by J. A. Little
“So,” Dean starts, “you know how I’ve been seeing a therapist to deal with a lot of things in my past?”
Joe and Maria both nod.
“Well. We’ve been talking about the choices I’ve made in my life and, um, how those choices have affected my sense of self.”
“Okay,” Maria says, her fingers twirling her wedding band nervously.
“One of the biggest choices I made back then…” He stops and looks at me. I thread my fingers through his, trying to comfort him. “I lied to you guys.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asks, furrowing his brow.
“I mean…” Dean takes a deep breath. I squeeze his hand. “I knew Steph was an addict. I thought I could help her—I was hoping I could. We were both on probation, and the night we got pulled over, I didn’t know she had anything on her.”
I watch Joe and Maria as Dean tells them the story, confusion evident on their faces.
“I knew I was going to get into trouble for driving, but I thought the worst that would happen was that I’d get a ticket.”
“Wait a minute,” Joe says. I can see him working it all out in his head. “The drugs weren’t yours,” he states.
Dean shakes his head. “I didn’t know why she planted them on me until she told me she was pregnant. I went along with it because I didn’t want the baby to be born in jail.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell us something like that?” Maria whispers.
“Would you have believed me?”
His parents exchange a look that says it all. Joe bows his head. “Probably not.”
Dean shrugs. “It just never seemed that important.”
“Dean,” Maria says sadly. “Honey, you and your brother have always been the most important things in our lives. We could have helped you.”
“That’s just it, Mom. I didn’t want help. Helping me meant hurting Steph, and I couldn’t do that. It was a long time ago. It’s not something I even think about anymore. I just thought it was time for you to know.”
Maria shakes her head. “Your compassion never ceases to amaze me.” She smiles. “I’m glad you told us. And I’m very proud of you.”
“Me, too.” Joe adds. “I guess we should have had more faith in you to begin with.”
Dean shakes his head. “No. I was a major fuck-up.” I snicker when Maria clucks her disapproval of his language. “So,” he says, slapping his free hand on his thigh. “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”
The rest of the night is free of serious talk, save for one moment. As Joe and Dean engage in an affectionately heated discussion about the upcoming Vikings season, Maria puts her hand on my arm. I glance over at her and smile.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she says softly. I look back at Dean and Joe, but they’re deep in conversation. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. You know that, right?” I chuckle lightly. “I’m serious, Kayla. I knew from the day I first laid eyes on you that you’d change him. At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but now he’s the man I always dreamed he’d be. I think I have you to thank for that.”
“No,” I disagree. “He’s always been a good guy. He just didn’t realize it.”
“That’s why you’re so good for him. I’m very happy you’re a part of our family.”
* * *
Not much later, Dean corners me in the hallway when I come out of the bathroom. His hands are everywhere.
“I need to get you home,” he rasps.
“Eager, are we?” I tease.
“Shit, sweetheart.” He reaches for my hand and puts it on his crotch. His cock is rock solid.
“What brought this on?” I ask, my eyes rolling back in my head as his lips drag up my neck. I grip him through his jeans.
“You. Always you,” he moans. We could easily slip back into the bathroom, but I don’t want a quickie at his parents’ place. Claire is at Caitlynn’s, so we have the house to ourselves tonight. I intend to take full advantage.
“You think we can get out of here without offending them?” I pant.
“What-the-fuck-ever. They’ll get over it. Let’s go.”
Dean has my shirt off before we even get past the entryway of our house. His lips are attached to mine as he walks me backward to the couch.
“Blanket, blanket, blanket,” I chant. He grumbles as he’s forced to detach himself in order to lay the throw down.
“Good enough,” he grunts, pushing me back and climbing on top of me.
He’s desperate. His hands manipulate my body into positions that shouldn’t be legal. First he wraps my legs around his shoulders. Then he turns me so I’m sideways. He’s obviously trying new things. At first it’s a little painful, but once I adjust, it’s insanely pleasurable. I practically see stars.
When we’re done, my legs are like jello. I don’t really want to move, but I have no idea when Claire is coming home in the morning and I don’t want her to walk in on us naked in the living room.
“You want me to carry you?” Dean jokes, standing up.
“Yes, please,” I say lazily. He scoops me up, cradling me in his arms.
“I’m not sure if this is weird or incredibly erotic,” he laughs. He sets me down just inside the bedroom, and we both climb into bed.
“How do you feel?” I ask, tracing his ink with my fingertip. It’s a habit I can’t seem to break.
Dean’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You really have to ask that?”
I purse my lips. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. It felt good to tell them,” he admits. “It’s one more hurdle down, right?”
“What’s left?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about what else I can do. Colin suggested I do some outreach.”
“Outreach? Like what?”
“He wants me to talk to teenagers. About the decisions I made and the outcomes and consequences.”
“Are you ready for that?”
“I’m getting there. Maybe I’ll start with the Wyatt House kids. They already know bits and pieces.”
“I think that’s a great idea. They’re a captive audience, too,” I tease. “Speaking of Wyatt House, I’ve been thinking about the job offer.”
