Why is he back?
Chapter Three
2008
The First Hello
“Megan!”
Dread fills me, the unwelcome knot twisting inside my stomach, bringing goose bumps to the surface of my skin. Whenever he yells for me like that, he wants something. I’m in the middle of writing a paper that’s due tomorrow and I really don’t have time for whatever it is that he’s about to ask me to do. I pad downstairs, making sure any evidence of my attitude is gone by the time I walk into the living room.
“We just found out the state is givin’ us a new kid. Some emergency shit, so he’ll be here in a couple hours. Get the house cleaned and make sure everything is in order.” My father doesn’t wait for my response before he looks back at the TV.
I roll my eyes and try not to stomp on the stairs as I go back to my room. Another kid? I can barely take care of the three we already have, let alone another one. It’s already a mission to keep on top of school. How am I going to do that with another person to run around after?
My parents are registered foster parents. To the social workers, they have the perfect home for these kids and are the ideal people to see them through this tough time in their lives.
In reality, that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I’m the one who takes care of them and the house. I’m the one who drops three-year-old Hannah to and from daycare. My parents aren’t the ones who wash and iron the clothes Joey and Timmy change into before I drop both of them off at grade school. Timmy is twelve and can get himself dressed, but at only five years old, Joey still needs help with buttons and shoelaces. And all of that happens before I can even think about heading to school.
When I get home I help the boys with their homework, then cook dinner and make sure their lunches are packed for the next day. No one is more amazed than me that my grades are as good as they are because I barely have time to study and do homework. My parents go out a lot and leave me home to babysit. They never ask.
Not that it matters. I don’t have friends, so I wouldn’t have plans anyway.
The window is open so I can hear the kids playing outside. The weekends are when I try to get ahead on my schoolwork, laying everything for the week ahead out on my desk and working through each assignment or task before putting them aside for the week ahead. I have even come up with a color coding system, each of us have our own color and then there is a color for mutual events. I hope the new kid is older so he won’t need as much help as Hannah and Joey.
The clock chimes and I pack my things away, heading downstairs to start making dinner. Not that there’s much deciding to be done. Our dinners are usually a rotation of unhealthy, cheap options. I’m not skinny like the girls at school and I know a big part of that is because I can’t afford to buy healthy food with the little money my mom gives me to get groceries. She and my dad eat out most nights. Why would they care what we eat?
They weren’t always like this. Before Timmy came our house was different; Mom cooked, Dad went to work. When we sat down to eat dinner at night, they talked to me. When they said I would be getting a brother, I was really excited.
Until he came.
With the money they were getting from the state, they realized they could go out and do more things they wanted to do. Slowly but surely, more and more responsibility fell on me. Each time we were given another kid, they became more absent, and through no decision of my own, I was slowly understanding what being a teen mom was like.
And it was hard.
I grab a couple of boxes of mac and cheese and a can of peas, even though I know they won’t get eaten. The kids hate vegetables but I try to give them some healthy stuff in whatever small way I can.
As the water heats up I open my book on the table, desperately trying to finish my paper, pushing everything to one side when the kids come in to eat. They feast like gannets, and the only things left are the peas. I sigh and take the bowls to the sink, wash and put them away so things are nice for the social worker.
The doorbell rings and I hear my parents greet someone, taking them into the living room. I pull out my book again, one ear on what’s being said. Their voices are low enough that I can’t hear much. After a short while, I hear them move back out into the hall, the social worker telling my parents she’ll be in touch and check in.
She won’t.
The system has so many holes that if you aren’t outright abusing your kids or starving them, you are seen as a great parent.
I hear footsteps and look up to greet my new sibling, but I freeze. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Standing in front of me is a boy about my age, his hair is buzzed and he wears ripped jeans and a black T-shirt.
He quickly looks away. “Any food around?”
I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over. “We just finished eating, but there’s some leftover mac and cheese and vegetables, if you want?”
A laugh escapes him. “I’m good.”
An awkward silence fills the room, until the sound of the front door opening and closing steals it. My parents are gone.
As the silence creeps back in, the new boy tugs at the hem of his shirt, not meeting my eyes as he asks, “You know where my room is?”
I nod emphatically. “Upstairs there are three rooms, my room, Hannah’s room, and the boys’ room. I’m guessing you’re supposed to be in there. They haven’t gotten a bed yet but if you look in the hallway closet you’ll find an air mattress. I can set it up for you, if you want?”
When he doesn’t answer, I start to walk upstairs. After a couple beats I hear him following behind me, the creak on the third step up giving him away. He doesn’t offer to help when he sees me struggling with the mattress, which tells me a lot about him. I drag it down the hallway and into the boys’ room, sliding it across the carpet next to Timmy’s bed. Timmy looks up from his comic book, but on seeing the new boy behind me his eyes return to the cartoon. He’s done this a few times now. Joey, who was playing with trucks on the rug, comes over and starts messing with the pump.
“Nothing like being a sardine.”
