Rattle His Cage: The Baxter Boys #4 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)
Page 27
Leaning forward I beat a fist against the headstone, it bruises the side of my hand, but the pain feels good. It’s physical, not emotional pain.
“I was so pissed at you for two fucking years because of your betrayal. I lived with the fact that you’d been killed, but once I found out the how and the why, it was like losing you all over again, and it fucking sucked.”
Wiping my nose on my coat sleeve I sit back. “I studied psychology in college so I could try and figure it out. I don’t have the answers now any more than I did when I read your letter. I probably won’t ever have the answers and a part of me will always be pissed.” Reaching forward I trace the date of his death with the tip of my finger. “But, I’ll always love you.” I try and swallow the sobs but I can’t. They shake my entire body and this tight ball of emotion that’s been sitting in my gut for years has decided to come spewing forth. I can’t talk, all I can do is curl up and rock back and forth over his grave as the tears just keep coming and coming, ugly sobs that I should have cried out a long time ago, until I’m spent and just lying there. “I love you.” I croak out. “And, I forgive you.”
Another round of sobbing waves crash over me. Healing and cleansing and not so painful.
Dylan sits on the ground next to me and then pulls me into his lap, which makes me cry harder again. He’s rocking me and stroking my hair, and it’s then that I realize how alone I’ve been. Mom and my brothers mourned too, but we were all so caught up in our own pain that none of us were there for the other.
I never realized I needed a rock until Dylan became just that, and I’m going to cling to him for as long as he will let me.
Not only has confronting my dad released the pain I’ve kept bottled up, but it’s freed my heart, and it swells even bigger for the guy who is holding me. The best guy in the world.
I tilt my head back and look at him. “I love you, Dylan White.”
“And I love you, Mary Robins.”
He kisses my forehead before I snuggle back against his chest.
His butt is probably frozen against the ground, but I don’t think I can move. I should, but I’m so drained I don’t think my limbs work anymore.
Dylan pulls the handkerchief out of my pocket. I’d put it there when we were in the diner, and then wipes the tears from my face.
“You going to be okay?” he finally asks.
“Yeah. Thanks for coming with me.”
“I’m not the only one who came.” He pulls back. “Look behind us.”
I peek over his shoulder and my heart skips. They are all standing there by two cars, Alex, Kelsey, Christian, Zach, Ryan, Sean, Joy, Mia, Alyssa, Kate, and Zoe.
“Did you tell them to come here?” I whisper. How long have they all been standing there? Did they witness my complete meltdown?
“No. I just told Sean where we were going. They came on their own.”
“Why?” I know they are becoming my friends, but this is big. They didn’t just drive across town to check on me but came 70 miles.
“Because they knew this was big and they care.” I get off his lap and stand, and Dylan comes to his feet then takes my hands in his so that I’m facing him. “You have more friends than you realize. People who love you. You are part of them now. A part of all of us. When you hurt, they will be there. I will be there.”
“They don’t even know my dad killed himself.”
“They don’t need to know, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. The why and the how aren’t as important as the pain and the healing.
They straighten as we move toward them. It’s Kelsey who comes to hug me.
“You okay?”
I nod and my eyes fill with tears. They all came to support me. They know nothing about my dad’s death except it was during a conflict, but they are here because they knew this was really hard for me.
I step back and look at Dylan’s friends.
No. They are my friends too, but I’m too overcome to talk. All I can do is smile, best as I can and nod.
They get it. Or I think they do, because they nod back, but say nothing.
“Give me your keys,” Dylan says.
“What?” I blink at him
“Your keys,” he says again.
I hand them over but I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do. He’s never driven.
“Who drove?” he asks.
Ryan and Sean raise their hands.
“Here you go, Christian,” Dylan says before he tosses my keys over.
“You weren’t in any condition to drive here,” he whispers in my ear. “And you sure as hell aren’t in any condition to drive home. Let me take care of you okay?” He puts his arm around my shoulder as he leads me to the back of the car and opens the door. I get in and slide over so he can get in too.
Christian gets in the driver’s seat and adjusts it for his long legs as Mia gets in the front passenger seat.
“Where to?” Christian asks. “Home?”
Home! That used to be whatever house I was living in with Mom, Dad, my brothers, and then the Major. Now it means so much more. It’s here. With Dylan and his family.
I finally do have a home, and it’s not a structure at all.
“Yeah! Home.”
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Thank you for reading RATTLE HIS CAGE, the second book in the Rattled Series. For more Baxter Boys ~ Rattled books, check out my website.
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EXCERPT – ALL HORNS AND RATTLES
(#3 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled))
© Copyright 2017 – Jane Charles
All Rights Reserved
1
“You’re eighteen today, Nina.” Mrs. Graft yells into my room. “State won’t pay for you anymore so you’ve got to go.”
