by Leanne Davis
A whiplash of panicky shudders rumbles down my spine because I believe he’s in a different place than I am. That’s new for us. In the past, we were both lost in a system that didn’t want us, lacking any fit guardians or real family. We only had each other. For the first time, I think Wesley must be in love, which supersedes my needs. I can’t interfere and he won’t want to deal with me. The girl will just hate me and that’ll be that. He’ll have to send me on my way.
Where will I go? I could easily panic. But after my brief recap to Wesley, he simply asks the family he’s staying with if I could stay there, too. He makes it sound like it’ll only be for a day or two, but I sense they realize I have nowhere to go, despite his crude tactics.
The older blond woman is Tara, the matriarch of the house. She’s maybe in her mid-thirties. She’s rather tall but I think I might have a few inches on her. I am five-foot-nine, and most of my height comes from my legs. Tara has shoulder-length, honey-blond hair. She is a gorgeous woman. Wyatt, who could be Wesley’s doppelganger, calls her mom. Several times. Walking past her earlier, I notice how he affectionately rubbed her shoulders. I’m a little surprised by this kind family. But it seems Tara anticipated Wesley’s request to let me stay. In. Their. House. I also meet Ryder, the cop and father to Wyatt. He smiles warmly and seems grateful I’ve told them my full name and my age. I even welcome Ryder-the-cop to do a background check on me. I get it. I have nothing to hide. He’ll find very little on me. I did a few pranks when I was a minor, but nothing since becoming an adult.
I omit my ex, however. My violent, horrible ex who so easily wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed it until I was gasping—no! Nope, reliving that moment will only lead to bad images and morbid reminders. I didn’t deserve it. I know that. Which is why I left. I used bad judgment, but so did Wesley. He introduced me to Bobby and was as shocked about what happened to me as I was.
To my utter joy, these people, the Kincaids, are allowing me to stay. My shoulders sag. If the stress of my appearance changes in the next day or two, or dampens their spirits, so be it. This is more than enough. Tonight, I have this gorgeous house and all these nice people around me. What a treat. Wesley offers me some food, and I eagerly devour it. I have only eaten packaged food from vending machines since leaving Bobby’s. I’m famished. I take advantage of hot, home-cooked food, and the abundance of it overwhelms me.
Wyatt and his girlfriend, Dani, join us. Wesley stiffens at Wyatt’s approach, and it’s so easy to sense the tension between these two. Dani seems surprised that the two men are even talking. And when Wyatt politely inquires a little about me, Dani’s surprise is clearly etched on her face about that, too. The daggers she was aiming at me have vanished, and now she is actually pretty pleasant to me. I appreciate that.
I could grow to perhaps respect these people. If I intended to stay, that is. But that’s like pigs flying for me. Never going to happen. Me finding somewhere to live? Never. After I finish eating, I put my dishes in the dishwasher and pick up my bags. “I’m pretty beat. You mind if I go to the room now?” Hint, hint to Wesley who nods and jumps to his feet.
“Sure. Come on.” With that, I’m led upstairs while Wyatt and Dani continue staring after us. No, they’re glaring. I glance back from the staircase landing and yeah, they are not touching, only staring at each of us with differing, but grim expressions. Huh, very strange dynamics.
Wesley leads me into a spare room that is so pretty, I gasp. It’s painted white with white crown molding and polished wood floors, but the prettiest of all? The fairytale bed. It’s gussied up with a bunch of unnecessary pillows like the throw pillows they put on the beds in department store displays. I drop my bags and clasp my hands. “Oh, my God! I’m a princess tonight.” I sit on the end of the bed and begin bouncing on it.
Wesley grabs me and pulls me up. I frown at the firm hold of my wrists. “What the heck?’
