by Evie Harper
Illegal racing has put food on our table and paid for our clothes; it’s how we have acquired suped-up, expensive cars. How we have a decent house in this deadbeat town and are able to outright own our mechanic business.
I want to teach other street kids the same thing: how to fix cars and race to earn or win money instead of having to steal it. We put the word out on the street, if they need a place to come every day, something to eat, people to talk to who understand what they are going through – they are welcome here.
We already have some boys who come by and we teach them how to fix cars, feeding them as payment for helping out. If one of them comes in with ripped and dirty clothes, Dell will buy them new ones. If any girls come in, they get to decide whether to work with us guys in the garage or to go with Dell to help with lunch or dinner. She has a stash of personal items for the girls and we guys give the boys packs of condoms. The number one thing we drum into their heads is to wrap it up because if you can’t feed yourself, how are you supposed to feed a baby?
Some of the kids have hidden out at our house from Child Protective Services. If CPS comes to my home looking for any kids, I tell them to fuck off. The system is jacked up and it’s all for show; all CPS workers do is tick a box and say they did their job. They don’t care how the children are afterwards, or if they placed them with a monster. They didn’t come and check on us, because if they had I would have begged them to take us with them, begged them for help. Maybe then Mia would still be alive. I fucking hate them with every ounce of my being. They just as good as killed Mia themselves, and I will always hate CPS for placing us with Phillip.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I hear Brett cough behind me. I need to get this done so I can finish my car and be on time to pick Piper up for our date tonight. Fuck, it’s been under twenty-four hours since I last saw her and already I can’t wait to lay eyes on her again.
I turn around to Brett and ask, “What the fuck is Rex up to this time?”
Piper
Damn it, I lost him again.
Being a Child Protective Services officer is one of the hardest and most rewarding jobs. Seeing these kids on the streets starving, hardly clothed and stealing to make a little bit of money breaks my heart. Hearing the stories of their parents being drug addicts who are not capable of looking after them, or how they ran from a home where they were being abused rips at my soul and shows me this world for what it really is: painful, gritty and unforgiving.
But I have people, good people wanting to take in kids. They want to show them there is good in this world, want to give them a small piece of their childhood back and let them be free before they become adults and have to take on the world on their own.
However, there’s one thing about these kids you have to learn: an adult stole their trust, and it’s incredibly hard to get it back. They see me as someone who wants to send them back to that horrible place they just escaped, but that’s not true. I want to listen. I want to fight for them and give them a safe place, either with a family I have spent time with and often go back to so I can talk to the kids or in a group home, where it’s just like a huge family. I’ve spent many dinners with my family group homes, even whole weekends hanging out with the kids, getting to know them and making sure they are really okay. I also see if they need extra guidance or counselling for what they have been through.
I grew up in a group home, and it was nothing like the ones I make sure my kids go to. My group home wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. My foster parents didn’t care what we did, and at ten, I was walking to the grocery store on my own. There was no love, no laughter and no family time, just co-existing and doing our chores.
Most of my foster sisters and brothers were adopted through the years. Adults would come to the group home and talk to us kids, but I was never adopted. As soon as I stuttered, they got this look on their face, one that said I wasn’t good enough for their idea of what a perfect family would look like. And then they would sit back, smile and say thank you, and I knew leaving the room I wasn’t going with a family that day, or ever.
I don’t remember my parents; my memories from my childhood are few and far between and, like most children, blurry. I was told they had died in a car accident and then I was shipped off to a group home. That’s a time in my life I make an effort not to think about, a confusing time, which still to this day has never made sense to me.
I want to save other children from going through the same heartache of rejection and lack of care in group homes like the one I was placed in. I know I can’t help them all, but I will do my damnedest to help as many as I can.
Now I’m in Louisville, Kentucky. Portland to be more precise, a small town situated on the bend of the Ohio river, and a place known for being able to disappear amongst the homeless and low income families. It is also home to the notorious Portland Street Kings and the war that has been raging between them and the Parkland Poison Boys for the past five years.
The story goes that the Kings were kids who lived on the streets and they joined forces to survive. They were once friends with the leader of the Poison Boys, until five years ago when something happened, and they have been at war ever since.
We have an address for the Kings’ home, as it’s where some of our street kids tend to hide out when we are trying to contact them. That’s the last thing they need, to get mixed up in a street gang and involved in things they don’t understand.
My newest case is Jimmy. He’s fourteen and a runaway, and his alcoholic father has physically abused him all his life. His dad didn’t even contact the police to report him missing; Jimmy’s school did. After reading his file and notes from his teachers and friends, there is no way Jimmy will be returning to his father.
I found Jimmy when I was going through a tape of a kid who stole food from a grocery store. At some point, these kids need to steal to eat or to keep warm and when they do, they are caught on camera or caught by the police. Then we go through the missing children’s website and usually that’s how we find them.
I have an amazing family with three other boys around Jimmy’s age, who also came from abusive homes, who want to take Jimmy in. I’ve already talked to the parents and the boys, all of whom are really excited to meet Jimmy, if only he would stop running from me. Every time I get close to Jimmy to talk to him, he makes a run for it. I even try not to dress like an office worker, but somehow he picks me out and I can’t get close enough to tell him I just want to help.
