Hayley forced herself to move, although no part of her wanted to. Her limbs felt delightfully heavy. Her whole body felt sated in a way it never had before. She shuffled to the kitchen and stared out the window while coffee brewed. Her mind seemed to be stuck on the last words Ray had spoken before he left.
Did she love him?
She did not want to go down that road of analysis. What was love, anyway? What did “I love you” mean? It certainly didn’t mean “I’ll stay with you forever”. Nor did it mean “I won’t sleep with someone else”.
She’d heard “I love you” before. From Trey. And when she’d said it to him she’d meant both those things and more. She’d also meant “You’re my whole world” and “I never want to be without you”.
Now here she was. She hadn’t stayed with Trey forever. He was no longer her whole world, and she had learned to live without him. And right or wrong, she’d slept with someone else.
She poured her coffee and took it into the bathroom with her. She peeked in on Fletcher on the way. He was still asleep, one arm flung over his head, the sheet tangled around his knees. Poor kid. He was probably exhausted.
She waited for the water to warm up and decided to make him a real breakfast instead of only cereal and juice. Some scrambled eggs and toast. He’d probably be starving since he hadn’t eaten dinner.
She balanced the mug on the ledge of the tub and stepped under the spray. Memories of showering with Ray came flooding back. She relived every touch, every whisper, every sensation from last night in vivid detail.
She turned the water off and wrapped a towel around her hair and another around her body. She remembered the day she’d opened the door and saw him standing there. How the ripple went through her, and she’d warned herself to stay away from him, not to let him in. That had probably been a good plan. But she hadn’t followed through, had she? Like many of her fuzzy plans, her better ideas about how to run her life, they seemed to fall by the wayside until she forgot what they were.
Her plan to move to L.A. had been so crystal clear to her a few short months ago. In fact, it had seemed the only solution that would solve all her problems. Work in a field she enjoyed. The chance to finish college, finally get her degree. Friends who loved and supported her. A whole new life. And the best part was it was far away from Florida. And Trey.
After Steffie’s death, she’d put that plan on hold to deal with Fletcher. But she hadn’t realized how complicated such a decision was going to be. She couldn’t have foreseen that Fletcher would clam up the way he had or that retaining even temporary custody of him meant she had to qualify as a foster parent.
She hadn’t counted on Carlos’s potential interference, either, although in hindsight she knew she should have expected it. Maybe he had an upcoming trial to focus on while he sat in jail, and he’d forget about coming after her and his son. She hadn’t heard anything more from Niko, but she didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Or if it meant anything at all.
All she wanted was to see Fletcher placed in a stable environment with a family who would love him and take good care of him. She hadn’t anticipated caring about him quite so much. Nor had she foreseen the impact allowing Ray into her life was going to have.
Ray had become a major player in her life and in Fletcher’s life, and she wasn’t even sure how he’d done that. Except she’d let it happen. In fact, she’d crossed a line and welcomed him in.
And last night? In the kitchen? When he’d come after her? Ha. She hadn’t fought him at all. Hadn’t resisted him a bit. She felt almost on even footing with Ray, in a way she never had with Trey. With Trey she’d embraced that sense of being swept away, being absorbed into the fabric of his life, his fame, his career. She’d lost herself in the process.
But with Ray they met as equals. Their eyes had been opened by past tragedy. Maybe they were wary, but in a good way. It certainly hadn’t held them back last night.
Hayley smiled at herself in the mirror as she dried her hair and got dressed. If nothing else, she could hang on to those memories, the sense of buoyant well-being that still lingered. She didn’t have to be afraid anymore.
Hayley got Fletcher up and gave him a quick bath, then made him an unburnt scrambled egg and golden-brown toast. She sat at the table with him and consumed a container of yogurt with a second cup of coffee. Somehow she’d get through the day, although she’d be bone tired by the time she got home tonight.
She gave Fletcher a dose of children’s pain reliever in case his stitches were bothering him. She knew Bonnie, his teacher in the day care, would let him nap extra long if he needed to.
She dropped him off and explained his injuries to Bonnie. She managed to get through her two morning classes. The director of the Y had asked to see her, and after that she had an appointment with Callie Maxwell scheduled for her lunch break.
Pablo waved her in right after she tapped on his open door. His office was casual in a no-nonsense sort of way, with basic furnishings, lots of sports-related posters and memorabilia, and a desk cluttered with papers, files and magazines.
“Have a seat.”
Gratefully, Hayley dropped into one of the two chairs in front of Pablo’s desk. She hoped she could stay awake and pay attention.
“Your cheerleading classes have generated quite a bit of interest around here, as you know,” he began.
“I didn’t think anyone noticed.” Hayley had only taught two. One for Molly, on a Sunday afternoon two weeks after the birthday party. And another one for her friend Hannah several weeks later. She had requests for information from a few other people as well, but no commitments as of yet.
“Oh yes,” Pablo assured her. “Since I let you use the facility here, some of the members assumed it was sanctioned by the Y. When I explained what you were doing, a couple of them asked why the Y didn’t have a program like yours.”
“They did?”
