by J. A. Little
“You’re good at this,” she says, looking up at me. Her eyes aren’t nearly as bright as they usually are. I wonder how much of that is the painkiller and how much is a reaction to what happened today. Regardless, I want the spark back.
“At what?” I ask, using a corner of the towel to wipe a drip of water from her cheek.
“At taking care of people.”
“That’s debatable.” I shrug. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I just want you to feel better.”
“It’s not debatable at all. You’re perfect.”
“Come on,” I say, ignoring her comment. I’m far from perfect. “Let’s get you dressed.” I pull out a pair of her pajama pants and one of my T-shirts.
“You are,” she insists. “Those boys respect you, Dean. They love you. I love you.” Her words are starting to slur together a little.
After pulling the T-shirt over her head, I turn her toward the bed. “Climb in. I’ll go get you something to eat.”
“’Kay,” she murmurs.
In the kitchen, I open the fridge. There’s plenty to eat, but nothing looks good. Opening a cabinet, I pull out a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts.
“Slightly burnt, just the way you like ‘em,” I say, presenting them to her as she sits up against the pillows.
“Thank you.” She smiles, and, although it’s lazy and sleepy, this time it feels a little bit more genuine. “Where’s Claire?”
“She’s in the living room with Logan. You want me to go get her?”
She nods. “Yes, please.”
I lean over and kiss her temple before going to get her sister. Once Claire goes in, I sit down in the chair across from Logan.
“How’s work?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Busy, but I guess that’s good.”
“Brayden?”
“He’s fine. We went to a party last weekend and Caity got all pissed ‘cause he was talkin’ to some chick.”
“Huh.”
“He wasn’t doin’ nothin’ though. Chick was wasted.” He chuckles. “She was stupid wasted. It was fucking funny.”
“Have you forgotten how to speak since moving into your own place?” I ask.
“What?” he asks, confused.
I shake my head laughing. “Never mind. Everything else going okay?”
“’Cept for this,” he answers, jerking his head toward Kayla’s bedroom.
“I know.”
Logan drains the rest of his soda and sets the can on the coffee table. “When I was in there, before we got sent to Wyatt House, I asked her why they had metal detectors.” He looks at me. “She said it was ‘cause there are some crazy-ass people out there.”
“She said that?”
“Maybe not quite like that, but yeah, kinda. I thought she was full of it. I mean, I know there are some fucked-up people, but I didn’t think…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. My mom never bothered. Doesn’t look like Claire’s is gonna, either.”
“I don’t know what goes through people’s minds or why, Logan. Motivations are different.”
“They gonna put her in jail?”
“I hope so.”
“Me, too.”
“She fell asleep,” Claire says, coming back into the room and sitting down next to Logan.
“I figured she would. They gave her some pretty strong painkillers. How was she?”
“She just wanted to see if I was feeling okay. Does she know about my dad?”
I sit up straight and lean forward. “Know what about your dad?” I ask cautiously. I don’t want to admit anything and then find out we’re talking about two different things.
“That he got arrested?”
“How do you know about that?” I frown.
“A kid I know from summer school—his dad is on the board of directors at the hospital. He said it’s gonna be in the paper tomorrow. I just didn’t know if Kayla knew.”
“No,” I answer. “She doesn’t.” I can’t help but wonder which part is going to be in the paper—the fraud and malpractice or the abuse. I hope he gets busted for the abuse as well. As hard as it may be on Kayla and Claire, the bastard deserves to be exposed.
“Are you going to tell her?” she asks, leaning into Logan.
“I’ll tell her,” I assure. “Look, I’m going to bed. Logan, I expect you out by one.”
“One?” he scoffs.
“And if I find your tail still here after that, I’m gonna bust it up.” I raise my eyebrows to let him know I’m serious.
“Yes, Dad!” he snorts.
“Good night, Dean,” Claire says, smiling.
When I get to the bedroom, Kayla is out for the count. I get undressed quietly and brush my teeth before sliding in next to her. Her body is radiating heat. I press my lips against her skin like my mother used to do when we were little to feel for fever. Now I see why my mom did it. I don’t even need a thermometer—the woman is roasting.
I wake up multiple times during the night. The first time, Kayla must have had a nightmare. She sits up with a start, jerking me out of a dead sleep. At first she pushes me away, tossing and turning restlessly, but as I rub her back, she drifts off again. It isn’t long, however, before I wake again to the feeling of her shivering violently. I give her some Motrin, which does the trick and breaks her fever, but then she’s sweating like crazy. It’s a fucking roller coaster all night long. In the morning, her fever is back, but it doesn’t feel quite as high. She stays in bed, and I bring her whatever she needs.
Chapter 74
Dean
My dad takes over my shifts at Wyatt House for the next week so I can stay home with Kayla. Her boss, Mr. Fallon, has given her paid leave and insisted she take it. She struggles with fever for the first couple of days. When we go back to the doctor to see what’s wrong, we find out she has an infection from the knife wound on her arm and has to be put on antibiotics.
