Clarity

by Nicole Dykes

  Bree walks in with her backpack slung over her shoulder. “Is one of you going to take me to school?”

  I grab my keys from the kitchen counter and nod my head curtly in Blair’s direction. The only way I know how to end the conversation I didn’t want to have in the first place.

  She walks over to Bree, smoothing her hair with her hand. “Give ’em hell, kid. You have my number and your cell.”

  “She has a cellphone?” I walk to join the girls.

  Bree lifts her shoulder in a signature shrug. “Yeah. Blair made me get one.”

  Blair eyes me with determination that says, don’t fight me on this. “She needs to be able to call us.”

  I nod in agreement. “I could have gotten her a phone.”

  Blair rolls her eyes, folding her arms right under her full breasts, only pushing them up more and drawing my attention. She smirks when she sees where my gaze is focused. “I got to it first. We’re all a team here.”

  Bree starts for the door. “Whatever, can we go?”

  “Thanks,” I say to Blair in a forced manner that doesn’t bother her as she waves me off.

  “No problem.”

  I take Bree to school and drop her off, handing her backpack to her as she climbs out. “I’ll pick you up.”

  “K.” She closes the door and then heads up toward the school. I see two guys around her age in dingy jeans and shirts nod at her as the three of them talk and joke around in front of the public school that looks a lot like the one I went to. It’s not really in Blair’s district, but Bree was already enrolled here this year.

  The boys she’s hanging with remind me all too much of me. Rough and tough, already jaded by life at eleven.

  But they seem protective of Bree, which I guess is okay with me.

  I leave, driving toward my shop, but I can’t stop my mind from wandering to everywhere but the shop.

  I know Bree would hate a private school, but wouldn’t it give her a better shot at life? Isn’t that what I should do?

  I want to prove that bitch at social services wrong. I want to be the best thing for Bree.

  I get home from work, and it’s almost bizarre to hear people in the house. I know it’s Rhys and Bree, but still, it’s kind of weird.

  Weirdly nice. They’re making a mess in the kitchen though.

  The stove is on, and I can see water boiling as Rhys and Bree gather around his phone, looking at it intently.

  “What’s up?”

  They both look up from the phone as Bree gestures back at the stove that I honestly had no idea worked. Guess it does the way the water is boiling over the pot. “We’re making spaghetti.”

  “What’s with the phone?” I place my purse on the counter.

  Rhys grunts, “Directions.”

  I don’t think spaghetti is all that complicated to make, but what the hell do I know. “The sauce smells good.”

  Bree moves over to the stove, stirring the sauce. “It’s from a jar.”

  Rhys puts his phone down, grabbing a package of pasta. “I guess we just boil it.”

  Bree nods, and I try not to smile too big. Pretty sure it would piss them both off, but even so, I think it’s cute, them making dinner together.

  After we eat the dinner they prepared—that was surprisingly tasty—Bree heads up to her room to work on homework. Leaving me and Rhys in the kitchen to clean up. It’s strange how comfortable acting like a family is.

  The doorbell rings, and I nearly drop a plate in the sink at the sound. “Who the hell could that be?”

  Rhys looks stiff as he dries his hands. “I don’t know, but I have a pretty good idea.”

  The social worker.

  We make our way to the door and sure enough, when Rhys opens the door, a stern looking woman with an iPad is standing at the door. “May I come in?”

  Rhys grunts in response, and I'm the one who supplies the actual answer. “Yes. Please come in.” If my spoiled upbringing taught me anything, it’s being a good hostess. I can fake it with the best of them.

  She slips inside, and I close the door behind her, putting my best cheesy smile on. “Bree is upstairs doing homework, and Rhys and I were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.”

  She studies me, pulling something up on her iPad. “I’ll need to talk to her in a moment.” Her eyes survey the living room. “I need to see the entire home to ensure her safety.”

