do when they tell him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he demands she have an abortion and then tries to send her away. That’s not what she wants, though, and I’m going to advocate for her as much as I can. I haven’t really thought about how far I will take it, but I’m not going to let Claire fall victim to her father’s misogynistic control issues.
After Logan leaves, I say good-bye to Matty and ruffle his hair. “It’ll all be okay, Matty,” I soothe. “No matter what happens, you’ve got a lot of people who love you. Good luck on your test.”
“Thanks,” he says, returning to his book. I head toward the front door and find Dean sitting at Emily’s desk. He’s on the phone, but covers the mouthpiece.
“We’re all set for tomorrow night. I’m gonna go,” I whisper.
“I’ll be right behind you.” He winks and returns to whomever is on the other line. I turn around and see Matty standing at the bottom of the stairs watching us. He looks intrigued.
“See you later, Kayla.” He smiles and is up the stairs before I can respond.
* * *
Dean is on my doorstep about an hour and a half later wearing a pair of black slacks and a blue button-down.
“I thought I said you didn’t have to dress up,” I say, pulling him inside.
He shrugs. “And I thought I told you we could go somewhere nice.” I look down at my dress. It’s a simple cotton wrap dress with short sleeves. “You look gorgeous,” he assures, wrapping his arm around my back and kissing me while walking me backward. “I’ve had a really hard day.”
My back hits the wall and Dean is everywhere. His tongue and lips roll over my collarbone. His hand slides up from my knee, lifting the hem of my skirt. It moves up to the back of my thigh and he pulls my leg up so that it’s sort of wrapped around him. He grinds himself into me and I can feel his dick, hard and ready. A part of me wants to stop him, but I can’t because my eyes are rolling back in my head and the words won’t form in my mouth. There’s a reason he should stop, though. I just can’t remember…
“Ugh. I so did not need to see that,” Andy grumbles.
Oh, yeah. That’s why.
Dean halts his movements, and we both look over just as Andy is turning away.
“Sorry, man,” he laughs. “Didn’t know you were here.”
“Obviously.”
I smile and twist out of Dean’s grasp so I can grab my jacket. We say good-bye to my brother, who looks both irritated and amused, if that’s possible, and walk to the car.
“Can I have a rain check on whatever that was in there?” I ask as he opens the car door. Without a word, Dean pushes me up against the car, and it’s almost as though we were never interrupted. Except the chilly breeze that hits when he moves my underwear aside reminds me that we’re standing in my driveway and it’s still light out.
“Jesus, Dean,” I yelp. “I didn’t mean right now.”
He chuckles and pulls away. “You said rain check. Which means later. It’s later.” He adjusts himself and motions for me to get into the car with an amused grin. Cheeky bastard.
When we arrive at the restaurant—a little Indian place in the center of the city—Dean escorts me in. We’re seated in a quiet nook and order a bottle of wine, which I taste and approve before the waiter fills our glasses. As we begin eating, I can’t help but think about how normal it feels to be sitting here with him. I can almost forget the trauma of the last few days, weeks, months. We talk about trivial things, like where in the world we’ve been or would love to go. We talk about our childhoods, though I don’t say much about the time after my mom and stepdad were married. Dean notices.
“Richard is a real piece of work, isn’t he?”
“Yep. He is.”
“It’s almost kismet that his daughter ended up pregnant.”
“If it wasn’t Claire, I would totally agree with you, but this whole situation devastates me.”
Dean grabs my hand across the table. “Logan isn’t the first Wyatt House kid to get his girlfriend pregnant, Kayla. A few had kids out there when we got them. It’s not ideal, but at least he seems willing to step up. I had one kid a few years ago who had multiple paternity suits against him at the same time. He refused to even acknowledge that he’d slept with any of the girls.”
“What happened?”
Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. He ended up running away.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Dean,” I sigh. “Let’s go back to talking about vacations.”
“All right,” he agrees. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere with a beach. Or a cabin in the middle of the woods. Somewhere I can check out completely.”
“Alone?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.
I grin. “I might bring someone to relieve my stress.”
“You mean like Mr. Big?”
“How do you know about that?” I gasp. When an older couple turns toward me, I lower my voice. “How do you know about Mr. Big?”