I tell her about Richard the first chance I get. I don’t want her to be surprised if it ends up on the news, which it does. She’s apathetic at best. I don’t know if it’s because she’s sick or because she’s given up on caring about the situation. I don’t ask.
But she is irritable. I get my head bitten off at least once a day and there are lots of slamming doors, but I deal with testosterone-filled teenage boys on a daily basis. I’d much rather be yelled at by my stressed-out girlfriend.
I am, however, waiting. Waiting for it all to hit her, because it hasn’t. She hasn’t talked about the incident at all and it’s making me nervous. When Sara calls to let us know the specifics of Dana’s funeral, I try to talk to Kayla, but she shuts me down. Actually, she shuts me out—literally—closing the bathroom door and locking it to take a shower.
We go to the funeral, though. Kayla’s afraid the family won’t want her there, but Dana’s daughter Bethany pulls her into a hug as soon as she sees us.
“I’m so sorry,” Kayla whispers.
“Thank you,” Bethany answers through tears. “Thank you so much for coming. Are you doing okay?”
Kayla nods and tries to smile. Looking around, there are so many people—family, friends, coworkers, complete strangers. Sara is sobbing; Warren’s not much better. Kayla doesn’t cry. She stares at the casket with a blank look on her face. When we get home, I decide I’ve had enough.
“You’ve got to talk about this, Kayla.” I say, tossing my keys onto the counter.
“Talk about what?”
“You know what. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are! Baby, I don’t want to push you, but the longer you hold it all in, the worse it’s gonna be.”
“I’m fine,” she snaps. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“You can tell me a million times, but it doesn’t mean anything. I can see it every time I look at you that you’re not.”
She sighs. “Fine. What do you want me to talk about? How my stupidity got Dana killed?”
“You didn
’t cause her death, Kayla.”
“It’s the very first thing we’re taught. Never, ever put yourself in a position you can’t get out of. Pay attention to your surroundings. Always be on guard, especially when removing a child or terminating visits. I wasn’t. If I was, I would have realized…I would have been able to see that something was wrong. Jesus, Dean, I did see that something was wrong,” she cries. “I just didn’t do anything about it.”
“No. Chances are you wouldn’t have been able to. That woman obviously had every intention of hurting someone,” I rationalize.
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“You can’t take on all that responsibility. Dana was sitting there, too, and she didn’t see it.”
“That’s because she was too busy trying to figure out what was wrong with me!” she yells. I take a deep breath. I know it hurts her to talk about it. I can see the tears welling up. But she has to do this. “I just sat there, Dean. It was like I was watching a movie.”
“You couldn’t have known the mother was going to do what she did. How many hundreds—thousands—of parental visits have you had over the years? None of them ended like this. You deal with tweaking parents all the time. How were you supposed to know that this was the one who would snap?”
“I should have known. I was so fucking distracted. I couldn’t pull myself together fast enough. If I had done what I’ve always been told to do, Dana would still be here.”
This isn’t the first time she’s said she was focused on something else. In the hospital I attributed it to the trauma, but now she’s piqued my curiosity.
“Why were you so distracted?” I ask.
“Because I saw Stephanie!” she yells. My gut clenches. “Sara was having a visit with her and the kids at the same time.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“I heard her tell the guard her name.” She’s quieter now. I want to ask more questions, but I need her to deal with Dana’s death even more. I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her. She fights at first, but gives up after mere seconds.
“Baby. It was an accident. A horrible, terrifying, tragic accident. You lost your friend, and I’m sorry. I wish I could take the hurt away, but I can’t. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she mumbles against my chest.
“You can. I know you can. You’re stronger than this.” I pause and consider what I’ve just said. “You’re the one who taught me that.” I tilt her chin up and press my lips against hers. I love you, and I will be here for you no matter what.”
“I love you, too,” she whispers.
* * *
A few days later, Kayla’s doing a little better. She’s been focusing her time and energy into reorganizing and disinfecting every square inch of the house. The whole place smells like Mr. Clean and bleach. Whatever it takes. We’ve talked a little bit more about what happened, but she’s still avoiding it.
As I’m sitting at the kitchen table looking at more applications, I think about Stephanie being at DHS. Kayla’s in the middle of cleaning out a drawer.
“Babe?”
“Huh?” she asks, continuing her task.
“Did Stephanie say anything to you?
“When?” I don’t answer her. I can tell when she realizes what I’ve asked because she stops moving. “Oh. No. But I think she knew who I was. I don’t know how, but I’m pretty sure she did.”
“She saw our picture in the paper from the gala.” I admit. “The first time she showed up at the apartment, she asked about you.” She glances up at me.
“She did?”
“She asked if you were my girlfriend. I told her yes.” Kayla’s mouth twitches.
“That was a long time ago.”
I smile. “I know.”
We’re quiet for a moment, Kayla twirling a pen in-between her fingers. Eventually, she comes and sits down across from me.