“This place has high standards and protocol. Sure, they’re pretty nice, and Tara has never once nagged me, but I noticed they take off their shoes whenever they enter the house or at the very least, they check their soles. Dirty clothes are put in the hamper. Tara washes, folds, and gives them back to you. I think this is their fancy guest room. So whatever you do, don’t treat it like a cot in the basement of the Gregorys’ house.” The Gregorys were one of my foster families. They weren’t so bad. I could have even become used to them. They had a dozen kids living down in their basement. Some were their natural kids, and some, like me, were foster. But about that time, my mom sobered up, and she demanded custody of me. I lived with her for three months, two weeks and a day that time. Then I landed back in foster care when she ditched me again. I didn’t get the chance to go back to the Gregorys. It was—no, it doesn’t matter now. Not such a good memory. No use reliving what happened next.
Anyway, I get Wesley’s warning. I can be a little too forward in making myself comfortable, possibly more than I should be. It’s not because I think I’m owed something. I know I’m not. I have no rights since I’m always mooching and using. I just have nowhere to go. I have no home or family. My most brazen act is making myself comfortable in places I’m not used to. I can be comfortable in places that are distinctly unclean in their sleeping or bathroom accommodations, to sharing my space with people using drugs and alcohol or just creepy people. Nothing like this place. Stranger still, I feel most uncomfortable here.
I nod. “Okay.”
I grab the pillows and stack them in the closet for safekeeping. “I suppose she actually washes the sheets too?”
“Yes. Once a week. Though, technically she insists on Wyatt doing his own, but she’s pampered me a bit. Maybe because she feels sorry for me, you know, my lack of a normal home and mother in my upbringing. I’ve told her only a little, but she seems to just get it.”
As I move stuff around, I ask, “What’s the deal with that hot guy? Wyatt? He sure doesn’t like you.”
“He’s Ryder’s biological son. Wyatt’s mom was murdered in this town when he was three. I’ve never asked much about it, but it must have freaked him out. Anyway, the family you saw here earlier was from his mom’s side. And yes, you’re right, he doesn’t like me.”
“Ah. And stepmom Tara isn’t the wicked, old stepmother, huh?”
“No. She’s anything but.”
“Lucky-assed son of a bitch. But he doesn’t know that, does he?”
“No. Not even for a second.”
“So I gathered. What’s his beef with you?”
“I’m here. I don’t know. I suppose I’m infringing on his special summer-home-from-college time with Mommy and Daddy? Honestly, I don’t know. It surprised me that he wasn’t more hostile at seeing you arrive here. He nearly tore my limbs from my body for doing the same.”
“He fought you?”
“Well, he tried, I’ll grant him that. He never touched me. But he wanted to.”
“And the girl? Dani?”
“She’s great, huh? So down to earth. You know? Kind of shy at first, but once she—”
“Oh. That’s how it is.”
“What? What’s with your ‘oh’?”
“You like her. She’s with Wyatt. That’s why he hates you.”
“It isn’t why. I swear. Yeah, so what if I like her? But I’m not kidding—there was not a single moment when Wyatt seemed to notice us.”
“Should he?”
“I don’t know. I mean I think the world of Dani, but…” He jumps to his feet and starts pacing.
I sigh. Okay, he’s not ready to face this yet. Oy. The boy’s got it bad. I almost feel sorry for him. He’s never been in any real relationship. Nothing beyond a friendship with me. I believe I’m the only actual girl-that’s-a-friend to him. And I’m close to him. I have to just let this go for now. I also intend to be sure I make nice with Dani. If she’s that important to Wesley, I can let her be important to me, too.
“But she’s with Wyatt. Got it. Hands and eyes off both. Will do.” I interr
upt my tone, sounding way too cheerful. His gaze narrows on me, and I smile with a small, knowing smile. But he lets it go, unwilling to tell me more so I doubt he will question me much.
He sits on the floor, pressing his back against the bed. “Sit.” He pats the floor space beside him. I slide down the bed and sit beside him, stretching my legs out in front of me. He shakes his head and points at my face. “Hell, Jace, this is supposed to be relegated to your past.”
“The bruises? Mean guys? I know. I swear.” I touch my afflicted eye. I hate how the achy, swollen skin feels. It infuriates me. “I learned how to make better choices for myself from Rachel, and then I go right back to this. But in my defense, I left an hour after he did this. I just waited until he was gone, and I grabbed my stuff and your money—thank you by the way—and left for good.”
