by Nicole Dykes
I know I’m hard to deal with, and Bree hasn’t taken to Blair yet, so she’s not going to make it easy.
Still, Blair had her room ready. She was willing to share her bed with me. And not only that, she took Bree to the store, and they came back with a ton of shit.
Bree didn’t look thrilled, and I'm sure that’s confusing to Blair, but I know she was grateful even if she doesn’t trust Blair yet.
“Hopefully she sleeps okay.”
Blair sits on the step next to me on the front porch of her house. She leaves several inches between our thighs. “She will. That bed looks nice.”
“Better than a fucking chair.”
I know she’s irritated with me. I’ve never slept in a bed with anyone else before. It’s not personal. It’s dark out, but the street she lives on is well lit with streetlights and porch lights. Sedans drive by every once and awhile, probably fathers coming home to their kids.
“Thanks for today.”
She lifts her shoulders, her breasts lifting as she takes in a deep breath and then falling when she releases it. “It’s nothing.” She stretches her legs out in front of her. She’s wearing a black leather skirt so her legs are on full display. They’re smooth with just enough muscle from her morning runs. “But what is the plan exactly?”
I shrug because I have no fucking idea. “Keep her safe.”
“Right . . .” I feel her eyes on the side of my face as I look everywhere but at her. “Don’t freak out on me.”
I turn suddenly at that, and she holds her hands up, “I’m not going to touch you. Chill.”
“What?” I would love to say that wasn’t my first thought, but it was. “Why would I freak out?”
“How do you know she wasn’t safe?”
My teeth grind in my mouth, and I hate how she sounds dangerously close to the social worker bitch. “She wasn’t.”
“Rhys, don’t get so defensive. I want to know.” Her voice has an edge to it like she’s annoyed, but I also hear the softness there. She deserves some sort of explanation since she’s offering up her house.
“She told me she wasn’t.”
She’s gnawing on her bottom lip, and it’s actually funny to me that I can make her nervous. “People lie, Rhys. Even little girls.”
“That’s what’s fucked with the system.” My eyes meet hers, and I try not to sound so harsh. “They believe that kids will lie, but they don’t realize adults are far more likely to be corrupt.”
She thinks that over. “I guess that makes sense. Every adult I know is a total twat.”
I actually laugh at that. In my own way. It’s probably more of a scoff. “Exactly.”
“Rhys Moore, did you just laugh?”
I shrug my shoulders and clear my throat. “No.”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “Right.”
I know I owe her more than this. “I was a foster kid, Blair.”
She tilts her head to look at me as if to say no shit. “I know that. I pay a little attention, Rhys.”
I swallow the sickening feeling, trying to ignore my sweaty palms and rapid heart rate. “I was in a lot of bad homes.” My throat is dry as I try my best to swallow the lump there. “But the last one was the worst by far.”
She doesn’t ask me what happened. And I'm grateful, but still I owe her something.
“There was abuse. And I just know this girl has felt that. I don’t know how to explain it . . . I just . . .”
“Feel it,” she supplies, her voice quiet and almost breathless.
“Yes.”
“Okay. So, we protect her.” She says it with determination like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And when I look at her pretty face, I want so fucking badly to taste her lips, but I fucking can’t.
Because I'm so fucking broken and fucked-up that the thought also makes me sweat with fear.
Tremble even.
“Will you be okay here with her if I go to the gym?”
She nods her head, leaning back on the step, letting her elbows rest on the porch behind her. “Yes, but there’s equipment here.”
“You have a home gym?”
Her eyes roll. “Of course. It’s in the basement.”
“I’ll go to my own. Thanks.” I stand up and look back at her. “Yours probably only has girly shit.”’
She stands up, facing me as she flips me off. “It’s state of the art, fucker.”
I don’t want to get too familiar with her home or take even more advantage than I already have. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
I need to let off some steam before I lose my shit.
“Rhys?”
“Yeah?”
“What are the rules?”
I stare at her, uncertain about what she’s asking. “Rules?”
“Yeah. I mean . . . you aren’t going to touch me, and I’m not even close to dried up.”
I cringe at her description. “Nice.”
She laughs easily and shrugs. “It’s true.”
“Oh, I know.” She laughs again, responding to my semi-playful side. “You can fuck whoever you want, Blair.”
“And the social worker won’t care? We’re supposed to be in a relationship, right?”
“I don’t think she’s gonna dig that deep. Maybe don’t bring them here.”
She thinks it over but seems annoyed with me yet again. “Fine.”
I don’t stay to talk any longer and walk to my car to drive to the gym across town near my shop.
I hate the idea of other motherfuckers touching her, but at least they can, and she can touch them back without them flinching like a pussy.
When I get back from the gym, I think about ringing the doorbell even though Blair gave me a key. It feels like an odd invasion of privacy just walking into her home.
But I go ahead and do it since it’s after ten. I doubt she’s asleep yet. I showered at the gym, so I head upstairs where I left all my stuff. I suppose it makes sense to sleep in her room, but it still feels too intimate even if her room is bigger than my apartment and I'm sleeping across from her.
I see Bree’s light is still on and her door is open, so I knock real quick to check on her.
