by J. A. Little
“There’s another issue.” I grimace. If Headmistress Iverson is going to advocate for Claire, she needs to know the situation.
“And what is that?”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “She’s pregnant.”
Her mouth drops a little before she catches herself. “Oh. My.”
“She’s due in December.”
“Okay. Uh, well. Let me look…” She flips through Claire’s file and then looks back up at me. “Are you planning to have her in classes in the fall?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I respond. “I’m new to all this. I want her to graduate. I want her to have a chance at a future and I’m scared that if she drops out now, she’ll never go back.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Brooks. We rarely have pregnant students here. It’s difficult for them and most end up withdrawing. I’m not saying Claire can’t enroll, but it’s not going to be easy for her.”
“What are her alternatives?”
“She only needs six classes to meet graduation requirements. If we can resolve the financial obligations with the board, she might be able to take some classes over the summer and then the remaining by correspondence in the fall.”
“I’ll talk to her tonight.”
“And I’ll address the board. We have one more meeting next week before we break for the summer, so I should have an answer for you soon.”
“I appreciate anything you can do for her. Thank you.” I stand up and shake her hand before leaving.
The hallways are empty; all the kids are in class. This place holds a lot of memories for me. Good ones and bad ones. Sometimes I wonder what happened to all those kids who got numb with me every weekend. It seems like a lifetime ago that we swapped cash for pills in the halls. I wouldn’t change anything because it all made me who I am, but I thank God I escaped.
* * *
When I finally arrive at my office after visiting one of my little ones in her foster home, I sit down just long enough to take a breath before my phone rings. I almost don’t answer it, but then I feel guilty.
“DHS, this is Kayla Brooks.”
“Hey, Kayla, it’s Jasmine.” Claire’s social worker’s voice is cheerful. Of course it is. She’s one of the most cheerful people I’ve ever met.
“Hi, Jasmine. What’s up?”
“I was talking with another worker in my unit about Claire’s case, and she mentioned a program that one of her girls is doing. I thought it would be perfect for Claire.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a retreat for pregnant teenagers. I’ll email you the website, but essentially a group of female psychologists, social workers, and nurses takes a group of twenty-five pregnant girls from all over the state to a campground up near Itasca State Park. They talk about everything from the basics of pregnancy and childbirth to their hopes, fears, the fathers, their family lives. Girls who have been through the program come out to talk about what life is like for them after they’ve had their babies. From what I hear, it’s a wonderful experience for these girls.”
“When is it?”
“It’s this weekend.”
“This weekend?” I choke.
“I’m sorry, but I just found out. I called and they have one more spot available. I took it as a sign. This is perfect for Claire. There are girls from every social background and it’s a non-profit, so it’s free. Everyone is a volunteer.”
“I don’t know, Jasmine. I’ll have to ask her.”
“Please do. I signed her up, but told them I would have a definite answer for them by tomorrow. They’ll pick the girls up from the YMCA at five o’clock on Friday night and bring them home by five on Monday. It’s only seventy-two hours, Kayla.”
“I’ll talk to her tonight.” One more thing to add to my list.
“Thank you. Okay, I’ll talk to you later then.”
“Oh, hey, uh, what’s going on with Richard and my mom?”
Jasmine pauses. “I can’t really get into it. I’m sorry. Just know that it doesn’t look like Claire is going home any time soon.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay. Thanks. Bye.”
The rest of my day is as busy as the morning. Dean and I talk a couple times, but only for about ten minutes. And before I know it, I’m pulling into my driveway. At dinner, I mention the weekend.
“That sounds kinda cool,” Claire says, poking her fork into her chicken.
“Really?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, sure. I’ll go. Might be interesting to hear what other girls are going through. Plus, I’ve never been camping before.”
I smile at her. “Okay, I’ll let Jasmine know. By the way, I spoke to Headmistress Iverson today. Your dad called her. He’s pulling your tuition.”
“Figures,” she groans. “So, what? I’m going to have to go to public school next year?”
“She’s going to talk to the board about a scholarship so you can finish, but she was thinking it might be better to take summer classes and then correspondence in the fall.”
“That’s an option?”
“It might be. We’ll talk about it next week, okay?”
She nods. “Okay.”
* * *
“Logan’s graduation’s next Tuesday night. Are you coming?”
Dean and I are sitting on the couch drinking beer after work on Wednesday. My feet are in his lap and the news is on the television.
“Absolutely. There have been too many times over the last several years I didn’t think the day would come. I will be there with bells on. And pom-poms. And maybe even a big blow horn.” I smile. Dean chuckles. “Besides, Claire wants to go.”
“Logan told me you’re going to teach her to drive.”
“Yeah, scary, right?” I tease. “I think it’s bullshit Richard wouldn’t let her get her license. It’ll be good for her to have some independence. Plus, I don’t want to have to drive her around everywhere, especially once the baby’s born and she has checkups and all that.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
“When are Logan and Brayden moving out?” I ask casually. I know this is a touchy subject for Dean. He and Brayden are like brothers, and he’s nervous about both the boys getting into trouble.