He squeezes my shoulders and rests his head on top of mine. “You’re the one who really needs to stay here. They, I mean the Kincaids, will protect you. With their support, you could just live here, get a job, go to school, or whatever without fearing for your survival and having to resort to jerks like Bobby.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, sighing. “Yes, but they invited me for one night. Not to move in and live here. They don’t even know me. They—”
“Don’t leave. Don’t mention anything about it. Be polite and helpful. I can’t see Tara kicking you out. I think she’d just be happier to let you stay.”
“It’s not a halfway house, Wesley. They are a nice couple with a successful son. They might be satisfied with their bit of goodwill to you, but you can’t expect them to extend that kindness toward a girl who wasn’t part of the original deal. Who hung with her screwed-up friend because, well, hell. I’m so pathetic, and I have terrible taste in men. The only real friend I have is you.”
“Just stay here. Be nice and trust me. If they ever ask you about anything, tell them the truth. With Tara and Ryder, the truth goes a long way. And… ask them if you can stay longer. I swear, I won’t be surprised if they adopt you.”
“Why not you?”
He nudges my foot with his. “Duh. No. I plan to leave as soon as I pay off my debt to them. There are only a few people I genuinely respect, but the Ryders earned my trust, so I vowed to do that for them. You know me. I can’t live in a perfect household like this. Or pretend that I’m part of a family. The claustrophobia has already got me itching to leave.”
No, but Dani Dawson does. Still, I nod and pretend. I close my eyes, my head still resting on his shoulder. I always wished I had sexual feelings for this guy. He is the one guy who would never hurt me or say a mean word to me. He was so nice to me, and I had to wonder if something was wrong with me for selecting such terrible boyfriends who abused me and were always so opposite of Wesley.
Wesley was handsome, and I turned to average guys like Bobby. It didn’t speak well of my taste in the opposite sex. But I hope he finds true love with this girl, Dani. I hope he realizes whatever he hasn’t yet. He’s more in love with this whole family. The two adults downstairs influenced Wesley in the best way. I’ve never heard so much love coming out of him. It’s heartwarming, hopeful, and also sad. I feel like I’m outside looking through a window at a warm, glowing room full of people with wide smiles, presents, laughter and plenty of heat. I knock and knock to come inside but am ignored, never noticed or heard. The weather is freezing, and the snowfall turns to inches.
Family. I’ve never felt part of one. It never lasted for me. Wesley and I share that sensibility, and we also agreed that deep in our guts, we both wanted one. Neither of us were rotten to the core. We both knew lots of kids in the system who were. They joined gangs at thirteen, and some started committing violent crimes at sixteen. Not us. We made desperate attempts to fit in, or we’d protest because something, once again, went wrong for us. I think that’s why we formed such a close friendship early on. We were the same inside, just different genders.
Fortunately, Wesley found it. “It” being a family, unconditional acceptance, and a place to belong. A healthy, loving, welcoming place. I blink back my tears. Damn, those occur so rarely for me. Not because I’m cold or resentful. No. One of the few people I sincerely wish well and hope will succeed in this world is Wesley. If he found something real here, I am happy for him. He doesn’t realize his emotions or what he found here in the Kincaids. But he will. I hope it doesn’t scare him away too far.
I hold my tongue. It’ll just scare him. I don’t know what he will do.
But me? What do I do? Set up camp here and brazenly keep staying?
It’s not on the top twenty list of the most shocking or distasteful things I’ve done in my quest to have a roof over my head. So, okay. I’ll try to make myself at home.
Wesley and I talk for another hour, catching up on all the places he visited from when I last saw him and summarizing the main events of his stay at the Kincaids. I use the bathroom, only then learning it’s across the hall from me, and I’ll be sharing it with Wyatt and Wesley. Great. Only three people. I’m used to sharing with many more. This is luxurious for me.
