by J. A. Little
It’s getting close to the end of the month, so I get three phone calls from social workers trying to schedule last-minute visits. I also get a call from the school on Thursday telling me that Jax spit in some other boy’s face and is suspended for the rest of the week. When I pick him up, he explains that he was defending his girl. I understand, but I can’t be lenient because he’s already on restriction. I make him spend the rest of the day in the dining room working on homework while I blast The Best of The Carpenters through the house stereo system. I know that this is, by far, Jax’s least favorite of my torture tunes. I think he’ll understand it’s a sign of how far he’s pushing me. I hear him groan as I make my way to my office to put my earbuds in. I can’t stand that shit, either.
My mother calls me every hour, finalizing the details for the gala. It’s five weeks away and I’ve got too much to do to give a shit, but I humor her because, despite how much she drives me crazy, I love her.
“Oh, and you have to bring a date.”
“I never bring a date, Mom.”
“I know, but I’ve made it a requirement this spring. I don’t care who it is, but she has to wear a dress.”
“So if I want to bring a dude, he has to dress in drag?”
“That’s not funny, Dean Allen,” she scolds. I chuckle. It really is funny. I could just see my parents’ faces if I showed up with a guy in a dress. That would keep those society tongues wagging.
“I know of several young women who would be perfect, but I have a feeling you’d rather pick your own,” she says. Shit—she’s trapped me. If I tell her I’m not bringing a date, she’ll make sure I have one anyway. I’ll walk in and there will suddenly be a woman on my arm. She’s done that before. About four years ago, I ended up spending the entire evening with the rich little co-ed daughter of one of the donors. She did nothing but talk about herself and her trust fund. I got a fantastic blow job out of it, but it still wasn’t worth the hours of wanting to rip out my own eardrums.
“Fine. I’ll figure something out,” I grumble.
“Wonderful. Is Emily there?”
I look up just as my sister-in-law enters the room. “Nope. Haven’t seen her. I’ll tell her you called, though.”
“All right. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I hang up the phone as Emily sits down. “My mom called.” I grin.
Emily laughs. “You’re such a jerk, but thank you. What was she on about this time?”
“She said I have to bring a date to the gala.”
Emily snorts. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m afraid to not show up with one. You know she’s going to have one ready just in case. Will you be my date, Em?” I beg playfully.
“Sorry, hon, but I don’t do brothers.” I wrinkle up my nose. That’s an image that does not belong in my head. Emily wrinkles her nose, too, and we both bust out laughing. “Why don’t you take Kayla?” she asks, grabbing a letter opener and picking at her nails. I grab it from her hands because that’s gross.
“No.”
“Why not? I think she’d love to go.”
“That’s crossing all sorts of personal and professional boundaries, Emily. Remember, she said she doesn’t do that.”
“Jesus Christ, Dean. She was talking about having sex with Warren,” Emily practically yells. Her eyes go wide when she realizes that the door is wide open and the boys are home. She lowers her voice to finish her thought. “He’s one of her best friends for God’s sake. That’s a whole different line. Besides, taking her to the gala could be considered encouraging inter-agency relations.” Emily looks really proud of herself for coming up with that one. I have to admit, it’s good. But I’m still not taking Kayla.
“Maybe I can take Jodi.”
“That little hooker down at Hudson’s? I don’t think so. You will never, ever be able to go back in there if you do that. It’d be bad enough if you took her up on the offer for a quick screw, but take her out on a date and she will go all Fatal Attraction on your ass. Take Kayla. Your parents like her.”
“No.”
“You are infuriating.”
“Did you come in here for a reason?” I growl, my mood beginning to sink.
“Oh, yeah,” she sighs. “Bill bought a new water heater. He’s going to install it this weekend, but the water will be off for awhile on Saturday, so you need to make sure the boys don’t flush the toilets or take showers during that time.”
“Fine,” I mumble.
She stands up and heads toward the door. “Take Kayla,” she laughs before running away. Pain in the ass.
