by J. A. Little
“She’ll be working with your mother.”
“I know.”
“You’re really okay with that?” He looks at me, eyebrows raised. It makes me chuckle.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m okay with that. If anyone can handle Mom, it’s Kayla.”
“For some reason, I don’t doubt that,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “But you still have to find someone for weekend shifts.”
“I can do that. I’ve actually got some candidates that look really good right now.” I sift through the pile of papers I’ve just handed him and pull out three. My favorite so far is a guy who’s a social worker from Chicago. He’s worked in several different departments and is currently in the Independent Living program, but his wife was just relocated to Minneapolis. They have three kids and he needs to be home during the week, so he’s looking for a weekend position.
My dad and I go over the other candidates one by one, and he helps me decide which we’ll interview. Emily and Aiden, of course, will help me determine who gets the position, but I’m much more enthusiastic with this bunch of candidates than I was before, most likely because I’ve been given the okay to offer Kayla the overlap position. That in and of itself makes my entire day so much better.
* * *
“How was your day?” I ask as I walk into the house and plant a kiss on the back of Kayla’s head.
“Good,” she answers, continuing to cut up the chicken in front of her. “Karen gave me a recipe.” I smile and look over her shoulder to the detailed instructions on a napkin. “If I follow it exactly, I just might not screw it up.”
Laughing, I slide my hands around her waist. “I’m sure it’ll be fantastic. What can I do?”
“I could go for a glass of wine.”
I nod and let go of her, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. I pour her a glass before grabbing myself a bottle of beer. “How was work?” she asks.
“It was good. I think my dad likes it there.”
She turns to grin at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen him that happy in awhile.”
“What do you think he’s going to do when you guys are back at full staff?”
“He wants to pick up a couple of shifts here and there and be added to the rotation for sick leave and vacations. It’ll help to have an extra person who knows what he’s doing. He probably shouldn’t have quit cold turkey in the first place. This will be good for him. How was your lunch with Karen? Is she doing okay?”
“She’s doing really well.” I can hear hesitancy in Kayla’s voice, and I frown. I set down my beer and turn toward her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she answers quickly. I stare at her. “Nothing,” she insists. She sets down her knife, throws the chicken into the hot skillet sitting on the stove, and washes her hands. “She and my dad are looking to make some changes in their lives. That’s all I can say right now. She made me promise not to say anything, even to you.”
“That’s not really fair,” I complain. She reaches for me and lifts herself up on her tiptoes.
“I know it’s not, but I promised. I’ll explain as soon as I can.” She leans in and the kiss she gives me makes me forget about everything else that’s going on. Her lips are soft at first, but then they become more aggressive and I can feel her tongue. I’ve been aching for this kind of closeness for awhile, but wanted her to take the reins. We’re lost to each other…until I smell the burning. I pull back abruptly. Kayla whimpers.
“Baby, your chicken’s burning,” I explain.
“Oh, shit!” she yells, pushing me away as she darts over to the stove. I laugh and pick up my beer.
Claire comes out of her room just in time for dinner. She’s been studying ever since she got home for her midterm test coming up on Friday. Caitlynn shows up at eight o’clock and the two disappear back into her room.
Kayla and I clean up the kitchen together and then sit down to watch whatever crap rerun is on. I lie down on the couch and open my arms. Kayla curls up against my chest. I think we must fall asleep because I jerk awake when I hear the front door shut.
“Sorry,” Claire says quietly. When I hear a car start up outside, I assume Caitlynn’s leaving.
“It’s okay. You going to sleep?”
She nods and yawns.
“Night.”
“Night, Dean.”
Kayla stirs. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know; you’re lying on my watch. Late. Caitlynn just left.”
Kayla chuckles and burrows into my body.
“Can I talk to you about something?” I ask, running my hands through her hair.
“Okay,” she whispers lazily. “What?”
“Going back to work.”
“I know,” she sighs. “It’s time. I want to go back, but Fallon is—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I interrupt. “I don’t want you to go.”
She lifts her head, her forehead wrinkled. “What?”
“I don’t want you to go back there.”
She sits up. So do I. She’s on her knees next to me. “I have to go back. It’s my job.”
“I know it’s your job, but I want you to get a new job,” I tell her. She stares at me, her mouth slightly open in confusion. “Come work with me,” I beg.
Understanding crosses her face. “I can’t,” she says, shaking her head.
“Please, Kayla.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Lots of reasons.”
“Name them.”
“We’d never see each other.”
“It’s an overlap position. We’d see each other most of the day.”
“Then we’d get sick of each other.”
“It’s a big house. You’d have your own office, and one day a week you’d be at the administrative office. Emily and Aiden make it work.”
She takes a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I just…”
“I hate being away from you all day,” I finally admit. “And I’m worried about you— about your physical well-being and your emotional well-being. I know you love your job, but I love you, and I don’t want you to go back. Please just think about it.”
“I have to go back, Dean. I can’t let this take me out.”