She’s reading on her bed and looks at me funny. “You don’t have to knock when I can see you.”
I walk in, ignoring the attitude I actually like. If she had no fight left, I would really worry. “You okay? You need anything?”
She shakes her head and points to the several shopping bags that are sitting on the floor under her window. “No. Your Barbie loaded me up.”
“She didn’t buy you a lot of pink shit, did she?”
She smirks at that and closes her book. “No. She was actually pretty cool. Let me get jeans and t-shirts. A really cool jacket. Some vintage stuff for the room.” She shrugs. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“Yeah, Blair really isn’t that bad.”
She lifts her little shoulders. “She still looks like a Barbie.”
I almost laugh. This kid seems to do that to me. “Yeah. I know. But don’t tell her. Makes her all pissy.”
She smiles. “Yeah. I know.” She looks nervous now as her head dips, her gaze staying away from me and her voice is quiet. “Please don’t ask me.”
“I won’t.” I know what she’s talking about. I don’t want to ask her. “But you can talk to me if you need to. Or Blair. When we earn it.”
Her eyes lift slowly. “You think I’ll be here long enough for that?”
“If I have anything to say about it, yeah.”
But we both know the process. We both know the hoops they’re going to make me jump through will be huge. “He wanted me to be this perfect little doll. That’s not me.”
“You don’t have to be anyone’s doll.” My voice is too harsh to talk to a child, but she doesn’t flinch.
“I thought that’s what your Barbie was gonna do today. Dress me up the way she wanted me to.” I listen quietly. “But she asked me what I liked.”
I tense b
ecause that’s very Blair. “She cares. More than most, even if she doesn’t seem like it at first.”
She nods her head at that, thinking it over.
“You sure you don’t need anything?”
She nods, shooing me away.
“School tomorrow. Go to bed soon, okay?”
She dismisses me again, and I leave her to it, walking down the hall to the double doors down at the end. They’re open, and Blair is sitting on her bed as well, flipping through channels on her TV.
She turns when she sees me. She’s wearing the world’s shortest pink shorts and a cropped, matching camisole. I’ve seen her naked, but this isn’t much different. “Fuck, Blair. You think you could find some real pajamas?”
She rolls her eyes, flipping me off and turning the television off. “You’re lucky I'm wearing anything. I usually sleep completely naked.”
And now my mind is exactly where she wanted it. Her naked body.
“I can sleep on the couch. I don’t want to put you out.”
She waves me off. “Or you could not be a pussy and sleep in the bed.”
She’s in a mood, but when isn’t she? I ignore her and take my shoes and socks off, worn out from the gym. “Her school isn’t far. I’ll drop her off on my way to work.”
“I don’t mind taking her.”
I look over at her as I remove my shirt and drop it next to the chair I'm sleeping on. “She grow on you?”
She scoffs, but I think she did. “She’s feisty. I like it.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I reach for my bag and find a pair of sweats. I should change in the bathroom, especially since Blair’s eyes haven’t stayed off my chest since I took off my shirt. “You’re like a dude, you know?”
She laughs at that and pulls her covers back. “You have a nice body. I’m supposed to ignore it?”
I guess I stare at her tits often enough. “You could try.”
She rolls her eyes and slides under the covers. “If you don’t want me looking, maybe you should skip the gym. Don’t tell me you do all that working out just for fun.”
I don’t. But the way I stiffen when she says that, I think she knows there’s a more sinister reason I work out as much as I do. And I don’t like it. I push my shorts down and off and quickly pull the sweats on.
She doesn’t question me, just gets situated on her bed as I lay down on the soft chair, pulling the blanket she left for me over my body. She tells the device in her room to turn off the lights, and we’re left in the dark.
“Ask me.”
I barely recognize my voice. The two words coming out shaky.
“Ask you what, Rhys?”
“One question. Whatever you want to.” I know I owe her more than the shitty explanation I gave her earlier. She made Bree feel comfortable here. She let us move in and rearrange her life.
“What’s the point? You won’t answer it anyway.”
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t plan to answer. Go ahead. One.”
My hands shake at my side as I hope she doesn’t ask the truly difficult questions, but I'll answer whatever she asks me.
She’s quiet for what seems like an eternity and then finally softly asks, “How old were you when you went into foster care?”
Damn, she went easy on me. I take a deep breath. Thankful for that.
“Three. My mom dropped me at one of those Safe Drop places.”
“Jesus,” she whispers into the darkness. I think if she reacts that way to the easy question, she better not ask any tough ones. “What a twat.”
That word sounds funny coming out of her mouth. I have no idea why it gets me, but it does, and I half-laugh again.
“I know that was a fucking laugh this time.”
I smile in the dark room and settle into the pillow. “Maybe.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t want you to feel like you were living with a total stranger.”
“So, does that mean the longer you’re here, the more questions you’ll answer?”
I shrug even if she can’t see me. “Maybe.”
I don’t want her to dig deeper. I don’t want to talk, but if there’s anyone I will answer to, it’s Blair.
Yeah, that fucking chair sucks ass. I groan and pull my tired body up and off the pink lounge chair in Blair’s room.