“The weekend after graduation.” He sighs heavily. “Aiden, the kids, and I are going to help. My dad knows a guy who’s renovating his entire house and getting rid of a shitload of furniture. He was going to give it to Goodwill, but my dad offered to take it off his hands. He said if we moved it, we could have it for free, so we’re giving some of it to the boys and putting the rest in storage.”
“Do you do this for all your kids, or are they just special?” I try to hide my smirk when Dean’s head turns toward me slowly and he narrows his eyes. “It’s one of the first things you ever said to me.”
“I remember.”
“You do?”
His mouth lifts at one corner, forming my favorite cheeky grin. “I remember everything about the day you walked through that door.”
“You were an asshole.”
Dean scratches at his stubble-covered jaw and smiles. “Uh, yeah, I was.”
I rub my foot up and down his thigh. “A sexy asshole.”
Dean clears his throat. “Hi, Claire,” he says. I giggle and look over at my sister, who’s standing in the doorway.
“I thought you were going to see Logan.”
“I am. He’s coming to pick me up. He’s pouting because I’m leaving this weekend.”
“Where are you going?” Dean asks.
“A retreat.”
“Oh yeah? Cool.”
She nods. “I’m going camping for the first time. Ugh,” she grumbles when a loud horn blares from outside. “Why can’t he come to the door like a normal human being? I’ll be home by ten o’clock.”
“Okay. Have fun.”
“If they’re already having trouble in paradise, we’re in for a long road,” Dean says after she shuts the door behind her.
/>
“Her mood swings have been a little intense the last couple of days. Hope Logan’s wearing a cup.”
“So she’s not going to be here this weekend?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Wanna go away with me?”
My body floods with heat. Away with Dean? As in away from the city? “Where?”
“I know a place.”
“I promised Warren and Sara we’d go out Friday night. It might be the last time for awhile.”
“That’s okay. We can leave Saturday morning, come back Monday. You get Memorial Day off, right?”
“Yes.”
“So let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry about it. I know a guy who knows a guy.”
“You’re not going to tell me?” I whine.
“Nope!” he says, jumping up. “But I am going to go make a phone call.” He leans down, kisses my still-pouted lips, and jogs out of the room. I pull my legs up against my chest, resting my chin on my knees, and can’t help the grin that may just be permanently etched on my face for the rest of the week. “It’s all set!” Dean says, when he returns ten minutes later.
“That easily?”
“Who said it was easy? I may have had to sell my soul to get this place.”
“To whom?”
He laughs. “I’ll tell you when we get there. You go and have fun on Friday. We’re heading out at eight thirty Saturday morning. We should be able to get there before dinner. There’s your hint.”
“That could be anywhere,” I complain.
He ignores me. “I’m hungry. What do you want to eat?”
* * *
The club is already a madhouse by the time we get there on Friday night. It’s in an old brick building that used to be a firehouse, and there’s a line out the door. We have to wait about half an hour before we get in. But it’s a gorgeous, warm night and Warren is in one of his entertaining moods. He not only keeps us from realizing how long we’re standing there, but he amuses everyone around us with his dance moves.
Once we’re inside, we’re lucky enough to grab a table as a group of barely-legal girls head toward the dance floor. I’m trying hard not to be a downer, but I do wish Dean were here.
“Come on, Kayla,” Warren moans. “You gotta keep up.”
“I’m trying,” I say, gulping down the last of my Jack and Coke.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you both are getting old and domesticated. I’m gonna have to get some new muchachas to play with.”
“Oh, shut up!” Sara and I say at the same time, giggling and calling the waitress over for another round.
We sit for the next hour. We don’t talk about relationships and we avoid work as well, unless we’re gossiping about who’s dating whom or the fact that Candace Shannon is four months pregnant even though her husband has been in the Middle East on deployment for almost six months. Eventually, we make our way to the dance floor. Sara and I sandwich Warren, grinding and moving to the music. The alcohol makes it easier for me to let loose, and I laugh when Warren dips me back unexpectedly.
We dance, sweat, drink some more. The longer the night goes on, the more dazed and numb I become. It feels good, but I’m still missing Dean. I keep dancing, even though Sara and Warren have left me to go get another drink. I can see them standing at the bar, so when I feel a hand on my hip and breath on my neck—a body swaying against mine—I tense. I’m about to tell the asshole to back off when I look down and see his tattooed hands. I whirl around.
“What are you doing here?”
Dean smirks that incredibly sexy smirk. “Dancing.”
“I thought you didn’t dance.” I grin at him as he pulls me closer, bowing his head so that his mouth is close to my ear.
“I don’t. In my head, I’m doing something entirely different.” I feel his lips on my neck, and I tilt my head.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” I pull back and widen my eyes.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Warren’s gonna be mad at you.”
“Who do you think called me?”
I look over and see Warren still at the bar. He lifts his glass to me. Next to him, Sara is practically humping my brother. I pull Dean behind me as I push through people to get to my friend.
