“You can be honest with me,” I say firmly. I clench my teeth, surprising myself with how much I mean the words I say next. “I won’t let him hurt you anymore, kid. You understand me?”
Cole looks down, rubbing at the bruised area on his arm. “He’s not a nice man,” he says so quietly I almost can’t make out the words.
“Do you want me to take you someplace safe?”
He takes a step back, shaking his head furiously. “He’d hurt me bad.”
“I meant what I said. He’s done hurting you.” I don’t know what I’ll do for the kid, but I know child services would have a field day if they came and checked this place out. They’d have Cole taken away from here no problem, but it’d take time. And I know my dad. He’d take it out on Cole if child services started sniffing around. “Come on. You can come home with me tonight. We’ll take you somewhere to get help tomorrow.”
He swallows almost comically hard, wringing his small hands together. “Could I bring my blocks?”
“Hell yeah,” I say.
“You won’t let him hurt me?” he asks.
“I promise he won’t hurt you.”
7
Stephanie
I rub my temples and let out what feels like the tenth dramatic sigh in as many minutes. Keyboards click incessantly across the office and the fluorescent lights glare down at me. It’s another normal day. Another day of work that feels less important and less right for me with each passing day. But why should it feel so different? It’s the same job I was reasonably happy with before. It’s the same routine, the same coworkers, the same everything. Except that’s not entirely true, is it?
Something has changed.
It was four months ago when I found out I wasn’t going to be allowed to adopt Braden. It was also four months ago that…
I pinch my temples again and let out another sigh. I’m not going to think about him. It only makes everything worse. That night with him was so vivid and so alive that everything since feels like it’s washed out and gray. Even the strength of the anger and frustration I felt with him is something I almost wish I could go back to. I haven’t felt strongly about anything in a long time now, except maybe when I get tailgated on my drive to work, but that’s the only exception.
Jamie spins in her chair and turns to face me. Her cubicle is beside mine, and the walls are short enough that we can see each other's eyes if we sit up straight. “Okay. I’ll bite. You’ve been making dramatic noises more than usual today. Are you wanting me to ask what’s wrong?”
I have to stop myself from sighing again. I’ve always prided myself on not being an emotional drag on my friends, but I guess I hit my limit, because Jamie’s question breaks through the thin wall I’ve been putting up to keep everyone from seeing what a mess I am. “You could sum up my emotional state by saying I am conducting a four month study on whether an adult female can survive on a diet of ice cream and sweets. I’ve also watched The Notebook so many times that I think the CEO of Netflix is probably going to personally email me to ask if I’m okay. But other than that, I’m just dandy.”
Jamie folds her fingers and rests her chin on them, eyes narrowing. “So you’re saying it’s bad?”
I roll my eyes and flash a grin. “Yes. Or pathetic might be a more accurate word. There has been a lot of wallowing. A lot of self pity. You know, that kind of thing.”
“What about that kid you were going to try to adopt after Braden fell through. You said you were going down to submit the paperwork at the adoption agency a couple months ago, right?”
I sink deeper into my chair. “I was going to, but I couldn’t bring myself to this time. I stopped being able to convince myself I wasn’t just signing up for another period of false hope followed by having my heart crushed.”
“What about the other option?” asks Jamie. She lifts up her fingers and makes a crude gesture by making a circle with one hand and jabbing it repeatedly with her other hand.
“Still off the table.”
“Can I give you a little tough love?” Jamie asks.
“I didn’t realize there was an option to turn you off of ‘tough love’ mode.”
“Well, I’ve let you off easy now for too long. You’ve got to get over it, Steph. Maybe that’s an asshole thing to say, but I’m saying it. I don’t care how fucked up your past was. You’re not ever going to get over it if you keep shutting yourself off to the penis-endowed half of the population because of it. So you’re going to make me a promise.”
“Is that right?” I ask, voice dripping with my lack of enthusiasm.
“Yes.” She scoots her chair forward so she can squeeze the crap out of my knees. “You’re going to promise—no, vow that the next time you have a chance with a guy, you’re going to take it. No more passing on the penis.”
I shush her, glancing around to see if anyone is listening in on our ridiculous conversation. “You’re going to get us a meeting with HR, you spaz.”
“Make the vow,” she says.
“Ow! You’re going to pop my legs off at the knee if you squeeze any harder.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Steph. Say it.”
“Fine. I vow.” I wave my hands like I’m casting some kind of fancy spell. “Are you happy?”
“I’m never happy,” says Jamie in a matter-of-fact voice. “I just exist on a spectrum of how ready I am to slap a bitch at any given moment.”
I give her a dry look. “Then are you less likely to ‘slap a bitch’ since I made your stupid vow?”
“Yes,” she says, turning her chair back around and scooting up to her computer like nothing happened.
I stare after her for a few seconds before a tall man being led into the room draws my attention. Young kids being brought to our office by a parent or guardian isn’t unusual, and the man coming in past reception is being trailed by a young boy who can’t be older than four. What’s unusual is that I recognize the man.
I’d remember that wild, effortlessly sexy hair and powerful build anywhere. And those eyes… God. Even from across the room I can feel their power and remember the heat they sent spiking through my body with only a moment’s attention.