It’s not like I sleep much anyway. And besides, I've slept on much worse. Blair’s bed is empty, and I grab a shirt, tugging it on before I walk down the hall. Bree’s door is wide open, and she’s not inside either.
I walk down the stairs, and the smell of bacon hits my nose first. What the fuck? Blair knows how to cook?
I walk into the kitchen and see a full plate of food in front of Bree, who’s sitting at the table. I look at Blair, with an eyebrow lifted because I really didn’t expect her to cook. She’s still wearing the little shorts and cropped top from last night, but she did put a robe over it. She just didn’t tie it.
“Blair?” It’s a question as I look over at the table again, seeing Bree eating slowly.
Blair just lifts her shoulders, handing me a mug full of black, hot coffee. “I don’t know how to cook, but I definitely know how to order food.” She nods toward the brown bag on the counter from a local breakfast place.
That makes more sense. But I don’t say that, considering I would like my balls to stay attached to my body, and she’s really trying here. “Thanks.”
I take a drink of coffee and sit down across from Bree. She doesn’t look up from her plate. She’s wearing a t-shirt today though, her curls pulled up in a ponytail. This seems more like her style, and I’m grateful to Blair for that.
Not dressing her up like a fucking doll. I can see she has on ripped jeans, ripped for style and not from wear.
“You ready for school?”
She shrugs as she takes a bite of breakfast potatoes. Blair sets a plate in front of me and then takes a seat with some fruit in front of her. Bree scrunches her nose as she shakes her head in disapproval at Blair’s breakfast choice. “No wonder you look like a Barbie.”
It doesn’t bother Blair this time as she pokes a piece of strawberry with her fork and brings it to her mouth. “I hope you’re not calling me skinny, string bean.”
Bree glowers at her, but I can tell Blair is starting to get in. She goes back to her breakfast, and I take a bite of the eggs on my plate. I tossed and turned all night and not because of the shitty accommodations. I can’t get that fucking social worker’s words out of my head.
That I'm robbing Bree of a good life. I can’t give her any of the things the Herringtons can. I can barely take care of myself. And I can’t ask Blair to do this forever.
“I can take you to school, string bean. If you want.” I look over at Blair.
“I’ll take her.”
She takes another bite of fruit. “I don’t mind. I just thought I’d offer since it’s the opposite direction for you.”
Bree, of course, doesn’t really express her opinion either way. “Whatever.”
“I’ll take you today.” My nerves are on high alert, and I have an overwhelming need to make sure she’s safe.
Not that Blair can’t keep her safe.
Bree stands up after finishing most of her breakfast. “I’m gonna go read before school.”
I nod, and she leaves as Blair turns to me. “I’m not trying to step on your toes. I really don’t mind.”
“You’ve done enough. I told you, she’ll be my responsibility.”
She looks wounded by my words, and it’s beginning to annoy me that she’s starting to act like an actual chick and not the Blair I know.
She’s studying me, and I don’t fucking like it. “Stop.”
She rolls her eyes and looks away. “Right. No eye contact. I thought that was just when we were fucking.”
I glare at her, my jaw clenched tight, hating how that fucking stung. “Just stop trying to dig deeper. I’m not a deep well, Blair. I’m just a shattered surface.”
; Her eyes meet mine again. “You should be a poet.” She’s being sarcastic, of course, as she takes a drink of her coffee. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Too fucking much.” I stand up from the table, but she does too.
“No, I mean something new is eating at you. You got temporary clearance to be her foster dad. Is it getting approval for longer?”
Yes. And no. I’m starting to think Gillian has some serious pull. “I just don’t know if I’m doing the best thing for her.”
My teeth are nearly grinding in my mouth. Doubt is a motherfucker, but how can I not doubt this? I’m a street kid from nothing. I don’t know how to be a parent. I barely know how to function.
“What’s making you second guess this?”
Every fucking thing. But I don’t tell her anything. That leads to more talking, and I just want this shut down. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Oh bullshit. Look, I know you don’t like it, but I can read you.” She shrugs. “At least better than most. Just tell me because you dragged me into this. You made me your partner, so you have to talk to me.”
“Jesus, Blair. Do you ever shut up?”
Most girls would cry. Not Blair. “No, and I won’t. I’ll hound your ass until you tell me, which is exhausting for both of us. So just fucking tell me.”
My hand grips my hair, threatening to pull it out of my head. She gives me a headache. “The social worker is against it. Said I was cheating Bree.”
“That bitch.”
I drop my hand. “Yeah. But she’s right in a way.”
“Bree is afraid of that asshole. You aren’t cheating her. You’re protecting her.”
And now it’s pretty clear she believes me about Bree needing to be away from that man. “I don’t mean she should ever go back to him, but . . .” She’s listening too intently, paying attention to my every move. I hate feeling this vulnerable. “I don’t know if I'm the better option.”
She’s letting that sink in, really thinking about it, and every second ticking by is torture. “You are. You’ve already been more of a father to her than she’s probably ever had.”
“How? Bringing her to my fake girlfriend’s house.” She flinches, but quickly recovers.
“By protecting her. Helping her when she asked for help. That’s all she needs.”