I try to get back to work, but now I can’t stop thinking about Kayla. I know that if we keep on this friends track, I’m going to have to tell her about the crash and Steph. The more time she spends around Emily, the more likely it is that something will slip. I’d rather she heard it from me. I just don’t know if I’m ready to tell her.
When I get back to my apartment later that night, I spend hours waiting for sleep to consume me, but it doesn’t. Just as I think I might finally pass out, my phone rings. I roll over, glancing at the clock. It’s one thirty in the fucking morning.
Without looking to see who it is, I answer. “This is Dean.”
“That’s good. I like Dean,” Kayla slurs loudly. “Hello, Dean.”
I smile widely. Wow. It’s the last person I expected, and she’s obviously drunk.
“Hello to you, too, Kayla. What are you doing?”
“Hmmm? Um…getting naked.”
“By yourself?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes.
“Yesssss, Dean. ‘M always by myshelf. I…h-h-hate men.”
“Good to know,” I chuckle. She’s extremely flirty when she’s drunk. “How come?”
“Cause dey always screw me over. And nooooooot inna good way. Are you gonna screw me, Dean?”
I nearly choke. “Uh…”
“‘Cause I don’t wan you to screw me. I meeaaan… I do, but ony inna good way.”
I’m speechless—and instantly hard. At this time of night, assuming she doesn’t live too far outside the city, I could probably get to her in under half an hour. Twenty minutes if I drive fast and don’t get caught. Shit! I can’t think like this.
“But we’re jus friends, rrrrrright?”
Right. There’s the problem.
“Ahhhh, I can’t fine my underwear,” she whines. “Oh, fuckit! I’m gointa bed, I don’t need underwear.” She giggles and a little snort escapes. “Wanna come over?”
Yes, I do. I really fucking do. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea, sweetheart.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll regret it in the morning.” And probably for the rest of your life.
“No I won’t. You’re ssssssooo sexy, Dean. Is been looong time since I had sex wif anyone besize Mr. Big.”
“Who the fuck is Mr. Big?” I ask without thinking.
“My vibate…uh, vi… My…”
“Your vibrator?” I swallow dryly. I’m not sure I’ve ever had such an unintentionally erotic conversation with a woman.
“Yeah, that’s it. He’s good, but I shink you’d be better. ‘Cept, you don’t vibate. Do you?”
“Not that I know of, sweetheart,” I laugh.
“Damn.” She’s quiet except for heavy breathing. I think she might have fallen asleep.
“Kayla?” I ask. No answer. “Kayla?”
“Hmmmm?”
“Hang up the phone and go to sleep.”
“M’kay. Love you.”
“Good night, sweetheart.” I hang up and set my phone back on my nightstand. “Fuuuuuuuck,” I groan.
* * *
In the morning, I arrive at Wyatt House before 8:00 a.m. Aiden’s not surprised. We sit drinking coffee and talking for almost an hour before he has to head out for Ashley’s swim meet.
Once he’s gone, my mind drifts to Kayla just like it does every time I don’t have any distractions. I think about our conversation. She said she thi
nks I’m sexy. She was essentially opening the door for something more physical—granted, she was drunk. I grit my teeth. As much as I’d love to go down that road, I can’t. Kayla’s a woman who deserves a relationship with a stable guy without the kind of baggage I’m carrying.
I head down to the basement and strap on my gloves for a session with the heavy bag. This should help with the pent-up frustration. I’m about half an hour into a good workout when I hear Logan.
“Dean?”
I look up, dripping with sweat. “Yeah? What’s up?”
“Am I still on restriction?” he mumbles.
I nod. “Until Monday morning.”
“Oh. Can I play ball outside with my brother?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little cold?” I ask, looking at the tiny window across the room. The sun’s hitting at just the right angle to show off the frost crystals.
“I mean later.” He leans against the wall, looking dejected.
I wipe my forehead with my forearm. “I guess so. As long as you stay on the property and there are no guests, you can play ball,” I answer. “And remember, you have to go with Em to the bank this morning.”
“Yeah, I know.” He lingers, and I take this as a sign that he wants to talk.