He’s attracting the eyes of almost everyone in the office as he’s led toward Stacey’s desk. She works with a lot of troubled youth, just like Jamie and I do, so it’s no real surprise that our receptionist is leading him to her desk. She sits closest to the entrance, so she usually gets the first client of the day.
I tuck a hair behind my ear and then stick my hand in my lap when I realize it’s trembling. Stop it, Stephanie. Yes, I might have been wallowing in part because Tristan gave me the night of my life just like he promised and then cut me free, but I’m not about to turn into some lovesick puppy and go running to him or pouting because he’s going to Stacey’s cubicle instead of mine. I still carry the sting of how he turned from a caring lover to a heartless asshole in a split second. He used me and then couldn’t get rid of me fast enough when he was done, yet I still can’t stop myself from stupidly being stuck on him.
Jamie turns in her chair and makes a surprised sound. “Wow. We missed out on that one, didn’t we?” she asks.
“He’s not bad,” I say dismissively.
“Wait a second. That’s the guy. The one from the auction. No wonder you’re blushing like a horny school girl.”
“Stop it. It’s just hot in here.”
“Right. That’s why you haven’t taken your jacket off since you came in this morning, then?”
I strip out of my jacket, making an annoyed sound. “Please, Jamie. Just drop it.”
“You made a vow,” she whispers. “A sacred vow.”
“Oh come on. I made your stupid vow that I’d embrace an opportunity, not go out of my way to make one.”
“Mr. Magic Dick coming in here out of the blue isn’t an opportunity? Seriously?”
Tristan turns his head in our direction just before he sits at Stacey’s desk. Our eyes meet. Even across the room it fe
els like electricity sparks through me and makes every hair on my body stand on end. He puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder, not taking his eyes off me as he walks away from Stacey and her outstretched hand to head directly for me.
“He’s coming this way,” I say faintly.
“Wow, yeah,” agrees Jamie. “You might want to wipe that chocolate you’ve had on the corner of your mouth all day off before he gets close enough to see it.”
I reach for the box of tissues on the corner of my desk too quickly, losing my balance and teetering forward in my chair until it slips out from under me and rolls backward. I crash to the ground with a whispered curse and then pop back up to my feet, still scrabbling for a tissue. I wipe at my lips and keep checking the tissue but see no sign of chocolate until I notice Jamie is grinning.
“Sorry,” she says. “I was just fucking with you. But that was fantastic. It really was.”
I throw the tissue at her and try to take my seat again with dignity just as Tristan and the boy arrive at my desk. Behind him, Stacey is talking quickly and gesturing to some of the women near her cubicle, and everyone in the entire office is staring at us. Play it cool, Stephanie. Don’t make an idiot out of yourself.
“I missed you,” I blurt. As soon as the words leave my mouth, my hands itch to cover my face and I have to fight the urge to climb under my desk and curl into a ball. I missed you? Seriously?
He takes the two chairs beside mine and pulls one out for the kid and then sits himself down too, eyes boring into me so intensely I can already feel a heat spreading through my body that has nothing to do with embarrassment. “I missed you too,” he says calmly.
My mouth feels suddenly dry. I’ve spent four months convincing myself he was a mistake, that I was angry to have given my virginity to a stranger and let myself be tossed away. I’ve spent hours in the shower practicing the angry speeches I’d give him if I ever saw him again. But one glimpse of him seems to have undone all the flimsy walls I put up.
“Who is she?” asks the little kid.
His voice yanks my attention away from Tristan for the first time since he stepped into our office. Up close, I can say pretty confidently the kid may have just turned four or he could be big for a three-year-old. He has dark hair and brown eyes just like Tristan. There’s even something oddly similar in the shape of his eyes and mouth. I guess it shouldn’t shock me that Tristan could be a father, but the possibility sends a confusing wave of disappointment through me.
I guess I can tell myself I’m over him as much as I want, but some stupid part of me keeps playing out what a future with him would be like. Him having a kid with another woman puts an unpleasant wrinkle in that fantasy future.
“Her?” asks Tristan. “She’s an old friend.”
“Old?” I ask.
He cocks a half-smile. “As in a friend I’ve had for a long time.”
“Not that long,” I say sourly. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but I don’t like feeling out of the loop on the joke. “Is he yours?” I ask.
Tristan looks at the little boy with a bemused expression. “Mine? No,” he laughs. He doesn’t seem to notice, but the boy’s face falls at Tristan’s reaction. “This is Cole. I’ve… I’ve taken a special interest in finding him a good home.”
I raise an eyebrow. The conversation shifting to a work-related subject helps to ease my pounding heartbeat and still my racing thoughts. “How do you know him?” I ask.
“It’s complicated,” says Tristan. He frowns a little when I wait for him to explain, but seems like he doesn’t intend to say anymore.
“I’m going to need more than that,” I say.
“Yeah she is,” Jamie says, lobbing the phrase over her cubicle wall like a disruptive verbal grenade.
Tristan flashes the faintest of grins and I feel my own cheeks burning with more embarrassment. Thanks Jamie. Just when I was starting to relax around him.