“They did. As I said, I’ve been giving it some thought. I’ve talked to a couple of the board members, and I think we have a good shot for approval if we can put together a proposal.”
“We?” Hayley echoed.
“You and me. I’d expect you to run it, of course.”
“Me?”
“Who else? You’d be perfect.”
“I would?” Air seemed to be whirling between her ears, comprehension of the simplest English beyond her today.
“Of course.” Pablo stated this with a smile, as if there were no doubt in his mind.
“But—but—I’ve never run anything in my life. I don’t have administrative experience. I don’t even have a degree.”
“True. But you have some, uh, assets that are more important than experience and a degree.”
Like what? Hayley wondered. She could barely manage her own life, and Pablo wanted to put her in charge of an entire program? One that hadn’t even been developed yet? Poor Pablo. He’d evidently been misinformed about her.
“Look, Hayley, I don’t know you very well, and I don’t know a lot about you.”
Obviously.
“But what I do know is you didn’t have an ideal childhood.”
Pablo Estevez. Master of understatement.
“I think it will be easy for you to identify with a lot of the girls who will probably be in the kind of program I have in mind.”
A picture of Jasmine Washington popped into Hayley’s head. She’d looked miserable during the fireworks, curled into a chair she’d purposely dragged away from the rest of the group. Hayley’d identified with much of what Callie had said to her in the restroom. How isolated Jasmine probably felt with two working parents who lived apart, even though Roscoe and his ex-wife were doing their best. The difficulty of growing up under a massive amount of peer pressure and the desire to belong somewhere, anywhere, remained.
Thanks to her grandmother and Aunt Glenna, Hayley’d been kept occupied with dance and gymnastics classes along with cheerleading. She’d found something she loved to do early tha
nks to those two women who’d stepped up to the plate when her own mother had bailed on her. She’d been lucky, but many girls weren’t so lucky. Maybe whatever Pablo was proposing would be a way to pay tribute to them for all that they’d given her.
While she’d been reminiscing, Pablo had been talking. She tuned back in. “…I figure someone with your background, you’d be a great role model. If we can get these girls excited about something, teach them some skills, give them someplace to go after school and on weekends, well, I think it could make a real difference in their lives.
“I’m thinking age ten and up, maybe to sixteen?”
Hayley nodded. She’d missed much of what he’d said.
“And then, after sixteen, if they’re still interested in participating, we offer them paid intern positions. They start teaching what they’ve learned to the kids coming into the program.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Hayley put in, trying to sound professional.
“There will be a lot fundraising involved, which I also think is right up your alley. I know you were involved with quite a few charitable causes in Jacksonville.”
“That’s true. I was involved. But that’s not the same thing as being in charge of it.”
Pablo chuckled. “You probably won’t be in charge of these either. You’ll be the face, and no offense, the figure, behind the program. And the name. We’re lucky. We have quite a few board members who enjoy the fundraising aspect of the job. But as program coordinator, it will be up to you to outline what we’re doing and generate enthusiasm for it, which will hopefully open up the checkbooks of donors. We’ll need a lot of scholarship money if we’re going to involve underprivileged kids as well.”
“Of course,” Hayley agreed, though she’d missed any earlier mention of the underprivileged.
“Now, as for your lack of a degree.” Pablo paused. “What happened there, anyway?” He glanced down at the file he had in front of him, which Hayley realized was her personnel file when he picked up her resume.
“Trey and I got engaged the year he graduated. I tried out for the Jackettes that summer, and was chosen, so I left school. I was only with them for one season because once Trey signed with the Jacks, I had to give it up. Then we got married. And, well, I ended up here.”
Pablo nodded and glanced back at her resume. “You’ve only got what? Another year or so to finish?”
“I guess. I mean, I don’t know how much has changed, if my credits are still acceptable. I can’t afford to go back to school right now, anyway.” She didn’t mention that having custody of Fletcher made it nearly impossible as well. Nor did she inform Pablo of her planned relocation to California, and that she’d already looked into finishing her degree there.
“Of course you can. You’ve been here over six months, which is the end of the probationary period for permanent, full-time staff. If we get this program off the ground, you’ll get a nice bump in salary and benefits. The Y reimburses for expenses for any degree-seeking employee. We’ll make it happen.”
“O-okay.” Hayley could feel herself beginning to droop from trying to absorb everything Pablo had outlined.
He pushed back from his desk and stood. “Why don’t you put together some ideas, and we’ll meet again next week. We’ll have to start small and build. Our fiscal year ends in October, which means we have time to plug this into next year’s budget. We’ll have to make a presentation to the board by early September.”
As soon as Hayley left Pablo’s office, she slid one of her precious dollars into the vending machine and downed a can of soda on her way to Callie’s office. She’d need sugar or caffeine or something to get her through the rest of the day.
Callie sat behind a battered metal desk in a cluttered cubicle on the first floor of the rather rundown social services building a few blocks from the Y.
She greeted Hayley and gestured to one of the wooden chairs on the other side of her desk.
“You look different,” she commented as she studied Hayley for a moment before opening her file.
“I do? I can’t imagine why.”