I knew this day would come, but are they really kicking me out this early? It’s like seven in the morning.
On New Year’s Day!
“Can I get a shower and food first?”
She steps into the bedroom I share with three other girls and scowls at me. “Make it quick. No point in dragging out the inevitable.”
“Thank you.” I push back the covers on my lower bunk and get out of the bed, careful not to bump my head, which I’ve done more times than I can remember.
“Do you really have to go, Nina?” Ellie, the six-year-old who is on the top bunk asks, tears in her deep brown eyes.
“I’m eighteen. Those are the rules.”
A tear leaks out of the corner of her eye as she holds out her scrawny arms to me.
I lean in and hug her. She’s such a sweet little girl and has only been with us about six months.
“I’m going to miss you,” she whispers into my hair.
“I’ll miss you too, but remember what I told you.” I pull back and look into her eyes. “Take care of yourself, be strong, and don’t ever be afraid to tell your case worker, policeman, firefighter or teacher if someone is being mean to you.” She’d been physically abused but, like so many children in her situation, had been too afraid to say anything. It wasn’t until a trip to the emergency room after a teacher noticed she was in pain and couldn’t reach a parent that Elli
e finally spoke up. She was taken from her home and put into the system. She misses her mom and dad and despite all the physical pain they inflicted on her, they were still her parents.
I remember all too well feeling lost and scared when I’d been taken from my family. Except I didn’t miss my parents. I missed my older brothers and younger sister. I especially remember asking why I couldn’t be with Dylan. He was the oldest and was the one who tried to take care of us. That was twelve years ago, when I was the same age as Ellie.
“I promise,” she says.
I wish I could keep her and make a place for just her and me so she didn’t have to go through what I did, but no social worker is going to allow me to raise a kid. I can barely afford to take care of myself.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper and tuck her into bed, along with the stained and battered rag doll she keeps close.
I hurry off to the bathroom as I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. It’s not that I love it here, but it’s a roof over my head and food in my stomach. Once I walk out that door, I’ll be on my own.
At least I have a part-time job. Make that, two part-time jobs. Not that they pay enough, combined, to rent any kind of apartment, but at least I’ll get to keep my paychecks instead of handing them over to Mrs. Graft.
She takes money from all the working foster kids in the house. She claims the state doesn’t pay her enough to house, feed and clothe us. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I never asked my case worker about it because my paycheck is a small price to pay to live in a house where I’m not bothered or scared and the others are basically decent people. If I would have snitched on Mrs. Graft, I may have been pulled from here and put somewhere else. I wasn’t about to risk ending up someplace worse than this. I’ve been to worse and didn’t want to go back.
Plus, I have half of my tips from the past two years. As soon as Mrs. Graft asked for my paycheck, I told her that I had to turn in all my tips so taxes could be taken out. Which is partially true if a customer paid with a card. However, any cash left for me, I got to keep, after sharing it with the cook. I bus my own tables since it’s only a diner, so I don’t have to share with a lot of people like at larger restaurants. I’ve saved what I could, hiding it, because I knew this day would come.
Eighteen and out and I’ve saved $1,506.47. It’s not much, but it’s a start for the first day of being an adult.
Truthfully, I’ve been on my own since I was six. Just like Ellie, and it’s just the beginning for her.
I’ll never forget that day they took us away. Dylan was fixing mac and cheese for dinner. My little sister, Jade was sick and we’d cleared a place on the couch for her so Dylan could keep an eye on her while he cooked dinner. My other brother, Noah was doing his reading homework. Dylan always made him read out loud so he could make sure Noah was pronouncing everything right. I was at the kitchen table coloring.
Mom and Dad were in the basement, where none of us were allowed to ever go. If they weren’t in the basement, they were gone. I have few memories of them being with us and awake at the same time.
The day the police busted in was the last day we were together. Jade started crying and Dylan tried to comfort her. A cop turned off the stove as four police ushered us from the house as more cops in heavy, black gear, with guns pointed ahead of them, went through our house. To a six-year-old, they looked like big, black monsters, some with stocking caps over their face, others with shields, and they terrified me. We were each allowed to take one thing. Mine was a teddy bear, but I swiped some of the cassette tapes mom made when she was a teenager and shoved them into the hole in the back of my bear. Then we were hustled off to child services, put in separate homes, and I haven’t seen my siblings, or my parents, since.
Jade was listening to the Walkman that our mom had listened to when she was like twelve or something, so Jade got to keep that and her bunny. Noah grabbed his books and I don’t know what Dylan took. Maybe nothing because he was trying to keep Jade calm.