My mind flashes images back of Tristan stripping out of his shirt and the sculpted body he hides beneath that suit. I remember how full I felt with his cock deep—
I blink long and hard, squeezing my eyes shut to try to push back the images and focus. “I’m going to need more information than that if you expect me to help you,” I say.
“Like?” he asks.
“Like whether you have a right to make decisions for Cole. Are you a guardian? A sibling?”
Tristan’s jaw flexes. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about his relationship with the boy for some reason, but he’s going to have to get over that fast if he expects help.
I raise my eyebrows impatiently when he still doesn’t respond. “What did you do, kidnap him?”
He crosses his arms and shifts a little uncomfortably, still saying nothing.
“Wait,” I say, lowering my voice. “Please tell me you didn’t kidnap him.”
“Is a firefighter kidnapping a kid he pulls out of a burning building?” he asks.
“If he keeps the kid afterwards, yes,” I say with exasperation.
Tristan sighs. “He was in a very bad situation and I refuse to let him go back to that place.”
It’s my turn to cross my arms. “If you’re serious about this, I’m probably not the best person to help you.” I have to dig the words out forcefully, but it’s the truth. Whatever weird feelings the two of us are dealing with could get in the way of helping Cole. I’m not going to let my own personal problems be to blame for that.
Jamie clears her throat loudly from her cubicle. Probably trying to push me about the stupid vow. She can cough up a lung for all I care. At the end of the day I have the job I have because I really do care about finding kids the homes they deserve.
Tristan leans forward. “I’m serious about this. And you’re the only one I will work with on it.”
“For all you know, I’m the most inept social worker here. You don’t even know if I’m just here working tech support or in HR.”
“You’re not tech support or HR. I saw the way you looked at him when I said he needed help. This is what you do.”
It’s my turn to sigh now. I hate admitting it, but the prospect of this case creating some kind of tentative tie between Tristan and I is exciting—even if it’s in a terrifying kind of way. As long as I focus on the job first and Tristan second…
“Okay,” I say finally. “But I need to ask Cole some questions before I’ll even consider helping you.”
“Do what you have to do,” says Tristan.
Cole looks up to Tristan, as if for permission. Tristan nods to him.
“Okay, Cole,” I say. “Has he hurt you?”
Tristan gives me a sharp look, but Cole shakes his head quickly.
“Do you want to go back home?” I ask.
Cole shakes his head even harder now.
“Why?”
He looks to Tristan again, who nods, but glares at me like I’m the bad guy for asking.
“Daddy might be mad.”
“When your Daddy is mad, what happens?”
Cole lowers his head, but his little hand goes to rub at his forearm, where I see a bruise in the shape of a large hand.
“Did your Daddy do this?” I ask, pointing to the bruise.
Cole nods.
“Thank you Cole,” I say softly. “I’m sorry I had to ask you all those questions. I know it can be scary to talk about, but you did an amazing job. Do you like candy?” I ask
He looks up, face suddenly lit with excitement.
I raise my voice, even though I know Jamie is probably still pressing her ear to the cubicle wall to eavesdrop. “My friend, Jamie, can take you to go get some. Would you like that?”
Jamie gets up with a glare but still reaches to take Cole’s hand. “Come on, turd. There’s candy in the break room.”
“What’s a turd?” asks Cole as they walk toward the break room.
“You might have a chance,” I say once I’m alone with Tristan. “But there’s virtually no chance you can keep him from going back to h
is dad’s house. Child services will need to investigate to see if it’s an unsuitable place for a child before they can get the police involved. There’d have to be some kind of definite proof otherwise, like drugs found in the house or domestic abuse reports.”
“They’d just have to look in the damn window to see drugs,” says Tristan.
I work my lips to the side. “I’m just not exactly sure how this would work. There might also be legal ramifications on your end. I mean, you technically kidnapped him.”
“I can afford good lawyers. I’m not worried about it.”
“Well then maybe you should leverage some of that money to convince a neighbor of his to call and complain about drugs or weapons in plain sight. Because I still don’t think there’s a way to avoid taking Cole back there at least temporarily.”
“I’m sure I could make something happen,” he says.
“I was kidding,” I say dryly.
“I’m not. If that’s what needs to happen, that’s what is going to happen.”
“Why do you care so much about him? Tell me that much.”
Tristan clamps his mouth shut again, jaw working silently as he glares at me. “That’s my business.”
I rub my temples, nursing the headache his stubbornness is causing to intensify. “Look. Part of the equation is going to be where he’ll end up. If he’s just going straight to an orphanage, child services are going to want more evidence to get him out of the house. Are you going to adopt him? Are you his family? It all matters for the case.”
“I don’t know if we’re family,” he says, “but I just wanted to get him out of there. I wasn’t signing up to adopt a kid.”
“Look, I can recommend that Cole gets sent to a shelter, but they’ll have to notify his parents. And unless you’re filing some kind of claim about abuse, chances are they will get him back and it will continue. Kids like Cole get conditioned to stay quiet. Whatever has been happening his whole life hasn’t been caught, and it’s probably not going to be if you want to just wash your hands of this and walk away.”
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