Now I’m headed for the Kings’ home, just to drive past and see if I can find Jimmy. This is my job, and I chose to move here because of its high statistics of street kids. Louisville is known for its low-income areas with criminal gangs, but I’m not going to let a gang scare me off from helping these kids. And I need to start familiarizing myself with the area. If I see Jimmy, I’ll try once more, but if it doesn’t work out, I’ll give him some space for a little while.
Even in my sour mood, a smile graces my face and butterflies begin their fluttering in my tummy at remembering my date with Slater tonight. I look down to my watch and see it’s almost five p.m. One more try for Jimmy and then I’ll head home and get ready.
Chapter Four
Collide.
Slater
I hear the quick shuffling of feet and then my youngest brother, Kelso, yells out my name frantically as he nears the front bay doors. I push out quickly from under the car.
“Slater,” Kelso says breathlessly. “Jimmy’s here and he’s freaking out. A CPS worker is after him and he’s freaked. The bitch’s car is out front. Jimmy said he ran from her and then he was on his way here when he saw her drive past, so he ran straight inside the house. She’s parked in front, not leaving or getting out. Pacer said to get you and see what we should do?”
“Fuck,” I grind out.
I don’t hit women, ever. But there are other ways to deal with CPS workers, because to me they have no souls.
“Go to my room, get my bat, and bring it
to me at the front door. I’ll scare this bitch and make sure she never wants to drive down our street again.”
Kel runs into the house through the back door and I follow quickly. The first thing I see is Jimmy in my kitchen shaking badly with Della trying to calm him, but he’s too lost in his own head, too fucking scared this bitch is going to send him back to his dad.
Fury explodes in my veins.
These people never fucking learn. They don’t help; they only make it worse.
I’m walking through our living room and past the stairs as Kel comes running down them and throws me my bat. I catch it easily and place it under my arm.
Suddenly, there’s a soft, timid knock on the front door.
Fuck, what a ballsy bitch. She’s actually fucking knocking on my front door.
I walk straight to the door and swing it open. “Bitch, you better—-.” My words die a quick death when I see the woman who is standing in front of me: Piper, my Stutter Girl who I’m going on a date with in just a few hours.
Piper’s eyes are wide. They search my face and she glances to the house then back to me and the bat under my arm. Shock and confusion contort her beautiful face.
“Slater,” she whispers, I think more to herself than to me.
“You’re one of them?” I ask, my voice low and hollow. I feel as if I’ve been fooled somehow.
“One of whom?” she asks in an uncertain tone.
“You work for CPS?” This time my tone is sharp and strained.
“Y-yes,” she replies, and my chest tightens painfully at hearing her stutter. “And you’re part of t-the Kings gang,” she states.
“I’m the leader and the oldest of the Kings,” I hiss, falling back into my old ways of being hard and uncaring, a scary motherfucker who is merciless.
I can’t believe she’s one of them. This has to end, now. She’s part of the system that killed Mia. That ruined my life. She stands for everything I despise.
I can’t fucking believe I fell for someone I hate.
Piper
Is he angry with me?
My palms sweat and my heart jackhammers in my chest. Slater, the man I’ve been having sex with for almost a month and am just about to go on a date with, is the leader of the Portland Street Kings.
Oh, my God. What have I gotten myself into?
I’ve heard so many stories and goddammit, now that I think about the two together, it does make sense. His demeanor, the way the crowd always parted for us. The distance people keep from him. His constant hard eyes, the ones I would watch before he realized I was there waiting for him.
Does it bother me that he’s part of a gang which is rumored to have killed before? I’m searching myself for the answer, for the response I know I should have, the decision any sane woman would make. However, all I feel are the same butterflies flying around in my tummy because he’s near. This doesn’t change the way I feel about him. So many people judge me before they get to know me. I won’t do the same to Slater.
But first I need to do my job and talk to Jimmy, who I know came running in here.
“Slater, I need to speak with Jimmy. I saw him run inside your house. He’s one of my—” I look around Slater, but he moves to the side to block my view. My head jolts in surprise and I stop talking when he does this.
“You are not getting anywhere near that kid, Piper; you or anyone else. You need to fuck off and stay gone. Do you hear me? Don’t ever come back here again or I swear, you will regret it.” Slater’s words come out harsh and laced with a warning.
I back up, suddenly feeling very afraid and confused as to why he’s treating me this way.
“I-I don’t understand. I just want to—”
Slater winces when I stutter and interrupts me by yelling, “I’ll only say this once more, Piper! Take yourself and your fucking stutter away from here and leave Jimmy the fuck alone from now on. And you and me, we are fucking done. Jesus Christ, I must have had a moment of fucking insanity with you.”
I take a few more steps back, disoriented, rejection slamming into me. Old, ugly feelings about myself try to claw their way back into my consciousness to kill my self-esteem. Quickly, I attempt to stave off the emotions, reminding myself I’m not what people perceive me to be. I am enough.
