Dr. Perfect: A Contemporary Romance Bundle

by Oliver, J. P.

  The yelling didn’t cease when I knocked hard on the aluminum screen door; it only stopped when a gaunt-looking woman approached the door with a cigarette in her frowning mouth. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Hassan Reyes,” I told her, trying to sound professional. She looked at me like a was an insect. “I’m a case manager; I’m here to see the children of Abella Orozco.”

  “Orozco?”

  “Their names are Juan and Teresa.”

  “...did someone fucking send you?”

  “No, ma’am,” I insisted. “Services just asked me to do a routine checkup. That’s all.”

  “Oh.” She nodded slowly, unhooking the lock on the flimsy door and nudging it open for me. After a moment of forethought, she took the cigarette out and tossed it into the grass. “Yeah, c’mon in. They’re out back.”

  My stomach flipped as I stepped in. I had only planned on doing a drive-by assessment; what the hell was I doing here? If Hassan could have seen me, I’m sure he would kill me….

  My stroll down the hall was cut off by a pair of toddlers running past me, half-dressed. One of them had a pair of scissors. I stopped him, holding out my hand with a smile. “May I see those?” I asked.

  He stared at me wide-eyed before handing them over.

  “Thank you.”

  He was off like a rocket, my face and his scissors already forgotten. I handed the shears to the woman. “He shouldn’t have those,” I suggested lightly. Infuriatingly, she shrugged, like she could care less if he poked his eye out. “Juan and Teresa—”

  “Through there,” she stated, pointing to a back door. I stood in the screen window of it, and it all felt surreal. They were there in front of me, playing in the dead grass with a hand-me-down set of toy cars.

  I took a breath, trying to remain impartial. I didn’t want to blow my cover. “How old are they?”

  “Juan’s eight. Teresa’s ten.” The woman lit another cigarette. “Quiet kids. Stick to the two of them mostly. Teresa’s kind of a pain, though. Refuses to eat sometimes, but they’re kids. What can you do? It’s not like I’m gonna force-feed her.”

  I think she said more about the two of them, but I didn’t hear it. I was too struck by how familiar the scene was.

  Memories long buried flashed through my mind. My sister had been older than me by about the same margin: two years. We’d lived in a place like this, unsupervised and left to the dangers of our neighborhood when our mother had to work. We didn’t mind it, though. We didn’t know any better. My sister had been a creative girl, with a good imagination. Sometimes outlandish. I’d admired her for it.

  I hadn’t thought of those days in a long time. She’d disappeared, died somewhere, not much older than Teresa. She smiled at Juan, and put a hand on his shoulder, and I could see my sister in her. There were times when my sister felt like a ghost, like all my memories of her were fake. Looking at the siblings in the yard, now, though, I knew for sure they were real.

  It became clear to me, why I was searching so hard for Abella. Maybe she was the stalker. Maybe she wasn’t. It didn’t matter anymore. In the idea of Abella, I suddenly saw my mother, put out of a job she so badly needed. Forced into poverty and being away from her kids. Thrown to a system like throwing meat to wolves.

  “May I talk to them?” I asked.

  Their caretaker watched me, and nodded slowly. She took a drag of her cigarette and pushed the door open for me. I crossed the lawn slowly, and when the two looked at me, I knew.

  I had done that to Abella. To these kids.

  This was the wrong I needed to right.

  11

  Hassan

  Badly beaten and woozy, I somehow made it back home in one piece.

  The sight of the mansion was a welcomed one, relief flooding over me instantly as I pulled into the driveway. There was the familiar sight of Mikhail standing watch at the door, and I did my best to look like I hadn’t just stumbled into a booby trap as I passed him.

  “Hey,” I said, and recognized the immediate concern on his face.

  “Hassan, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I told him, the lie of it obvious in the strain of my voice. “Just got into a little scrap.”

  He wanted to say something, I could tell, but he let it go. I was capable of handling whatever wounds I had, and he knew that. Besides, I was pissed, and I was better left alone when I was pissed.