“Okay.”
“I think…I’d like to accept it.”
“You think?”
I nod. “I know. I want to come work for Wyatt House. I just…I’m not good at what I do anymore.”
“That’s not true,” he protests.
“Yes, it is,” I insist. “I’m not happy. I feel like I can’t do my job properly. It’s not fair to the kids to have half a social worker.” I sniff. He hasn’t said anything about me taking the job yet, and I’m worried that maybe he’s changed his mind.
“You know things won’t be perfect, right? You’ll have teenage boys all the time. They’re not easy.”
I laugh softly. “I know. But I think it’s time for a fresh start, and I want it to be with you. If you still want me.”
Dean lifts my chin with his finger and takes my lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it softly. “I always want you,” he murmurs. “I love you.”
I look into the bright-green eyes that once held so much mystery. I don’t agree with Maria. I don’t think he’s a different man at all. I think he’s the same man, one who’s finally allowed himself to move beyond his hurt and his pain. He’s a stronger man, a better man—but not a different man. I wouldn’t want him to be different.
I curl into his side and hold him tightly as he drifts to sleep. His face is relaxed, his breathing heavy. He looks so at peace. He doesn’t have nightmares anymore. He says he hasn’t had any in weeks. It appears that the demons have finally let him go—or he’s let go of them.
“I love you, too.”
Epilogue
Kayla
“Are you gonna stay here?”
“Where else would I go, Dean?”
“I mean, back here? Or are you going to go out there?”
I look out over the filling auditorium and then back at him. “Is there somewhere you’d prefer me?”
He chuckles. “Yes.”
I shake my head and snort. “You and your dirty mind.”
“You ask a loaded question, you get a loaded answer, sweetheart.” He leans in. I think he’s going to kiss me, but a voice stops him.
“Mr. Wyatt, can I speak with you for a minute?”
Sighing, he pulls away. “I’ll be back.”
“Take your time.”
I watch him as he talks to the guidance counselor. Her eyes are darting around, never staying on him too long. She didn’t do that when I spoke to her, so I’m thinking he makes her nervous. The last couple of years haven’t really changed him much physically. He still looks a little like a thug. A gorgeous, sexy thug, but he’s definitely rough around the edges—just the way I like him. Today, he’s wearing jeans, a black, long-sleeved Henley, and his dark-blue Docs. When he asked if I thought he should dress up and wear a tie, I just laughed. That’s not him, and these are high school kids. If they sense he’s fronting in any way, they’ll tune him out before he even gets started.
When he’s done talking to the woman, he walks over to a giant mirror that looks like it might be set up for last-minute checks before a stage production. He was wearing his knit hat, but he took it off when we got here. Now he’s trying to fix his hair.
He catches my eye and smirks. The whole reason he put the hat on this morning was because I couldn’t control myself. I’m not sure what he expects when he walks into the kitchen bare-chested, pajama pants hung low, with a layer of scruff covering his jaw. Nothing says good morning like good, old-fashioned counter sex.
He gives up and approaches me. “This is your fault,” he says, pointing at his head.
“You want me to apologize? Say I’ll never do it again?” I make an attempt to look serious, but I’m not sure it works.
“No.”
“Good. ‘Cause I can’t promise something like that. Are you nervous?” I ask. He shrugs. I raise my eyebrows, not buying it.
“A little,” he admits.
“You’ll do fine. Look, you’ve already won over at least half your audience,” I tease, nodding toward a group of giggling girls. Dean turns his head to look and then quickly returns his gaze to me.
“That’s not funny.”
“Oh, come on, baby. Admit it. It’s a little funny.”
“Not even remotely,” he says, shaking his head.
I purse my lips together and look around to make sure no one can hear me. “You look a little tense,” I whisper playfully. “Do you need me to take you into the bathroom and loosen you up?” This gets him to crack a smile. “Relax, Dean. You’ve been ready to do this for a long time.” He leans in again.
“Mr. Wyatt?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean growls under his breath. He rolls his eyes and huffs. Turning to face the middle-aged, balding principal, he plasters on a smile.
“The slides are set up and ready to go. I’ll introduce you.”
“I’m going to go sit down out there,” I say quietly.
I start to walk away, but Dean’s hand darts out, snatching mine. He looks into my eyes for just a second. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby.”
I sit down on the chair at the end of a row of teachers. I know some of them from my days at DHS. I smile and wave and then turn my attention to the principal, who has just reached the podium. He hushes the chattering group of kids. And introduces my husband.
* * *
I left my job with DHS at the end of the summer after Dana’s death. Leaving was harder than I expected it would be. I loved my job, and I loved my kids. But I didn’t feel like I was at the place I needed to be, and I had no idea if I would ever be there again. Everyone understood. I was comforted by the fact that I’d be able to play a bigger role in the lives of some kids who really needed to know that someone cared.
I was able to help transition my replacement, Carol, and introduce her to all of my kids and foster parents as well as a couple of biological parents. A few days later, as promised, Emily, Sara, and I took Claire to Santa Monica for a long girls’ weekend before her correspondence courses and my new job at Wyatt House started. For four days, we sat on the beach, shopped, and ate.