“I’m sure it won’t be for long.” I shrug, trying to look on the bright side.
“Six months. As soon as I turn eighteen I’ll be able to get the hell out of here.”
I connect the pump and start to inflate the mattress. “They moved you here only for six months?”
“Well, it was this place or juvie. Which would you have picked?” He raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head. “Right. You’ve probably never been in trouble in your whole life. You wouldn’t understand the real world, princess.”
His voice is so full of anger and hatred, and it hits me square in the chest. Why would he assume I have it easy, just because I live with my parents? The image of the pump becomes blurry and I blink back the tears. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I wish the sentence had come out strong and brave, but it was barely a whisper as I duck my head and slip past him, leaving the mattress only half inflated. I should feel bad, but he can do it himself. I’m done helping ungrateful people.
“Not like I want to either.” His voice carries down the hall, chasing me into my room. I slam the door behind me and drop my face into my pillow.
He was definitely not what I expected. The way he looked at me, almost as if he was looking through me, is the same way people at school do.
Like I’m invisible.
Which suits me fine because, if I’m honest, most days I wish I were.
Chapter Four
Megan
I really hope this is some caffeine induced hallucination. I blink rapidly, but each time my eyes open, he is still standing there.
“Well, this is a surprise.” He smiles at me and my hands fist at my sides.
A smile?
The first time he’s seen me in seven goddamn years and he’s going to smile?
If he wasn’t a client, I’d make it so he’d be crawling out of here.
&
nbsp; “Mr. Smith, welcome.” Mr. Duncan walks past me and shakes “Mr. Smith’s” hand, completely unaware that he’s about to interact with the devil. “Please follow me. Would you like something to drink?”
“Actually, I could use some ice water. It’s a little hot in here.” His eyes find me as he finishes his sentence.
“Andrea, please go get Mr. Smith a water.” He walks toward his office. “Excuse us, Miss Hendrix.” He glares at me as if I’m a bumbling idiot, which I’m sure is what I look like.
I step to the side as he passes, and then as Ryder walks by me, I can feel his eyes drag along my body. I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to warn him to keep his eyes to himself before I pry them out of his head.
Once they’re gone, I don’t find it any easier to breathe. Instead, I mindlessly walk back to my desk and sit down, the figures on the screen merging into one incomprehensive ball.
Why now?
Why here?
The universe must hate me.
I cover my face with my hands, trying to get a grip on myself.
You are not that same little girl. You’ve grown up. You are stronger than you were before.
The pep talk, while a good one, doesn’t do much.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I drop my hands and see Connor leaning against my desk, legs crossed at the ankles, the picture of cool and calm and collected. Everything I’m not.
“I just have a major headache,” I say, rubbing at my temples and offering a weak smile. That’s close enough to the truth. In all reality, a major headache just walked back into my life.
Mr. Duncan’s door opens, and I don’t need to look up because I can already feel him coming toward me.
Be nice.
He comes to stand right next to my desk. Close enough that I can smell his cologne, but not close enough for me to stick out a leg and trip him up.
Pity.
“Long time no see. How about we grab lunch and catch up?” Ryder’s blues eyes bore into mine and it’s like I forget how to speak.
I clear my throat. “I’m actually already going to lunch with Connor today.”
Connor’s eyes widen at my admission but I glare and him and kick his foot with mine. I’m going to hell for using him, but I need an out. Luckily he catches my meaning and nods, tapping his hand on my desk. “Just came over to check we’re still good?”
“We are.”
As Connor walks the short distance back to his own desk, there are two sets of eyes on him. Ryder waits for Connor to sit down before he turns back to me. “Maybe another time?”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He just lifts his chin at me and then walks away from my desk. I let out a low breath, purposely keeping my eyes on my keyboard to avoid Connor’s. I know he’s probably glaring at me, wondering what the hell that was. Another lie to add to the growing list.
“Miss Hendrix.” I jump at the sound of Mr. Duncan calling my name.
“Yes, sir?”
“My office, now.”
Great, this can’t be good.
I walk into his office to find him already sitting at his desk, his fingers racing over the keys. Nerves wrack my body as I take a seat on the chair in front of him, wringing my hands in my lap as I try taking a few deep breaths. He makes me wait for a few moments and I feel every single one of them in my gut.
“I am assigning you to be the point person on Mr. Smith’s case.” He slides the file toward me.
This is what I wanted, what I hoped for.
That was, until I figured out who the client was.
“Thank you, sir.” How am I going to work with him and do a good enough job to maybe get noticed by the partners?
His eyes level on me and there’s no mistaking the severity in his tone when he says, “I expect this assignment to be perfect. We want them to be happy and not look elsewhere for services.”
“I won’t disappoint you.”
I offer him a weak smile before standing up, grabbing the file, and heading to my desk, my shoes catching on the plush carpet, nearly sending me face first onto the floor. I look over at Andrea. She’s studying me and it makes me nervous. I’ve always been terrible at hiding my feelings and with just the one look she’s making me feel like my whole past is written across my forehead. I bite my lip and wave at her, taking care not to trip up again.