  “Of course.” I place my hand over my chest, still giving a performance suitable for an Emmy. “I absolutely love giving tours. I swipe my hand in front of me like a game show presenter. “This is the living room, as you can tell.” I gesture for her to follow, and she does, along with Rhys who looks sick.

  I show her the basement with a family room and gym before taking her back up to the kitchen. I nod toward the stairs. “All the bedrooms are up here.”

  “I’ll follow you.” She hasn’t warmed up in the slightest, and I don’t like the way she’s looking at Rhys. Like a bug. One she wants to smoosh under her shoe.

  I lead her up to Bree’s room and am sure to knock first, waiting for Bree’s reply before we walk in. “Bree, I think you already know Ms. Winters.” The social worker bitch that shook Rhys’s confidence.

  Of course, I can’t say that last part.

  Bree just nods from her place on the bed. “Good evening, Bree.” Now this woman sounds like Cinderella when she talks to Bree, leaning down and looking into her eyes. Jesus.

  Bree is not having it. “Hey.”

  “How was school?”

  I look over at Rhys, who looks like he’s about to break his teeth if he clenches his jaw any tighter.

  Bree shrugs, what she always does. “Fine.”

  The social worker looks around the room. When I took her shopping, I finally talked Bree into a comforter that said more “preteen” and less “adult guest.” It’s hot pink with black squiggles. I bought the matching curtains, but we haven’t had a chance to put them up yet.

  “How do you like your room?”

  Again with the shoulder lift. She really could pass for Rhys’s biological daughter. “It’s fine.”

  “Aubrey, you can be honest with me.”

  I feel Rhys tense, and I automatically hate this bitch. “Of course, you can. We were about to finish the tour. You wanna come, Bree?”

  Her eyes dart to mine, and she shakes her head, but her chin is lifted, showing her strength. “No. That sounds boring. I have homework.”

  Good girl. Use words.

  I laugh at that and shake my head. “Alright then.” I smile big toward the social worker, gesturing for her to follow. I show her my office, and then we go to the master bedroom.

  “This is our room.” The room is pristine. The bed made, and Rhys’s stuff put away in the dresser I had ordered. I guess it was here when he got in today. The duffle bag he was living out of is out of sight.

  He must have sensed the visit was coming because the blanket he uses to sleep with on the chaise lounge has been put up. Ms. Winters looks around. “Is there anything inappropriate for an eleven-year-old in here?”

  “You mean like porn?” My filter failed me as she turns to look at me.

  “As long as it’s safely away, that shouldn’t be a problem. Along with any other . . .” she eyes Rhys hard, “sordid items.”

  She thinks Rhys is kinky. Ha. I want to laugh, considering he won’t let me touch him. “Nothing sordid in here,” I say, fingering the rose pendant around my neck.

  “Guns?”

  “No,” Rhys answers, his tone has a definite edge to it.

  “Drugs?” Now she’s trying her best to show Rhys how much she despises him, and it makes me seethe with fury.

  “No. Rhys is clean. Why would we have drugs or even alcohol in the house?”

  She knows he’s an addict. I can feel it. The way she said the word “drugs” as if she’s waiting for him to mess up. She fiddles with the iPad in her hands. “Okay. I’m going to go have a conversation with Bree.”
She pins Rhys with a hard look. “Alone.”

  We both nod as she leaves the bedroom, and I face Rhys. “Jesus Christ, what is up her ass?”

  “She thinks I took a good thing away from Bree.”

  “Getting molested by a sick motherfucker isn’t robbing her of anything good, Rhys. Nothing is worth that.”

  I watch his throat bob, and I want to comfort the asshole, but I know I can’t with a touch. “Fuck her. We’re going to win this.”

  “It’s not a game, Blair.”

  “Everything is a game, Rhys. You have to play to win, or you’ll lose every time.”

  We walk down the hall after waiting a few minutes, and Ms. Winters leaves the room, waving to Bree with fake, ridiculous vigor.

  “I’ll be back to check in very soon, Mr. Moore.”

  “We’ll be here,” Rhys seethes, and I play my part as we walk her to the door, putting a smile on my face.