“Baby—”
“Just let me do this. I need you to support my decision to do this.”
I sigh heavily in frustration. She straddles me and puts her hands on my chest.
“How soon do you need to hire someone for the position?”
“End of summer, tops. Six weeks maybe.”
“I can’t just walk away. It’s not fair to my unit to lose two workers at the same time. That’s nearly sixty cases, including Matty. They’re already scrambling to keep up.”
Shit! I forgot that Dana was Matty’s worker. I don’t want to pressure Kayla any more than I already have. She knows what I want.
“Okay,” I say quietly, trying to hide my disappointment. “It’ll be hard for me to watch you go back there, but I will if that’s what you really want.”
She leans forward, pressing her mouth against mine. “Let me think about it?” she whispers. I nod and kiss her again. “I can’t make any promises, though.”
“I know.”
She kisses me again and again. My body responds. She grinds down onto me, but it’s not enough. It’s been so long and I want her. She knows it. I can see it in her eyes. Her hands hold my face, caressing my jaw.
“Will you take me to bed now?” she asks. I stand up abruptly, taking her with me. She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
* * *
Tuesday morning, I wake Kayla early.
“What are you doing to me?” she groans.
“I want to take you someplace.”
“Where?”
“Just come on.”
Kayla showers and dresses while I make coffee. “Are you taking me to Wyatt House?” she asks, looki
ng around as I drive in that direction.
“No, I’m not,” I answer, pulling into the parking lot of the church. I’ve been thinking about doing this for awhile now, but life has been so crazy that I haven’t had the chance.
“We’re going to church?”
“Yeah. We are.”
“Okay,” she says, obviously confused. I open her door and hold her hand as we make our way to the entrance. Mrs. Thibodeau, right on schedule, is also on her way up the stone steps.
“Dean.” She smiles when she sees me, and her pale-green eyes light up when she sees Kayla at my side. “I’ve been missing you.”
“I know,” I answer, letting go of Kayla’s hand to help the old woman up the steps. Over the last few months I haven’t been as regular about attending mass. I do miss the routine.
“And who is joining you this morning?”
“This is my girlfriend. Kayla, Mrs. Thibodeau,” I introduce.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” she says, patting my hand. “Welcome, dear. It’s nice to see that our sweet boy has some company.”
“Thank you.” Kayla grins at me. Once we sit down, she leans over and presses her mouth to my ear. “If you brought me here to show me what an incredible man you are, I already know.”
I chuckle and reach for her hand again. We sit through mass, and when it’s over, say our good-byes to Mrs. Thibodeau. But instead of leading Kayla out the front door, I take her to a little room off to the side of the foyer. It’s a prayer room, where people can kneel and light candles. Above the candles is a painting.
“That’s your tattoo!” Kayla gasps.
“Yep.” I nod. “The Angel of Redemption.” It is my tattoo, but it’s different. When I brought an image of the painting into my artist’s parlor, I asked him to remove the color that signified renewed life because, at the time, all I saw was death. Now, as I stare at the artwork in front of us, I feel like I’ve robbed it—ruined its meaning by taking that away.
“Oh, Dean. It’s so beautiful.”
I kneel down and light three candles. Kayla kneels beside me.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Standing, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and kiss her temple. “I think it’s me who should be thanking you.”
Chapter 75
Kayla
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” I answer unconvincingly.
Dean and I are standing outside the DHS building—the back entrance, because I’m too chickenshit to face the lobby and walk by the visitation rooms. It’s raining and I’m looking more and more like a drowned rat every minute we stand here. But twenty minutes after we first pulled up, I’m still no closer to the door of the building.
Dean’s being patient. His hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched over, but he’s still standing next to me. I look up at him. Rain is dripping from the ends of his hair onto his face.
“You don’t have to,” he sighs. “Or you can wait a little bit longer.” He offers me a reassuring smile. I let out a breath.
“I’m okay. I need to do this today. Right now.” I take five steps before I stop again. “I’m sorry,” I groan.
“It’s all right. I’m here as long as you need me.” His large hand grasps mine. It’s wet and cold, giving away how uncomfortable he must actually be, but he hasn’t complained. I close my eyes. This shouldn’t be such a big deal. Without letting myself think about it any more, I pull him forward toward the building, up the stairs, and in through the door. The guard nods at me when I lift up my badge. Dean signs in and follows me to my office.
“Hey, Dean,” Sara greets.
“Wassup, my man?” Warren grins, standing up. He fist bumps my boyfriend, and then wraps me up in his arms. “Girl, I’m so proud of you.”
“Don’t be,” I mumble into his chest. “It took me almost thirty minutes to get from the car into the building, and I’m still pretending I’m outside.”
“Hey, mi amor,” he says, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back so he can look me in the eyes. “People who weren’t there are having a hard time with this. It’s not easy. Give yourself a break.” I nod and try to smile, but it doesn’t feel right. Warren gives me one last tight hug and releases me.