“Hmm. You look like you got yourself some good lovin’, that’s what. And if you tell my supervisor I made such an inappropriate comment, I’ll deny it.” Callie grinned at her.
Stunned, Hayley wisely kept her mouth shut. She’d once viewed Callie Maxwell as a pencil-pushing, cross-the-t’s-and-dot-the-i’s bureaucrat hoping to catch her doing something she shouldn’t. But since Callie became involved with Roscoe, she seemed to have loosened up. Or maybe Hayley’s perception of her had changed. Or possibly Callie was also the recipient of “some good lovin’” and that had changed her attitude. That also might explain the number of early morning visits she’d made, even though, as she’d pointed out, she was required to vary the times when she stopped by unannounced. If she spent the nights with Roscoe, she wouldn’t be far from Hayley’s neighborhood the next morning.
“Well, let’s see. This isn’t going to take too long. You been approved.”
“What?”
“I said you’ve been approved to be a foster parent.”
“I have? You’re kidding.”
“No, ma’am. I’m not kidding. I did all the paperwork and all the home visits myself. I have your background check right here. There’s nothing that says you can’t be a foster parent, so you are one.”
“But…I thought…all the negative publicity, the divorce—”
“Ain’t nothing says divorced people can’t take care of kids. As far as the state is concerned there’s no proof you did anything wrong or immoral or illegal no matter what gets printed in newspapers.”
“The DUI—I didn’t think—”
“It was almost two years ago,” Callie reminded her. “No priors. You paid your fine, did your community service, took the class. Your drug test came back clean. State says it’s okay.”
Almost two years ago, Hayley thought. The beginning of the end. She and Trey had been invited to a house party in Key West. Deep sea fishing, golf, sunbathing and a weekend of shopping, fine dining and camaraderie awash with morning Bloody Marys and Mimosas followed by afternoon Margaritas around the pool and cocktails with dinner.
Hayley’d had to take a later flight due to a conflict in her schedule. She’d agreed to be part of a celebrity fashion show to raise money for a shelter for abused women. The irony of it didn’t escape her.
She was supposed to meet Trey at the party, but when she arrived there was no sign of him, and no one knew where he was. Hayley had a couple of drinks and mingled with a few people she knew, but Trey’s absence nagged at her. He was still recovering from his first knee surgery, and things had not been progressing smoothly.
The host had encouraged the guests to explore the extensive grounds and the mansion itself. He’d made it clear he expected his guests to enjoy themselves, and nothing was off-limits. As she stepped outside, Hayley snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She sipped at it as she circled the swimming pool, which would have rivaled that of any luxury resort hotel. She was already a bit tipsy from the two earlier cocktails and she hadn’t eaten, too wound up and worried over Trey’s behavior of late.
At the far end of the pool area was a guest cottage, she supposed, although it was almost too big to be classified as a cottage. Still, it looked charming from the outside, with its arbor of bougainvillea, which lent privacy to a tiled terrace.
Hayley peeked into a window to see the décor was a sort of Moroccan-inspired café. She found the door unlocked and stepped inside. After investigating the living area and kitchen, she wondered if the theme had been carried throughout. A wide hallway led to several closed doors. She opened the first one and came to an abrupt halt. The champagne glass slid from her hand, to the slate tile, startling the occupants of the bed. Her gaze clashed with Trey’s before she noticed the naked, Asian-looking woman atop him, glaring at her.
Hayley turned and ran. Across the pool deck, through the maze of guests, her vision bl
urred. She slid across the tile in four-inch heels and her spaghetti-strapped Calvin Klein cocktail dress, until she was outside once again.
She couldn’t breathe, but she had to keep moving, had to get out of there, though what she’d seen was burned into her retinas for eternity.
She stumbled to her rental car, somehow retaining the presence of mind to retrieve her purse on the way out. Since she’d arrived late, her car wasn’t blocked in. The engine roared to life, and she’d driven half a mile before she remembered to put the lights on.
Maybe that’s what alerted a patrolling police officer. Or maybe she’d slid across the yellow line once too often. Hayley never knew, but swirling red lights appeared in her rearview mirror, and she wasn’t far enough gone not to realize what that meant.
She and Trey had never recovered from the aftermath of that night. His half-hearted apologies and excuses combined with her humiliation tore them apart. Hayley’d always thought of that night as the beginning of the end, for once she discovered undeniable proof of his infidelity, Trey was less inclined to bother hiding it. The doctors provided the pain pills, the liquor store delivered, and soon she barely recognized her husband. Or herself.
She supposed if the state of Florida was willing to overlook her transgressions, she could too. She’d certainly learned her lesson and never got behind the wheel of a car with so much as a drop of alcohol in her system. But still, she couldn’t quite believe she’d been approved as a foster parent.
She addressed Callie again. “But what about those home visits, when…other people were there?”
“There’s nothing that says you can’t have guests in your home. No hanky-panky going on with any of them either. Least not then.” Callie grinned at her knowingly. “So you can be Fletcher’s foster mommy, but I gotta talk to you about something else too.” She pulled several paper-clipped sheets of paper out of one of the file pockets. “Carlos José Mariano.”
A Forever Kind of Guy: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 2 Page 22