“Strap on some gloves. Let’s spar.”
I throw a few more jabs at the bag while I wait for him to get ready. When he is, we tap gloves and begin.
“How’s your girl?” I ask, dodging a hook.
Logan looks at me suspiciously. “What do you care?”
I shrug. “Thought I’d ask. Make conversation.”
He scowls, but after a couple of seconds and a few more punches, he gives in. “Her mom and pops are assholes, but whatever. I think it’s in the rules somewhere that you can’t be a parent unless you know how to fuck your kid over.”
“Not all parents are like that, Logan,” I sigh heavily.
“So I guess everyone I know just got the shit end of the stick, then,” he says sarcastically. He lands a particularly hard hit to my chin.
I can’t tell him he’s wrong. Every kid in this house has a horror story of his own. Edgar was abandoned at a bus stop when he was four. He was raised by his grandmother and locked in the closet when she had to go to work so she didn’t have to pay a babysitter. I think it’s a rite of passage for the boys to share the basics of their stories, if only to gauge who had it the worst.
I shake the rattle out of my head in time to defend another jab. “My parents aren’t perfect, but I can’t say they ever screwed me over. Even when I thought they were being unfair, everything they did was for a reason.”
“Are you trying to tell me my mom had a good reason for making us dig through trash cans for food because she spent all her fucking hook money on drugs? Or are you saying it’s okay that she tried to sell us into a kiddie sex ring?” he snaps. I block another hit, but he comes at me again and nails me in the stomach. The kid’s better at sparring than most.
I take a minute to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. I know that Sheila Davidson was a prostitute and an addict, and that she attempted to sell Matty, but I don’t know the details. Kayla said Logan never talks about his childhood. I want to push for more, but by the look on his face, that’s all I’m going to get.
“No. I’m not. Your mother had no right to do that to you.”
“But?”
“No buts. That’s it.”
“So how come you ended up in jail? Brayden told me you said you were innocent. If your parents always had a good reason, how come they didn’t get you out?”
“First of all, I’ve never claimed that.” I tap his shoulder a little harder than I intend to. “I said I didn’t do what I was accused of, but I certainly wasn’t innocent. And my parents didn’t bail me out because I made a stupid decision. I made a lot of stupid decisions. They did me a favor by making me serve my time.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” he sneers. “If you’re guilty, you go to jail. If you’re not guilty you don’t. You went to jail, you were guilty.”
“Life is not that black and white, Logan. You should know that by now. I made mistakes. Big ones that led me to get mixed up with bad people. And if you hang around bad people long enough, you’re going to get caught up in shit that will get you in trouble. And sometimes you’re left to take the fall for something you didn’t do.”
“Well, then that was your own stupidity,” he scoffs. “I’d never go down for something I didn’t do.”
“Never?” I ask. He shakes his head confidently. “You love your brother, right?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“What if he did something that could land him in jail? What if he vandalized a car or broke into someone’s house? Would you sit back and watch him fall? Or would you do everything in your power to try and protect him?” Logan opens his mouth, but then closes it again. I raise my eyebrows. He looks annoyed. I look over and see Matty standing in the doorway. I have no idea how much of our conversation he heard. “You hungry?”
He grunts affirmatively. I smile at Matty and stand up to make breakfast.
Over the next twenty minutes, the rest of the boys begin trickling into the kitchen. It’s loud and rowdy with their chatter and laughter. Curtis and Matty are the only two not really participating. Matty I understand, but Curtis? I wonder what’s happened to make him look so on edge. No one else seems to notice, so maybe I’m just reading into it too much.
Later, as I sit in the library watching Logan and Matty playing basketball outside, I consider calling Kayla. I wonder how she feels this morning. I wonder if she remembers calling me. Will she be embarrassed? Laugh it off? I should call her just to make sure she’s okay. Although, if she’s hungover I should wait. I should definitely wait.