  Pushing into the house, I could hear movement just beyond the foyer in the living room. “Fred,” I called, trying to conceal the limp I’d acquired—because, son of a bitch, that blast had done a number on my knee. “I’ve got some information—and the worst headache in the fu—uuuuuh….”

  To my surprise, Fred wasn’t alone. He stood up straight, eyes wide, and we stared at one another in our surprise a moment before we both looked to the two strange children sitting silently on the sofa.

  “Uh….” Fred trailed off, before putting on a happy face. “Hassan...! Perfect, you’re back.”

  The youngest of the two, a little boy, tilted his head slightly. “I thought you were Hassan,” he asked slowly.

  Fred smiled back at me, but there was panic in his eyes. I was going to kill him for whatever stupid thing he did, and he knew it. “No, this is my friend Hassan, you see?” Fred pointed to me, where I was still frozen in the doorway. I hoped they couldn’t see the flecks of blood that were almost certainly bleeding through my dark clothes.

  I tried to manage a tight smile. “Hi.”

  Bashfully, the boy and his sister waved at me. “Hello.”

  “I’m Frederic,” Fred reiterated.

  “Uh, Frederic,” I said through between my teeth, trying not to sound too upset in front of the children. “Could I talk to you in the kitchen a moment?”

  “Of—of course.” Fred turned to the children. “I’ll call Lorna in and she can grab you both a snack. Does that sound alright?”

  They both nodded, before turning to whisper to each other excitedly. Fred joined me, and our silent stroll to the kitchen felt more like a funeral procession than anything else.

  As soon as the door shut behind us, I turned on my heel. “Fred, are you fucking kidding me—”

  “I had to.” Frederic was looking at me pleadingly. “Hassan, you should have seen the place. It was a mess—kids running with scissors, and I saw at least one gang sign painted on the house next door—”

  “What happened to going right home?” I wanted to rip my hair out. I slammed a hand on the white marble counter instead. “You can’t keep doing whatever you want, Fred—they’re kids, not pets—

  “I know that,” he hissed back. “I’m going back—”

  “Damn right you are, you can’t just take children out of their homes—”

  “And, you’re coming with me.”

  We stared at each other. The air was tense in the same way it had been the other night. Was he thinking about it? Did it even matter? I could sense there was more to the situation than what Fred was telling me. I wanted to point out the double-standard of his secret keeping, but instead I shook my head. “Whatever you’re planning—”

  “They can’t stay there, Hassan. It’s better for them here—it’ll be a better life—”

  “Fred, Jesus Christ.”

  Fred huffed loudly, looking away. “I’m going back to the foster home tomorrow. You’re coming with me…. I’m going to ask the foster parents to turn them over to me.”

  “Fred.” I hadn’t ever considered Fred to be stupid, necessarily. Maybe too empathetic, or sometimes irresponsible, but now I was starting to reconsider. “This isn’t a good idea—”

  “I can take care of them—”

  “Ugh.” I took a step closer, face twisting in frustration. “That aside,” and my voice dropped to a loud whisper, in case any little ears were listening in, “it’s not safe for them here. Why would you bring children into a situation like this—”

  “Because it’s better than having nothing.” Fred held
his ground, jaw strong.

  “You’re being—emotional. You’re not thinking things through.”

  “I need—” and he paused, his voice rising in his own anger. He sighed, glancing at the doorway, thinking of the children just beyond it. “I need to do this. Me taking them in… it would be good for them—you know I can give them so much—but it’s something I need, too. Amends need to be made.”

  I studied him, the sheepishness and secret wellspring of shame resting there under his frustration. Intrusively, memories of our shared kiss came up. Our proximity was suddenly something I was very aware of. If it were any other person, I would tell him to fuck off, probably.

  But Fred wasn’t any other person.

  Unfortunately.

  “This is selfish,” I told him, flatout, and his fingers twitched on the countertop at the cut in my voice. Our eyes met, and I sighed. “Putting others in danger because you need to right your own wrong.”