You can do this. Handle it like the professional you are.
The more I think about him being back and needing to spend time with him, the more I can’t see past drowning myself in a bottle of wine.
Back at my desk, I take all the papers out and sort them into piles, one for each business, in date order. I need to prepare myself as much as possible. If I go in there knowing everything I can, maybe it will make our meeting shorter.
“Hey, it’s lunch time. You ready?” Connor leans against my desk, smiling.
I’m totally going to hell for making him think he has a chance with me. I’ll have to find some way of letting him know I’m not looking for a relationship. Maybe I’ll drop it into conversation. I grab my purse and stand up. “Lead the way.”
We walk a few blocks to the deli. I’m barely through the door when the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“Well, what a coincidence,” a deep voice chuckles.
I look over, already knowing who it is.
“Are you following me?” I narrow my eyes, irritation prominent in my voice.
He shrugs with a smile. “You wish, princess. I was just hungry and got shot down when I asked for company.”
That name. Princess. How dare he call me that.
Connor looks between us and I know he’s wondering why this guy just called me “princess.” As far as he knows, Ryder was “Mr. Smith,” the new important client. He doesn’t know who he really is. His lips purse and he says, “I’ll go and grab us something, yeah?”
I nod, keeping my eyes on Ryder.
Ryder stands up. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a wink he walks out the door.
“Okay, let’s eat.” I turn around to see Connor, tray in hand, on it two sandwiches and two bottles of water. I follow him to the table but with everything that’s happened this morning, I doubt I’ll be able to eat anything. Ryder’s presence has made me completely lose my appetite.
One more thing to be annoyed at him for.
I try to be good company but it’s like I’m in a haze. Ryder always had this effect on me. Even when we were kids, when he was around he was all I could see. He consumed every inch of me. When he left I couldn’t breathe.
You never expect the one person who is your entire world to make you feel like you’ve died, but that’s what I was like my entire senior year. I was a zombie. Nothing made me happy. He was the only person who liked me, so without him, I was always alone. I could have turned to food, but even back then, when he left, he took my appetite with him. I only ate when I felt like I might pass out if I didn’t.
My parents didn’t even notice. As far as they were concerned, the kids were still being taken care of so there was nothing to worry about. I was on the verge of giving up and no one even batted an eye. I think that’s what made me so determined to leave.
I had to get away from everything that reminded me of him.
Of us.
“Are you okay? You didn’t even touch your sandwich.”
I look up, the wrapper of my sandwich torn up, pieces of brown paper littering the table in front of me. Connor smiles and I instantly feel terrible.
“Sorry. I think I might be getting sick.”
I stand up, tucking the sandwich into my purse in case I get hungry later.
The rest of the day drags by with me watching the clock, counting the minutes until I can get out of here and go home. I need to talk to Chrissy. I need her to knock some sense into me, and smack the crap out of the weak wounded girl rearing her pathetic head.
By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’m so done it’s not even funny. I ru
n by my favorite pizza place and then make a quick stop at the liquor store before heading home. Safe inside the cocoon of our apartment, I change into my comfy pants and old college sweater.
My comfort clothes.
“Okay I am ready to stuff my face with some curry and—” Her sentence dies off as she takes in my clothes and the box in front of me. “Shit. College sweater, pizza, and wine?” Her head cocks to the side as she tosses her purse on the couch. “What happened?”
“He’s back.”
It’s all I say, but it’s all I need to. Ryder is the only person I’ve ever been with. He’s the only he I would ever refer to.
“Shut the fuck up.” She waves at me to follow her to her room, and starts getting changed. “Where? How?”
I drop down on her bed. “He walked into my work.”
Her eyes widen. “No way.”
“The account is huge, and I got assigned to it.”
Her mouth drops open and I nod, leaning forward to pick up her jacket and hang it over the end of her bed. Her room is always so messy, half the time I feel like I’m back at home, cleaning up after someone all the time again. “Yup, and it’s a great opportunity if I can do it without killing him, or falling apart.”
“Killing him? A total possibility. Falling apart?” She points a finger at me and the look in her eyes tells me it isn’t in jest. “Don’t you dare. You have been there and suffered through that. Pull on your big girl panties and know that you have worked hard to get where you are. You are not going to let some douchebag ruin it all. Don’t give him that power. Now let’s shove our faces with crap that we are going to need to work off later.” She wraps her arm around me and squeezes.
“Thanks, Chris. I needed that.”
“No problem, but I have to ask one question.” I look over at her. “Did he at least get fat?”
“Nope. He’s just as badass and hot as ever.”
We go back out to the living room and attack the pizza. Chrissy goes out to the kitchen and comes back with the huge wine glasses and I remember that part of the reason I put up with her is her ability to know exactly what to do in a crisis.
Sever (Deathstalkers MC Book 6) Page 2