When we got back, I took Matty with me to meet my dad and Karen. He was really nervous. His legs bounced, and he couldn’t keep his hands still. It was the first time he’d ever met with prospective foster parents prior to being placed, and he knew what was at stake.
“Do they know about everything?” he questioned once he was in my car.
“What do you mean?”
“About me. Do they know, like, what happened?”
“Logan’s told them a little bit, but I don’t think he went into detail, no. I haven’t told them anything. What you want them to know is up to you.” He nodded and bit his lip, but didn’t stop fidgeting.
We met for dinner at Karen’s restaurant. Matty thought it was cool that she owned the place. They stayed away from anything involving his past and focused instead on telling him about themselves as well as talking about what he liked to do. My dad mostly just listened, but Karen was extremely talkative. After our meal, she took him back to meet her head chef, and then showed him how to make crème brûlée.
“That was cool,” he said as we made our way back to Wyatt House. “It was like a little blow torch.”
“That’s exactly what it was,” I laughed. “What did you think of them?”
“They’re really nice,” he answered quietly.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I know. I told you they were. Do you think you’d like to go live with them?”
Matty shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you think they liked me?” The question broke my heart.
“Of course they did, Matty,” I assured. “You’re an amazing kid. Everybody loves you. I think you guys would be good for each other, but it’s up to you.”
He turned his head to look out the window. In the reflection of the glass, I could see him smile.
We had four more, longer visits, including an overnight and a weekend, before he officially moved in with my parents. By that time, I’d begun working at Wyatt House, so it was much easier for me to help him through the transition.
The rest of the boys had a hard time when Matty left. Especially Curtis. He began acting up in school, and his grades plummeted. I got a call one day saying he’d been caught in a sexual act with a fourteen-year-old freshman in a supply closet and was being suspended for two weeks. When I went to pick him up, he was high as a kite. I tried talking to him, but he didn’t want anything to do with me. Dean became an enemy, too—I’m not exactly sure why. Aiden had a little better luck trying to get him to open up, but it was a slippery slope. He eventually admitted that it was hard to see other kids adopted, wanted by other parents. After that, things started to improve, but he still struggled.
While Edgar and Eric remained fairly stable, the newer kids, Trey and Zander, were up and down like freaking roller coasters. Trey tried to run twice but didn’t get far. I had my doubts as to whether he really wanted to go, but I knew running was just habit for him. Dean and Aiden sat him down, warning him that they wouldn’t tolerate another excursion.
Zander had a manic episode in October after hiding his meds. He was out of control for several days, and the crash was hard. It wasn’t his last, either. Eventually, he attempted suicide and had to be removed and hospitalized. Luckily, I wasn’t there the day it happened. Dean spared me the details.
Logan went to college. It was a dose of more reality than he expected. Even with Brayden—who seemed to have his head on straight—supporting him, Logan had a difficult time balancing his early-morning classes with his full-time job. He started drinking and partying pretty heavily whenever he had time off, which caused my sister to refuse to see him for a good six weeks. There were a lot of loud phone calls followed by tears, but
he eventually pulled his head out of his ass and showed up on my doorstep with a dozen red roses and puppy-dog eyes, begging for forgiveness.
Despite the drama and discomfort from her growing pregnancy, Claire continued to do well in school. She finished her correspondence courses, qualifying her for her diploma in November—just in time.
December first—two weeks early—Claire went into labor and delivered a beautiful, healthy baby girl: Ellie Kay Davidson. I stayed with her through the entire birth. Logan made it from work just in time, and the two of us cried like babies when Ellie came out all squished and wrinkly.
Watching Logan hold his little girl for the first time was an experience I don’t think I’ll ever get over. He was in such awe. I could see why, too. Cradling that tiny, little person in my arms, I suddenly realized just how much I did want to be a mother— someday.
Leaving them alone, I let Dean, Matty, Caitlynn, Brayden, Karen, and my dad—who were all in the waiting room—know that mother and baby were well. Then I lost it again. I couldn’t believe Logan and my baby sister were parents.
Even though Logan protested, I insisted that Claire and Ellie stay with Dean and me. Mother or not, she was still only seventeen. On top of that, Logan and Brayden’s place seemed to be a gathering place for kids who either lived in the dorms or with their parents—not exactly infant- or new-mommy-friendly.
The first few weeks were an adjustment for all of us. None of us slept well. Ellie had a strong set of pipes and wasn’t afraid to use them when she wanted something. Funny enough, Dean was the only one other than Claire who could calm her down.
One night, I woke to find Dean gone from bed. I crept out of the bedroom and, after not being able to find him in the kitchen or living room, headed back down the hallway.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, quietly pushing open the door to the nursery, which used to be Andy’s room. Dean was sitting in the rocking chair, Ellie secured in his arms. She wasn’t asleep, just staring up at him. She had his finger in her grip and was contentedly sucking on her pacifier.