  We could both appreciate the hypocrisy of what I was saying, all the secrets Fred accused me of keeping suddenly heavier between the two of us.

  He waited for me to say more, but I didn’t—not until I was halfway out the door, and I cast him one final look over my shoulder. “I’ll have Jackson bring the car around. Make sure Lorna’s watching them if I’m not there. We leave in fifteen.”

  Fred wasn’t lying when he talked about the neighborhood. He moved through this world so different from his own with a tension in his jaw, but it wasn’t something like fear. It was familiarity. The children walked closely behind him, their hands interlocked, as I kept behind them, remaining vigilant as we came upon the front door.

  “Oh.” The woman who opened up looked at Fred with wide eyes, and then at the kids. “You brought ‘em back.”

  “For the moment, um….” Fred seemed unusually nervous; maybe having to own up to his true identity, having to admit to a lie, was enough to do that to him. He held out his hand. “I’m sorry. I’d like to sit down with you if you have a minute.”

  She seemed to consider; she was a hard-looking woman, uncouth and uncaring, but capable. I expected her to say no, but she nodded, pushing back the screen door to let us inside. “Juan, Teresa,” she said, “go play out back.”

  They did as she said, and as we were led to the kitchen, I wondered if they felt attached to this woman. If they would miss her if Fred took them away.

  “I didn’t get your name,” I said, as the woman gave me a chipped mug of coffee.

  “Lovelie.” She sat the the table informally with Fred, eyeballing me. “Sit down. You’re makin’ me nervous.”

  I did as she asked because it was her home, even though sitting down made me nervous.

  “What’s this all about?” she asked Fred. “CPS coming to my door two days in a row—doesn’t happen often. I run a better home than most out here. Keep it clean. Feed ‘em.”

  Fred nodded slowly. “I need to be honest with you, Lovelie.” I kept my eyes trained on the foster mother, but I could hear the internal struggle in Fred’s voice. He valued honesty, but doing it wasn’t as easy as it seemed it would be. I hoped he appreciated the irony. “I’m not with Child Protective Services.”

  She considered it a minute, stirring her coffee. Finally her lips pursed. “I don’t like being lied to.” Her eyes betrayed her deeper anger, though, like Hassan, she was good at keeping calm.

  “I’m sure, and I’m sorry, I do apologize—”

  Lovelie held her hand up. “I thought something seemed off about you. You didn’t seem like a case manager.”

  “And, you let him in anyway?” I asked, feeling Fred’s leg nudge mine in warning under the table. I wanted to sigh. Right. I’m just here to be the muscle.

  Lovelie stared between the two of us. “So, who the hell are you then?”

  “My name’s Frederic Reyes,” he introduced. “I’m—”

  “Shit,” she interrupted. She laughed a little, shaking her head at herself. “Thought you were familiar enough. Thought maybe you just had one of those faces. My mom loved you on Common Hospital.”

  Fred grinned. The charm turned up slightly. “Thank you. I had fun on that one.”

  I cleared my throat.

  “R-right, but… I’m here because these children—Teresa and Juan—they’re important to me. I was familiar with their birth mother, and it would mean very much to me to be able to take them under my supervision.”

  This was slightly news to me; so the kids weren’t just strangers.

  Lovelie thought a moment. Being here at her table felt a bit like being in a chess match. Finally she came back with, “I get decent money for having those kids in my house. Besides, I don’t know you. You could be some creep. Kids could be your thing.”

  My fist tightened on the tabletop, and she noticed it. We gave each other a hard look.

  “I understand, I do—I wouldn’t just be taking them from you, I would go through all the paperwork, of course, to legally adopt or foster, but in the meantime I would have them stay with me—”

  “And, what? I lose my check?”

  Fred grimaced. “Is that all they are to you?”

  “No,” she cut. “...But that’s part of it, isn’t it? I provide these kids a home, and the state provides me with money for them and a little for myself. It’s a good deal. I’d be losing two checks every month.”