“I thought you said no SOs?” I ask Warren suspiciously when I reach him.
“You looked like you needed him,” he answers, his eyes darting to the side. I turn and see the real reason why he invited the guys. A gorgeous man is staring at him from across the room. He’s wearing tight, leather pants and a dark-gray shirt that shows off thick, strong arms and pecs. His light-brown hair is streaked with electric-blue highlights. He’s got a tattoo peeking out of his V-neck.
“You cheater!” I shout.
“Are you complaining?” he asks incredulously. I look over at Dean, who’s ordering a drink from a waitress with big tits and a Marilyn piercing. She’s eyeballing him. He laughs at something she says, and I feel a twinge of jealousy. But as if he feels me watching him, he glances my way. He winks and the twinge disappears.
“No.”
“Good, ‘cause that one looks feral and I’m dying to find out what other treasures he’s hiding.”
I laugh and acquiesce. “Fine. Go play, but be careful.”
I have no idea how much longer we’re there, but at some point, Dean drags me out into the cool night air and puts me into his car. I’m not that drunk, I don’t think, just really tired. I doze off and on all the way home. My mouth feels sticky and when I jerk awake, I’ve got drool dripping down my chin. So sexy. I rest my head against the window and start to doze again. When I feel the car stop, I can’t bring myself to open my eyes.
“Come here, baby.” I hear Dean chuckle when he opens my door.
“Are you taking me to bed?”
“Uh-huh,” he says, helping me into the house.
“What are you gonna do to me?”
“Hmmm. Let me think,” he teases. “I’m gonna lay you down.” I feel a lazy smile spread across my face. “I’m gonna strip your clothes from your body.” The moan I let out sounds wanton and desperate. “And I’m gonna let you sleep.”
“Huh?”
He laughs. “We’ve got all weekend. And you’re tired. And the last time I tried anything when you were like this, you passed out on me.”
“I won’t, I promise,” I whimper as he sets me down on the bed. Except I probably will. I don’t even want to move. Dean takes off my clothes and climbs into bed behind me.
“Sleep, sweetheart. You’re going to need your energy.”
I hum and lean back into him. “Dean?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you.”
He pulls me against him so tightly, I don’t know where he ends and I begin. His fingers thread through mine. I’m not sure if he responds or not as I fade into a deep sleep.
Chapter 61
Dean
I wake in the morning long before the sun rises. Kayla’s snoring softly against my bare chest, her hand resting precariously close to my dick. It twitches with need and I almost wake her up to get a little attention, but she still looks so exhausted.
Instead, I slip out from underneath her and sit up. She stirs and shifts, sliding her hand underneath my pillow, and then settles back into sleep. I check the time on my phone—4:36 a.m. Setting it back down on the nightstand, I rest my elbows on my knees and scrub my hands over my face. This blows. I hate waking up so early and not being able to fall back asleep.
I look back at Kayla; her back is rising and falling with her breaths. I want nothing more than to just wrap myself around her like a boa constrictor, but that would wake her up, and then we’d start kissing, and then we’d have sex. As good as that sounds, I really don’t want her to be tired this weekend.
Standing up, I head toward the bathroom. It’s hard for me to believe just how much I’ve moved in. My razor, shaving cream, and aftershave sit on the counter. My
toothbrush is in the holder next to Kayla’s. My shampoo and soap are sitting on the shelf in the shower. I’m not sure I’ve ever even felt this comfortable in my apartment. And as much as I love Wyatt House and the kids, I’ve never really lived there. For the first time since I was sixteen years old, I have someplace that I can call home.
Stepping into the shower, I let the water roll over my body and think about my therapy session. I was really fucking nervous as I sat in the waiting room on Monday afternoon. My knees bounced up and down uncontrollably. More than once, the urge to bolt caused me to get up and walk toward the exit, only to return to my seat. It was something I had to do.
“Dean?” The blond receptionist calls. I nod and stand, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans. She smiles. “You can go on in.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, moving past her toward the door. Turning the handle, I walk in. The room reminds me of my office at Wyatt House. There are shelves of books behind a dark wood desk. The walls are covered in photographs of what appear to be trees.
“I have an obsession with trees,” a voice calls from behind me. I turn my head to see a guy closing a door on the far side of the office. “That’s the bathroom if you need it.” I eye him up. He’s about my height and build. His dark hair is graying, but he can’t be much older than fifty. He lifts his arm to point to a photo, and I spy ink under the sleeve of his shirt.
“From a distance, they all look the same, but if you get up close and really study them, each one has its own story. Each one, no matter how ravaged, is so beautiful, so perfect. My wife thinks I’m crazy, but she indulges me. It’s a much healthier addiction than some others.” He reaches out his hand. “Colin Mooney.”
“Dean Wyatt.”
“Have a seat, Dean. Tell me, what brings you in today?
I do as he instructed and sit down on one of the plush couches. He sits down across from me, crossing his ankle over his knee.
“Uh, well. I guess I’m here to heal?”