“You okay?” Dean asks. “I can stay for awhile if you need me to.”
“I’ll be fine,” I answer. “You’re late as it is.”
“The boys are probably all still sleeping anyway. If you need me, just call.”
“I will,” I say quietly. He brushes his thumb over my cheek.
Once he’s left, I sit down at my desk. I have no idea where to start. It’s the first time I’ve ever not known what’s going on with my cases or what I need to do. After a couple of minutes of reacquainting myself, I finally look over at Dana’s desk. The photo of her kids is gone, as are the mementos, cards, and pictures she had on the filing cabinet and wall behind her. I notice new things on the desk and a coffee cup sitting next to the keyboard.
“What happened to all of her stuff?” I ask Sara.
“Bethany came and got it the day after the funeral.”
“Whose stuff is that?”
Sara glances over. “Sabrina. She just started about a week ago.”
“So we have a rookie taking over all of Dana’s cases?” I don’t like this. I don’t like someone I don’t know taking over Matty’s case.
“I wouldn’t call myself a rookie,” a strong voice says from the doorway. I turn my head, startled. “I’ve been a CPS worker in Detroit for the last ten years.” This must be Sabrina. She’s in her late thirties, tall, with dark hair pulled into a ponytail.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t—”
“It’s okay. Trust me, I understand. You must be Kayla.” She reaches her hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry you had to go through what you did. We had a worker who was attacked about six years ago while investigating a report in one of the rougher neighborhoods. Luckily, she had the cops right behind her.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was okay, but couldn’t handle CPS anymore. Ended up in adoptions. She’s much happier there. Anyway, I just saw the hottest guy ever walk out of the building. Please tell me he works here. I could get used to that view every day.”
Sara starts giggling. “Aren’t you engaged?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Engaged—not dead. I’d never go there, but I can definitely look.” Sabrina sticks her tongue out through her teeth. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”
“Tall? Wearing jeans and a black hoodie?” Sara asks.
Sabrina nods. “Yeah. And an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.”
“That’s Dean,” Sara snickers, looking at me. “He’s Kayla’s boyfriend.”
“Really?” Sabrina’s eyes widen.
“Yeah,” I laugh lightly.
“Jesus, woman,” Sabrina laughs. “How do you get out of bed in the morning?”
Before I can even get settled at my desk, Kate calls me into her office to let me know what’s going on with my cases. Everyone’s been pitching in, so I don’t have much to do this week except deal with my emotions and get back into the routine. For a couple of hours I think I’m okay, but it doesn’t last. Just before noon, while Sara, Sabrina, and I are sitting in the cafeteria, I start to feel warm. Suddenly, there are too many people. It’s loud and chaotic. I try to focus on my food, but a person I don’t recognize keeps staring at me. My stomach feels full of rocks.
“What’s the matter?” Sara asks.
“Um… I don’t feel very well.” I stand up and bolt to the bathroom. I barely make it before my lunch makes a second appearance.
“Do you want me to call Dean?” Warren asks, resting a hand on my back as I’m spitting into the sink.
“War, this is the women’s room,” I say, splashing cold water on my face.
“I don’t give a shit, mi amor. I’m more worried about you than any of these bitches being offended by my ge
nder. Should I call him?”
I nod reluctantly. A part of me doesn’t want to go, but I’m not sure I can stay. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
* * *
It’s not. I don’t even make it to noon the next day. Around eleven thirty, I get called to the front lobby. A foster parent who’s in the area for an appointment wanted to stop in to see how I’m doing. At first, I think I can get there, but I have to pass by the visitation rooms, and the closer I get, the more I begin to panic.
Wednesday, a fight breaks out between a seventeen-year-old girl and her foster sister, who were both kicked out of their placement for smoking pot. They belong to the workers in the office next door. It starts out with just a little swearing, but quickly escalates to screaming. I’m a wimp, and I can’t take it.
I don’t make it a full day all week.
“Kayla,” Dean sighs as he picks me up on Friday afternoon. The look on my face must make him think twice about whatever he’s going to say because he purses his lips and shakes his head before hitting the gas.
When we get home, he spends about an hour pretending to do stuff around the house. I know he’s just trying to make sure I’m okay before he goes back to Wyatt House to finish out his shift.
“Wanna go have sex?” I ask when it looks like he’s run out of excuses to stay.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asks. “You’ve said that, like, every day this week.”
“Are you complaining?” I scoff. “Because I can do it myself.”
Dean stares at me for a second. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
I smile, hoping it looks seductive. I back up toward our bedroom. He follows, but I’m not sure he’s entirely happy about it.
“Seriously, Kayla,” he says once we get there.
I strip off my shirt. “I want you to fuck me because I’m frustrated and it makes me feel good. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No. I just want to make sure you’re not using me to ignore your emotions. What are you doing?” he asks as I get closer and push at his cheeks.
“Trying to figure out when you turned into Dr. Phil.” I squeal when he lifts me into the air and crashes both of us onto the bed.