  “This is a nice home you have here. How long have you two been together again?”

  She looks at the gap between my body, and Rhys and I know she’s implying we aren’t a real couple, like she’s catching us in a lie. I quickly wrap my arm around Rhys, who recoils, but I hold him to me, laying my head on his shoulder.

  I swear I can hear his heart beating from here, but I’m hoping he’ll play along.

  “Three years,” I say with a purr, looking up at him. Rhys looks pale, and his body is so fucking tense as I lean against him.

  She studies us intently, her gaze falling where I touch him, and I can hear him breathing deep to keep from freaking out. My heart aches for him.

  “You applied for long term foster care. Do you have any plans to marry?”

  Now my body feels just as tense as Rhys’s, but I recover even when he doesn’t. “I mean, who needs that? The whole thing seems pretty outdated to me.” I drag my free hand over Rhys’s arms, and I'm hoping she doesn’t hear the sharp intake of his breath from the contact. “We’re committed, that's all that matters.”

  Her lips purse as she types something on her tablet. “I see.”

  Shit. Did I say something wrong? They can’t deny him because of that, can they?

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  “You said that already,” Rhys spits, and I tighten my hold to rein him in.

  She leaves, and I quickly release him to close the door before turning back to him. “You have to be nice, Rhys. Kiss some ass.”

  “I don’t do that,” he says through clenched teeth, and I wonder if he’s still wound tight from my touch.

  “You think I like that? Newsflash, I hate being nice.”

  “Yeah. No shit. So why were you?”

  “It’s part of the game.” I walk toward him, and he steps back quickly, his hands in front of him like he’s afraid I’m going to touch him again. I try not to let that sting.

  “Relax. I only did that for show. She doesn’t think we’re a real couple.”

  “We aren’t.”

  I glare at him, annoyed that he can’t just try to be fucking human for a moment. “I know that, but she’s supposed to think we are. Get it together.”

  He takes a seat on the bottom of the stairs, and again, I feel that stabbing feeling in my heart as he fists his hair, leaving his elbows propped up on his knees.

  I take a seat on the step below him so I don’t touch him. “Rhys, do I get another question?”

  He looks down at me where I sit, his gaze looking like he thinks I'm crazy. “After all that?”

  “I mean, I did well. I think I should get a reward.”

  He groans and lets go of his hair. “What?”

  “You said the last foster home was the worst one.” He looks pale again, maybe even green, so I quickly ask my question. “What was the best one?”

  “That’s like asking about my favorite trip to the hospital.”

  This time I'm the one to wince, and I hate it. I don’t like that he’s had more than one trip to the hospital or that he had such a horrible childhood, but still there had to be something good. “So, what’s the answer?”

  He takes in a big breath, his massive chest filling out even more before he lets it go. “I don’t know. There was one I was in when I was eight. I was there with Sean at the same time. The foster dad was a trucker, so he wasn’t home a lot, and the mom was batty as all fuck. But Sean was there, so it wasn’t so bad.”

  I smile. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

  His eyes roll as he stands. “Thanks for taking it easy on me.”

  I want to know so much. I need to know why I can’t touch him, but I don’t push it. Not tonight.

  But I will find out.

  “I have good news for you.” I’m waiting for Bree to get out of school as I hold the phone to my ear.

  “Okay.”

  Gillian goes on. “So you’re approved for long-term care and can keep Bree for now.”

  I don’t like the for now part. “But?”

  “We don’t need to get ahead of ourselves, Rhys. This is a win. You and Bree did well with the first two inspections.”

  The social worker bitch showed up again three days after the first visit to talk to Bree and I guess to try to catch us in some drug-infused orgy party. When really, we were all just sitting in the living room quietly watching some annoying show on MTV Blair and Bree like. “Just tell me, Gillian.”

  She sighs into the phone. “Mr. Herrington could fight it. He was starting the adoption process the day Bree showed up at your shop. He could still try.”