I swallow roughly as I stupidly stand here staring at a man I thought understood me, who I thought accepted my stutter.
While Slater continues to stand in the doorway staring me down and breathing heavily, I decide to turn and leave.
I begin to race down his porch steps straight for my car while silent tears sear their way down my face. Running from my once safe place, the only person I ever trusted with my whole body and soul.
He knew exactly what to say to make me fall apart.
When I finally reach my car, I hear his front door slam and my heart shatters, signifying just how far I had fallen for him.
I jump into my car, and without buckling in, I speed away from Slater, from the Portland Street Kings, but most importantly from the man who I thought wanted me, stutter and all.
***
It’s Friday and I’m finishing up work for the day. Thank God, this week from hell is almost over.
Sarah, a woman I work with, has been bugging me all day to go to TK’s after work for drinks. The last thing I want to do is run into Slater, but I didn’t do anything wrong; I’m not the prejudiced asshole here. Why should I shy away from getting out there and having fun? I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t let my stutter hold me back, and I’m going to keep that promise tonight by going out.
I leave work and it only takes me ten minutes to walk home. I live one block away from the Community Center. My place is only a small one-level, two-bedroom house with almost identical structures on either side of it. It has a small backyard with brown grass, and a porch out front. It’s nothing special, but it’s one of the nicest houses you will find to rent on this side of Portland.
I throw my bag with work cases in it onto the couch and jump straight into the shower. It takes me over an hour to decide what to wear tonight. I tell myself not to dress up just in case Slater is there, but damn it if he is there, I want to look irresistibly sexy. I want him to regret not chasing after me. I want him to regret so much more, but I’m just not sure what. I wish I understood better what happened between us. Did he play me all along? Was I so easily tricked? I wish he left me when it was just about the sex, but he’d made me crave more when I didn’t even allow myself to wish for it.
I finally pick out a dress which makes even me shudder, a red, thigh-length, tight-as-hell dress with thin straps on my shoulders. It’s so tight I don’t even need a push-up bra for my boobs. I look down to my breasts and laugh when I see they are so strapped in they aren’t even jiggling as I walk around my bedroom.
I bought this dress over a year ago, and I’ve never worn it. It’s beautiful, which is why I wanted to have it, but I never felt brave enough to wear it. I always wear dresses and skirts, but nothing this slutty. I aim to dress classy, but not tonight. This dress is a big ‘fuck you’ to Slater, whether he’s there or not.
A knock comes from my front door. I quickly grab a pair of black heels to match my dress, hurriedly swap my wallet over to a black clutch and then I’m ready to go.
I open my door to find Sarah and another work friend, Beth. They’re dressed in jeans and sparkly tops, Sarah’s pink and Beth’s white.
I watch them as they look me up and down. I try to smile confidently, “I know—”
“Oh, my God! You look so freaking hot!” Sarah almost screams at me excitedly. I feel heat hit my cheeks and I lower my face as I lock my front door. “Oh, boy, are you going to bring the men to our table tonight! Yay!” she squeals.
I laugh and smile widely, sensing her infectious, happy mood take over my anxious emotions.
The three of us begin our short walk to TK’s. It’s the only decent place to drink in Portland and it’s in the center of town, so no matter where
you live, it’s only about a fifteen-minute walk.
As we near the bar, my palms begin to sweat and my laughter goes from normal to a horrible high-pitched sound. Don’t think about him, Piper!
We walk through the front doors and I’m met with the cool air-conditioning. I lift my hair from my neck and fan my hand to cool down my warm skin after our walk then begin searching the room. I need to know if he’s here or not so I can calm my rapidly beating heart. Only, before I can even begin my search I’ve spotted him, as if my eyes knew exactly where to look. He’s here and I’m glad he is; fooling myself has never been something I’m good at.
Slater’s back tenses and he straightens in his seat. My heart almost explodes out of my chest as I watch him turn around to find me standing here, staring at him. First his expression is gentle, his eyes roaming my face, and then a tortured look crosses his features. My forehead furrows from confusion.
What does he have to be sad about? He did this to us.
His pained expression soon turns to an irritated one as his eyes survey my body and my tight dress. His eyes narrow and I swear I can hear him grinding his teeth from here, but the only proof I have is the small tick in his jaw.
Of its own accord, my mouth forms a very satisfied grin. Then, as if a cold bucket of water is poured over me I notice the big breasted, redhead sitting in Slater’s lap, chatting and laughing with the others at his table.
My heart twists painfully and my knees begin to feel weak. My eyes swing back to Slater who’s still staring at me. His features change from hard to soft and then his eyes move to stare at the floor for a moment before they meet mine again, but this time with an intensity I can’t explain.
Time slows, and it feels as if forever passes me by. It decides to start again as I watch Slater grasp the redhead’s waist with one hand and the back of her head with his other then slam his mouth down on hers.
A tight grip on my heart steals my breath from me and traitorous tears begin to build in my eyes. A fresh deep cut sears through my once-fighting spirit. I can’t do this. I turn to flee, to keep what dignity I still have left, along with my now-battered pride.