I decide to join the boys outside instead. Soon, we have a three-on-three game going. Jax is at work and Curtis is hiding in his room. Something’s definitely up. I’m going to give him a day to come to me before I go to him. The rest of the guys are in a good mood. Even Logan’s lightened up a little since this morning. He and Matty, who are now playing on opposite teams, are giving each other shit. It’s funny. They remind me so much of Aiden and me at that age. I was definitely more outgoing than Matty, but their relationship is similar.
We break for lunch when the boys start getting hungry. I watch as the kitchen becomes a free for all. Tracey’s going to kill me. A loaf of bread sails across the room, followed by a jar of peanut butter. It’s a good thing the jar is plastic because it hits the floor with a thud. Edgar, who was meant to be catch it, glances at me sheepishly. I shoot a warning look at him and then at Brayden, the one doing the throwing. Brayden just grins. Cheeky fucker. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to feel the day he leaves Wyatt House. He’s been around here longer than I have. My dad has warned me multiple times about getting too close, because, inevitably, they all have to leave. And in most cases, I won’t know what happens to them. The more attached I get, the harder it is to let go.
Logan pulls out ingredients to make nachos, including ground beef. I grab a can of Coke and a box of Oreos and leave the boys to it.
“Clean up your mess!” I shout back to them.
Back in my office, I look at the clock. I’ve given Kayla enough time to sober up. I pull up her number and hit SEND.
“Hello?” she answers, her voice sounding groggy.
“Ah, nice to know you’re still alive,” I tease.
“Um…yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I chuckle. “How much did you have to drink last night, Kayla?”
“What?” she asks.
“You don’t remember calling me?” I lean back in my chair and grin.
“No,” she squeaks. “Oh, God, Dean. What did I say?”
“Nothing too embarrassing, don’t worry. I just thought I’d call and give you shit. How are you feeling?”
“No way, Dean. What the hell did I say?” she demands.
I laugh. “You asked me to
come over.”
“No I didn’t. Did I?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t take you seriously.”
“Why not?” She sounds a little put out. Or maybe I’m imagining it.
“Because you were slurring so bad I wasn’t sure where one word ended and the next began.” She’s quiet for a second, and I wonder if she’s fallen back to sleep. “Kayla?”
“I’m here,” she yelps. “I’m so sorry, Dean. Andy and I were playing drinking games, and I guess we got slightly trashed.”
“Don’t worry about it. I figured as much. It was funny.”
“Me making an asshole out of myself is not funny,” she grumbles.
“You didn’t make an asshole out of yourself. You were just very…friendly.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothin’, sweetheart. Like I said, don’t worry about it. You okay, though?” I’m so fucking tempted to tell her about her drunken admissions, but I get the impression that she’ll be mortified. And I’m not sure we’re friendly enough at this point for me to tease her about her vibrator.
I can ask her out for coffee, though—a friendly coffee. She and Emily went out for coffee, so I should be able to take her out for one, too. Right?
“You want to grab some coffee tomorrow? I can come pick you up.” My heart is thumping in my chest as the words pour out. I’m nervous. I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager. That thought should worry me, and it probably would if I weren’t busy ignoring the little voice in my head telling me that normal people don’t feel like this when asking their friends to go to coffee.
“Sure,” she says sounding happy. I let out a relieved sigh. This is no big deal. It’s just coffee.
Chapter 19
Kayla
On Sunday morning, I hear the doorbell just as I’m pulling my hair up into a ponytail.
“Shit!” I mutter, quickly slapping on my makeup before standing back and looking at myself in the mirror. After my shower this morning, I stood in front of my dresser for a good half hour trying to figure out what to wear. Eventually, I settled on a pair of skinny jeans, a long-sleeved waffle shirt, and a hooded vest. It’s only coffee, not a date. A date is what Andy went on last night. He got all dressed up in a suit and tie, shaved, and walked out of here smelling like a Gucci ad—then texted me around midnight that he wasn’t coming home. I’m not sure whether to be happy or jealous, but not of him…of her. Andy is the kind of guy who wants to fall in love, get married, and have babies, and he deserves all those things. I should be happy for him. But he spent the last ten years taking care of me, and I can’t help thinking about how much a serious relationship will take him away from me.