I slip into the fresh, wonderful bed and sigh. The room is so gorgeous, perhaps the cleanest room I’ve ever been in. I nod off from exhaustion and rest in peaceful slumber in a place I consider not only safe, but a luxury. There’s no comparison to the other places I’ve stayed or lived in. Here, I have the option, which is a decadent pleasure, of shutting my brain off. Otherwise, I have to sleep with one eye half open to be sure no one climbs in bed with me or steals from me. Hell, the list of things that can go wrong while I sleep is endless.
The next morning, I sit up when Wesley opens the door. He doesn’t bother to knock, knowing how grumpy I am in the morning. I sit up, bleary-eyed and also annoyed. He disturbed the only decent sleep I’ve had in the last week. “Wesley!”
He grins. “I knew you’d be out ‘til noon. Don’t do that here. Get up early. They eat their meals early and get to work. Sometimes they eat together. Come down. Join us. Make a good… no, make your best impression. You can be very engaging and charming, Jace. Do that now. Win them over. Get them to beg you to stay.”
“Why? You’re not going to?”
“No. I don’t need them. You do. Look at your neck if you need a reminder. Okay? I can’t stand that happening to you again. I want so much more for you.”
I slide my legs out of the covers and mutter at him, “Fine. But next time…”
Wesley waves at me over his shoulder, unperturbed with my annoyance. And Wyatt stands in his doorway, staring at me. I’m wearing shorts and a tank top that is white with spaghetti straps. It’s cute, even if it is kind of small. I have certain appealing attributes, and hell yeah, I use them. My body is smoking hot with round, perky boobs and a nice butt. Not much else about my life is smoking hot, with no home or family, a poor education, and no friends, so I flaunt whatever advantages I can.
I get up and see Wyatt wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He has nice legs, but his muscular arms and chest absorb my attention. Wow. Damn. I smile and give him a come hither look. “Morning, Wyatt. Sleep well?” Then I raise one eyebrow in flirtation. Sure, I have a black eye and recently-strangled neck, but I still got game. He eyes me from head to toe, and nods before slamming his door shut. Oh, yeah, he was looking. Where Wesley wouldn’t. He never bothered about things like that. I think Wyatt missed that fact, and something tells me he didn’t like seeing Wesley staring, which makes me kind of giggle.
Wesley would have been staring at the small, sweet, little body of Dani Dawson. Something got mixed up in this scenario. I’m not sure any of those three realize it.
I go into the bathroom and shower. The water feels so nice as it sluices over my body. I dry off and then dab on cover-up to cover the bruises on my eye and neck, trying to focus on what wasn’t hurt. This is such an awesome place to be. I wince. Better. I deserve better. Rachel would say that. Choose better because you deserve better. I chant it silently to myself, studying my eye in the mirro
r. I speak the sentence several times out loud to myself. Chanting it. It’s dorky and strange, but the ritual works for me. It helps me. The constant negative self-talk I used to do was destructive and a direct link to becoming the next domestic violence victim. By chanting and convincing myself to be positive, I hope to improve my life. It isn’t easy for me. Not when I examine my neck and face and almost fall to the bathroom floor and curl up in a ball and cry and cry and cry.
And the stupid, negative thoughts start: Why me? What about me urges men to do such terrible things? What did I do to deserve this?
No. See? I can’t think about it. It’s done. Over. Finished. Stashed away in my brain. I will choose better next time. I left Bobby. I won. I won. I won. The battle was waged by Bobby, and the fight was for my soul, my self-esteem, my heart, and my sense of self. Victory is mine. I won. I left. There is no one else to applaud my performance so I nod at myself.
I will not become my mother. Rachel said I wouldn’t be if I choose not to be. But that means all of my decisions, big or small, must be weighed carefully. I have to consider what I’m doing and why in order to choose better. Because I deserve better. Every time. From other people. From myself, too. I always deserve better than I initially think I do. Rachel said so.
I have no physical proof that’s true, however, because even my own mama didn’t want me.
Stop. It. I shake my head. Back to living in the now. Today. The past is dead. Self-talking is positive. Being better, even when I stumble over a set-back like this one. Rachel says unless I’m dead, it’s never too far a setback that I can’t recover from it. I simply get up the next day and start over. All fresh. New. Because I deserve that.