“Hmm. Okay,” he says, obviously trying not to laugh. I’m not finding this as funny. “Uh, do you remember a few months ago when you called me while you were drunk?”
“Yeah,” I answer slowly.
“When you asked me to come over, I told you you’d regret it in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Um, you sort of told me you hadn’t had sex with anyone other than Mr. Big in a long time.” I must look like a dead fish with my mouth hanging open the way it is—a bright-red, dead fish. My face is flaming. “I got a little jealous and asked who Mr. Big was.”
I close my eyes and shake my head back and forth. I’m positively mortified. I am never drinking again. I am—wait.
“You got jealous?”
He smirks, but it’s not his typical cocky smirk. It’s more like a shy, embarrassed one.
“A little. Can we talk about this some other time?” he asks, shoving a forkful of chicken tikka into his mouth.
“I guess so.” I frown, but I’m not mad. I’m still highly embarrassed. There’s a glint in his eye. Why do I get the feeling I might be in trouble?
* * *
I’m definitely in trouble. By the time we get back to my place, Dean is all over me again. I can’t even get the key in the lock because his mouth is on the back of my neck, his hands caressing my breasts through my dress.
“Dean,” I plead. “Wait a minute.”
“Why?”
“Let me at least get the door open.”
He does, and I do—barely. I stumble in front of him while he strips my clothes from my body. We reach my bedroom, and all I have left on is my underwear. They quickly disappear when Dean falls to his knees and pulls them down my legs.
“You’re awfully eager,” I giggle.
“I want you so fucking bad,” he moans, kissing my belly and standing up.
After removing the rest of his clothes, Dean lifts me up easily. His hands find a place between my ass and my thighs and his mouth never leaves mine. I barely get my legs around him before he’s lowering me onto him. The feel of him sliding into me, filling me—I’ll never get enough.
“Jesus,” I gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders for support.
“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmurs while his mouth trails down my neck. “Just let me do the work.” He raises me up and lets me back down slowly. Holy shit. Gravity pushes him deep inside me. “Fuck!” he breathes. His head rests against my shoulder for a second while my body adjusts to him.
I tighten my legs, digging my feet into the backs of his thighs and lifting myself off him again. He gets the hint and begins moving me up and down his cock. Each time, I feel like I’m going to explode. Dean is in absolute control, though. The way he’s holding me won’t allow enough friction to build up, and, no matter how hard I try, I can’t do it
myself.
“What are you doing to me?” I beg, panting as little drops of sweat start falling down the back of my neck.
“Making it better,” he responds.
“Uh,” I whimper-whine. “Oh, God, Dean. Just let me come, please.”
He laughs, and I sort of want to smack him. He’s toying with me. If I weren’t so desperate for relief, I’d hop down and leave him hanging.
“Am I better than Mr. Big?” he asks in a low, seductive voice.
“Is that what this is about?” I ask in disbelief. “Yes, okay? A bazillion times better. Please stop being so mean to me.”
He must take pity on me because all of a sudden, my breasts are pressed firmly against his chest, and I’m bouncing up and down roughly.
“Shit!” he growls. His teeth clench, and he comes violently. Fortunately, I’m there, too. After laying me on the bed, he collapses on top of me. “Well, that motherfucking backfired,” he snorts.
“You’re an asshole!” I say, trying to push him off.
He props himself up on his hands, hovering over me. “You love it,” he teases, pulling out of me slowly.
We get ready for bed, neither one bothering with pajamas. Dean has two pairs of sleep pants he keeps in my drawers, which are really his drawers now.
“Are you feeling any better?” he whispers in my ear as we lie together, his arms around me, his fingers rubbing up and down my belly.
“Yes. Thank you,” I say softly. “I’m still scared, though. I’m scared for Claire. I’m scared for Logan. I’m scared for Matty.”
“Don’t worry about Matty, Kayla. We’ll take care of him. Let Logan take care of himself. Focus on Claire.”
“I know. I’m trying.”
I fall asleep shortly after. I’m not sure what time it is when I wake to the feel of Dean’s hand between my legs and his tongue swirling around my nipple, but it’s still dark out. Once he realizes I’m awake, he climbs on top of me and nudges my legs apart with his knee. He leans down and kisses my mouth at the same moment he slides into me. I arch my back a little and inhale through my nose. It feels incredible.