“She wasn’t what I expected,” she muses.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know,” she laughs nervously. “Tall, blond, big boobs.”
I snort. “Um, really? Have you met me?” I reach my hand out. “Hi, I’m Dean. I’m your boyfriend.”
“Shut up,” she laughs. I smirk and look back down at the applications. “She must have been pretty,” she muses.
“She was,” I answer honestly. “A long time ago. But she’s a different person. You can’t live your life the way she has and expect to come out on the other end unfazed.” I shrug. “I don’t feel bad for her. She made her own decisions.”
“Do you know how she’s doing?”
“Nope.”
“Do you want me to find out?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not worried about her, Kayla. She’ll do what she does. I’m more worried about how skinny you’re getting. You need to eat more.”
She rolls her eyes at me as she stands up. “Fine. You want me to eat? I’ll eat. Let’s go to Outback.”
“Outback? Why Outback?”
She walks toward the front door, slipping on her flip-flops. “I don’t know. I must be protein deficient or something. I’m starting to get a hankering for some meat.” She winks at me. I grin. There’s my girl.
* * *
Ten days after the incident, I finally go back to Wyatt House. Kayla promises that she’ll call if she needs anything, but I know she won’t. She’s got plans to meet her stepmom for lunch and some shopping. She’s been trying to get out of the house more. She let me install a heavy bag in the garage, too. I’ve been teaching her what I know about boxing and self-defense, and it seems to be helping with her mood. It does two things for me. First, I feel better knowing that she knows how to take care of herself in a bad situation. Second, she looks so fucking hot in short shorts and a sports bra with a sheen of sweat covering her whole body. It turns me on to no end.
When I pull up to the house, everyone is outside on the basketball court. I watch them for awhile, amused. With one last basket, there’s a roar of excitement and it’s over. My dad jogs over to me wearing red basketball shorts and a gray T-shirt. He’s got a ring of sweat around his neck, and his hair is slicked back.
“These boys are exhausting,” he breathes, bending down in front of me and resting his hands on his knees. “I’m too old for this.”
I laugh. My dad looks younger right now than he has in a long time.
“Who won?” I ask, looking over as they all sprawl out on the lawn with water bottles. Curtis squirts some at Matty, but misses, catching Eric in the face. This begins a battle that I’m sure will end up with puddles tracked across the floor of the entryway, but I don’t care. They’re being boys. They’re happy.
“Ah, I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track.”
“You lie, Mr. Wyatt,” Edgar shouts. “Me, Matty, and Zander won. We kicked your butts!”
My dad grins at the freckle-faced kid with the big mouth and then turns back to me. “Let me take a quick shower and we can get to work,” he says, lifting his shirt and wiping his face.
When my dad’s ready, he comes into my office and plants himself in one of the chairs. “How’s Kayla?”
“She’s fine,” I answer automatically.
“Is she back at work?”
“No, but not because she doesn’t want to be. Fallon wants her to take more time.”
My dad shrugs. “Maybe that’s a good idea. She’s bound to have PTSD.”
“She says she’s ready.”
My dad hums but then changes the subject. “So, where are we with the applicants?” I hand him the stack of applications I’m considering. “This is it?”
“Those are the only ones that meet the qualifications and don’t have major typos or some dumb-ass answer explaining why they want to work here. I refuse to work with idiots, Dad.”
He snorts and starts looking through the stack.
“You remember Emily’s suggestion from a couple weeks ago?”
He lifts his gaze. “Which one?”
“The one about Kayla working here,” I say without hesitating.
“What about it?” he questions, pursing his lips together.
“I think we should offer her the position.”
My dad stares at me for a few seconds. “I thought we talked about this.”
“We did. But that was before.”
“Ah.” It’s all he says. He looks back down, but he’s not reading. His eyes aren’t scanning over the papers at all.
“That’s it?” I ask, slightly irritated.
“What do you want me to say, Dean?”
“I want you to say we can at least consider offering Kayla the job.”
“Son,” he sighs.
“Dad, you’re taking a risk either way, right? Look at what happened with Simon. He came with all the right qualifications and recommendations. I’ve looked over all these applications. Kayla’s just as qualified, if not more so, than 90 percent of them. We already know her. Most of the boys already know her. It’ll be an easy adjustment for them. She’s honest, and she takes her job seriously.”
“I agree with all that,” he says. “But do you really think it’s a good idea for you two to be working together? And how do you know she even wants to work at Wyatt House?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “But I’m worried about her. I don’t want her going back to DHS only because she doesn’t have any other options.”
“I’m sure she’d have plenty of options.”
“She won’t go looking for another job. Please, Dad.” I hate begging, but I’m not above it. My dad rubs his eyes with his fingertips and leans forward before leaning back into the chair again.
“You can offer her the overlap position, but she needs to understand that it’s three-quarters time in the house and one-quarter administrative and outreach. That means spending at least one day a week at the office downtown.”
“I know.” I grin at my dad. He wouldn’t have agreed to it if he didn’t think it was a good idea.