  “So, what now?” My entire body tenses up, and I see Bree walking with the two guys she’s usually with.

  “Social services has to finish their investigation of him before he can push forward with that, but I don’t think he’s going to just give up.”

  I know he won’t.

  “An investigation like that can take a while.” But not if you can grease the right palms.

  “Only time will tell, Rhys. All you can do right now is be the best foster parent possible. Stay out of trouble.”

  I grunt into the phone, and her voice is kind, almost soothing.

  “I know this is difficult. We’ll talk soon. Okay?”

  I nod my head even if she can’t see me. “Okay.”

  We get off the phone just as Bree opens the back door and climbs in, her little friends waving to her and eying me suspiciously.

  “What are their names?”

  I navigate my way out of the school parking lot, and she answers with an annoyed tone. “Fletcher and Rhett.”

  “Who are they to you?” I try to keep my voice casual, but I see her eyes roll in my rearview mirror.

  “Friends. We met in the group home, but we go to school together.”

  Group home. Fuck. So, they’re foster kids too. Makes sense. We tend to keep to our own. Instinct for safety.

  She puts her headphones in until we reach my shop. Last week, I closed up early, and we just went back to Blair’s after school. But I can’t afford to keep doing that, so she’s been hanging out at the shop this week until Blair picks her up after work.

  We go inside, and she makes herself comfortable on the couch meant for customers, taking out a book and her headphones, but she looks up at me as I prepare to reopen.

  “Rhys?”

  I look over at her. “What’s up?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  I try to offer the simple answer, hoping she’ll accept it because, let’s face it, this is Bree. She likes to talk about as much as I do. “You asked me for help.”

  She lifts a questioning eyebrow “You always help everyone who asks for it?”

  “No.” That’s the simple answer, and I add, “You’re special.”

  “I’m a handful,” she grumbles as she searches for something—probably a song—on her phone. “That’s what they all say. All my files describe me as a handful. School. Social workers.”

  “They’re all idiots. You haven’t been a handful for us.”

  My sa
ying “us” kind of surprises me, but I know Blair likes Bree too. She’s embraced having her around.

  I walk to where she’s sitting, and I crouch down in front of her, not touching her of course, but I want her to see my eyes, and I want to see hers. “Do you want to stay with me longer?” She looks cautious. “I was approved for long-term foster care today. And you can, if you want to.”

  She just lifts her shoulders, feigning indifference that was learned long ago even if she’s only eleven. “That would be okay.”

  I nod my head in decision. “Good. I want you to.”

  A small smile graces her face as she puts her headphones back in and holds her book in front of her face.

  I have no idea what I'm doing, but today, I feel good.

  “So, he can just adopt her? Even though she’s in our custody?”

  “Technically, she’s still a ward of the state. So, I don’t know.”

  I stare at him, annoyed that he doesn’t seem more worked up. I mean, this was his fucking idea in the first place. He brought this little girl here. And god damn if I didn’t go ahead and fall for the little brat. I mean, how could you not?

  She’s tough. I have no idea the horrors she’s seen in her short life, but she has a sweet side. And a funny side. I like hanging out with her when I pick her up from Rhys’s shop after work. She humors me and goes shopping with me. We watch trashy TV together. She won’t talk about boys with me yet, but I'm oddly excited about that part.

  And now, Rhys is telling me that the motherfucker she’s afraid of can just take her away? No way.

  “So what? We just sit here and wait around?”

  He turns to me, and I see the defeat in his eyes. Bree is asleep—at least her little butt better be asleep. She has school tomorrow. And we’re in my room. His body is stretched out on the ridiculous chair as I lie on the bed facing him, already under the covers.

  “Yes.” His voice is strained.

  “That’s fucking stupid.”

  I can tell his patience with me is growing thin. He tucks his inked, heavily muscled arm under his head as he looks over at me. “I know that. All I can do is follow their rules and wait for the investigation to be completed. You’re the one who told me to play the fucking game.”