Twelve years and even though I’ve been in about half a dozen foster homes, I’ve been alone.
This one might be the hardest to leave. Not because the Grafts are exactly loving, because truthfully they are in in for the money, but I’ve been here for two years and I liked the other kids. And, I’ll worry about Ellie. But, there is nothing I can do for her and I know as well as anyone that a kid’s hands are tied and we just need to roll with the rules and protect ourselves as best as we can.
At least I had the forethought to push through school and get all the necessary credits so I could graduate early. There was no way in hell I was going to try and finish out my senior year while living on the streets. Just eight months to survive and then I’ll be in a dorm. I hope. I’m still waiting to hear back if I’ve been accepted to any colleges.
December graduates go quietly. We take our last test and walk out the door for good. But, I will walk with the rest of my class in May. I busted my butt for good grades and I want the pomp and circumstance, and the cap, gown and diploma.
Shit! The cap and gown. I ordered and paid for it, but it won’t arrive at the school for a few months. Once I get a place, I’m going to have to let my counselor know where I am. If I don’t have a place, I’ll ask Miguel about using the Gym’s address for mail and stuff. I work there part-time and practically lived there when I’m not at my other job or was at school anyway.
My suitcase is waiting by the front door when I finish my eggs and toast and Mrs. Graft hands me an envelope. “It’s got your immunization record, school transcripts and anything else you need.”
My life in one large manila envelope.
Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I shove the envelope inside and lift my suitcase. “Thanks for everything.”
Five kids from age’s six to seventeen are standing on the other side of the room watching me. Ellie is holding onto the hand of Darius. He’s seventeen and will be the next to go, but Darius will watch out for Ellie until then.
This is their future, they know it. Just like I knew it when I was the one watching another eighteen year old leave. Except, the others usually had a social worker come by. That’s not an option for me. It’s a holiday and the one I’ve been assigned is out of the office for a few months.
I step outside and take a deep breath as the door closes behind me. Ten a.m. on the first day of the year. Nothing but the future ahead of me.
It sure is a beautiful sunrise. I only wish I wasn’t been watching it alone. My family is asleep in the big old farmhouse I grew in and my friends, who I was once really tight with, are likely hungover and have a long, painful day ahead of them.
Great night in town, but the same excitement, I guess you would call it, was missing. We’ve grown apart, which I suppose is normal, but it has me questioning a lot of things. Like my future.
The wide open plains of Texas are spread out before me and goes on forever. There’s a nip in the air and it’s just cold enough that I can see my breath in the early morning dawn. To Texans this is cold, only a few degrees below freezing, to me, after living in New York for the past couple of years, this is just chilly.
The fields and the cattle before me is the scenery I grew up with and thought I’d come home too. Except, I’m not so sure Texas is really my home anymore. Going to college in New York was my way of seeing the world. Stupid young kid going off to the big city some three years ago. I was going to be a boxer. The best.
I’m not a boxer and no matter how much Miguel tries to teach me, I’ll never be great.
At least I went after my dream. That’s all anyone can do and I won’t be suffering from what ifs when I’m old.
But, what now? I graduate in a year and a half and need to decide if I stay there, or come back home. I’m working on a degree in Sports and Fitness Administration so I could be a fitness director, athletic trainer and run a gym, with a minor in physical educations, but I don’t think I’m going to finish that out. I don’t want to be a P.E. teacher.
Maybe I can come back and reopen it. Give the kids a place to go since there isn’t much to do in this tiny town. It doesn’t even need traffic signals. Hell, if you stick to the back roads, you can drive from one end of the county to the other and only run into a handful of stop signs.
I don’t want to come back here to nothing and do nothing. What I want is to stay in New York and keep working at Miguel’s.
Miguel’s gym was the first place I headed after unpacking in my dorm room. Mom and Dad said I could pursue my dream of boxing, and encouraged it, as long as I got a degree in something. They didn’t really care what as long as I earned piece of paper with Bachelor’s Degree on it. They knew I had to get the boxing bug out of me before I could move on.
Well, the boxing bug isn’t gone, it’s just been refocused.
I’ve learned a lot from Miguel and the other guys at his gym, but if I do anything with boxing, it will be training, not fighting, and I’ve come to accept that.
I don’t know what I’d do without that old man. Miguel is like my father in New York. I have a great mom and dad here too, but Miguel kept my head on straight when I could have made some poor ass decisions. I was so unprepared for everything New York City had to offer. It’s not like I haven’t been to big cities before, but I was basically raised in the country, on a ranch, not far from a town that can boast a population of like three thousand, on a good day, and I think I’m related to half the residents in one way of another.