  “I’ll compensate you.” Fred said it with conviction. It suddenly felt less like a chess match and more like a business meeting. “Handsomely. Enough for the both of them, and then some.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “How much?”

  Fred considered. “Twenty thousand.”

  I could have choked on my coffee.

  Lovelie sighed, and despite her trying to look like she was considering, I could tell it was a shock to her. I didn’t blame her. Twenty thousand was more than substantial for a bribe.

  “Twenty-five,” she countered.

  “Twenty-three.”

  Lovelie grinned. “These kids mean that much to you. They’re worth twenty-three thousand?”

  “More than that,” Fred said, and he meant it. The sentimentality of it made Lovelie snort.

  “What about the state?” she asked, leaning back in her chair. “What am I supposed to tell ‘em? When they come around looking for Juan and Teresa?”

  Fred glanced at me before speaking again. “We can… we can draw up documents. We can make them look convincing, but in the meantime, we’ll need a story.” I could see the directorial gears turning in his head, years of constructing stories and plots for film and television taking over. For a minute, I thought it was hot, before shoving that thought away. “Do you have relatives nearby?”

  Lovelie thought a moment. “Yeah. A sister.”

  “They went to stay with her. Just a short visit.” Fred spoke as if delegating directions to an actor. “You’ll tell their school that they’re both sick. There’s a stomach bug going around. Maybe strep. Something that would keep them out for a long enough time. By then, we should be able to work something long-term out with the state.”

  It was a gamble, and Lovelie knew it. Still, the money counted for something, and she held out a hand for him to shake. Their palms met, and the deal was struck.

  “Juan! Teresa!” Lovelie’s voice boomed, calling through the open windows. “Come in here and get your things together. You’ll be going back with Mr. Reyes.”

  12

  Fred

  “Goodnight.” I paused, my hand on the door as I spared them both one last glance. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  Juan and Teresa watched me from their separate beds, tucked neatly into one of the guest bedrooms. It was a room typically used for children whenever I had guests over who had them and they were staying the night so it was outfitted with a few stuffed animals, soothing wallpaper, and a handful of bedtime storybooks, one of which I had just finished reading to the two of them. “We will,” Teresa said, before rolling over.

  Juan
smiled at me, only his head visible nad poking out from under the covers. “Goodnight, Fred.”

  My chest tightened slightly at the smile; I returned it, bidding them goodnight once more, before shutting the door and moving towards the stairs.

  The day had been a whirlwind, almost unreal, thinking back on it. It had only taken a short amount of time, but he had somehow taken two young children under his care. Lorna had been informed of the change as the house manager, and together they had arranged for one of the live-in staff to look after them through the day, when he would be away and on set—she was an older woman, who had raised a family of her own, all of whom were fully grown now. If there was anyone to trust with the task, it was her.

  Lorna had stared at me just as Hassan had when I had informed her of their presence—whether it was surprise, or thinking I was crazy, or a little of both—before asking about schools and the children’s day-today. I had blanched when she asked; I hadn’t thought that far ahead. All I had been concerned about, in the moment I saw them, was taking them in. Keeping them safe, and giving them an opportunity. Taking the first step to righting the wrongs I had brought upon their family.

  Lorna, bless her, had set a hand on my shoulder and tried to soothe the worried face away, promising that she and the others—the family I had constructed of them—would help me through it. They knew more than I did about childcare, but, Lorna assured me, my heart was in the right place. It was consolation enough.

  The siblings had finished dinner and were safely put to bed, and I was feeling quite tired myself after such a busy day. It was exhausting, physically and emotionally. Mostly emotionally. It had been a long few days, and with the dust settling around the whole taking in children thing, there was still another matter I hadn’t let myself think of: the kiss I shared with Hassan. It had been rough and angry, and the memory of it was getting dangerously distracting. Work needed to be done, but it took major brain power to not think of it each time I saw him. I was feeling a bit warm thinking about it. I sighed. All I needed was a tall glass of water before bed….