by J. A. Little
“Stay close,” he yells over the noise. I turn around and grab Sara’s hand as well and we train our way to the bar.
At ten thirty the food service shuts down and the band starts warming up. We’re able to snag a high top when a group leaves. It’s still really loud, and I’m having trouble hearing the conversation between Sara and Emily, but I’m not sure I could concentrate on it anyway. Dean’s mouth is right next to my ear. I can feel his warm breath against my neck. It almost feels like he’s whispering something.
“Are you whispering dirty things in my ear?” I ask, teasing. I just can’t seem to help flirting with him. Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He laughs loudly.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Oh, okay. Proceed then,” I grin. He smirks but doesn’t continue. The band starts up and all conversation is halted.
We drink and laugh and flirt. Dean seems so laid-back. I catch Aiden staring at his brother a couple of times, but Dean ignores him and brings more drinks. It’s getting hot and my ears are ringing. I realize I’m quite drunk.
“I need some air,” I breathe, a little too close to Dean’s face. I stumble off my stool, and he catches me.
“I’ll go with you.”
“I’m okay! I’m okay.”
“Yeah. I’m still going with you,” he insists, grabbing our coats. He helps me put mine on before we go outside. I guess that’s a good idea.
He opens the patio door, and a cold blast of air hits us. I shiver, zipping up my coat. Dean reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulls out his hat, and tugs it roughly over his head.
“Dean, as much as I love that hat, you just ruined the hair!” I can hear the slight slur in my voice. I think I’d better stop drinking.
“Ruined the hair?”
“Most men would die for that mess you’ve got up there,” I explain. I don’t think he has a clue what I’m talking about.
“It’s hair, Kayla.”
“It’s sex hair.”
“Huh?”
I reach up, ignoring his customary flinch, and pull off his hat.
“Here, hold this,” I demand, shoving the hat back into his hand. He’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I move closer and lift up on my tiptoes. Dean looks a little dazed and confused.
Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I run my hands through his hair and grip. He grunts a little at my tugs.
“When a girl does this, over and over again in the throes of passion,” I whisper, pressing my cheek against his. “The result is sex hair. And you’ve got it all the time.”
I feel Dean’s jaw move and turn my face to see him smiling. I smile back, giving him a quick peck and pulling away.
I lean against the railing, watching people walk around. Dean stands next to me silently. I’m bumped into a couple of times by some guys who are much more drunk than I am. Dean puts his hands up to keep them from knocking me over, but finally he gives up, caging me in his arms against the railing.
“Well, this is cozy,” I giggle.
“Mmhmm,” he hums.
The rough-housing guys hit Dean full force, bumping him into me and crushing me against the railing.
“Owwww!” I cry. Dean’s weight disappears as he whips around and starts yelling.
“Dude, calm down.”
I turn and see Dean staring down the dickhead who must have bumped into us. Another guy stands between them. Dean’s clearly pissed.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I beg, grabbing his arm. “I’m fine. Let’s go back inside.”
“Yeah, man. Listen to your woman. It’d be a shame for you to get hurt. I might have to take her home for you, and I can’t guarantee I’ll return her in the same condition.” His eyes scan over my body.
“Fuck you!” Dean yells at the guy as I pull him away. We make it inside, and I turn to face him.
“Why are you always getting into fights for me?”
“He was an asshole!” Dean defends.
“They’re all assholes.”
“Then I guess I’m going to be getting into a lot of fights, huh?” He looks so serious, and I’m so drunk. I burst out laughing. Dean rolls his eyes and puts his arm around my shoulder, leading me back to our table.
* * *
“I have a favor to ask,” Dean says as we’re sitting at a burger joint on our way back to Wyatt House the next day. After Sarah took a cab home early from the bar, I passed out in Aiden’s car. I woke up in the guest bedroom, although I have no memory of how I got there. Dean was still asleep on the couch when I wandered into the kitchen to find Aiden and a very strong cup of coffee.
Since Dean didn’t drive himself, I offered to drive him back to Wyatt House. About five minutes after we left, I realized I was starving, so we stopped for food.
“Sure, what’s up?” I ask, barely paying attention because I’m too busy stuffing my face.
“Can you stop doing that for a second?”
I glance up at him, annoyed. “Is that the favor?”
“No.”
I stare at him, waiting.
“Forget it.”
Swallowing, I set down my burger. “Nuh-uh. You can’t say that and then tell me to forget it.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Then just ask.”
He sucks air through his teeth and then blows it back out. “Fine. I, uh, need a date.”
“To schedule a meeting?” I ask, wiping my hands on a napkin and pulling my phone out of my purse to check my calendar.
“A date, Kayla. Like a girl to take out.”
“Oh,” I laugh, feeling stupid. “For what?”
“The Wyatt House Spring Gala,” he mumbles.
I gape at him. Is he seriously asking me to hook him up? Why doesn’t he just stab me in the heart while he’s at it?
“Um, okay. I guess I might know a few people. Sara said she’s always wanted to go…”
He shakes his head. “No,” he says, sounding exasperated. “I’m not asking you to find me one.” We stare at each other. He looks nervous—expectant.
Oh. Ooooohh. Thank God.
“Well?”
“You haven’t actually asked me anything,” I tease.
He scrubs his hands over his face and groans. “Kayla, will you go to my mother’s gala with me?”
“I don’t know. I might have a date that night,” I deadpan. A French fry hits me directly in the eye. “Owww, jerk,” I laugh. “I’m not doing you any favors now.” I toss the French fry back and it hits the guy seated at the table behind him. He turns around and glares, but doesn’t say anything.
“Sorry,” I apologize weakly.
I know we’re making a scene, but it’s great to see Dean letting loose. He’s smiling and laughing. I honestly don’t care who’s looking at us or what they think.
“I would love to go. Thank you.”
“Couldn’t you have just said yes to begin with instead of being such a pain in the ass?”
I shake my head, grinning. “Not nearly as much fun.”
Chapter 26
Dean
Kayla grins at me, her eyes bright. She puts the tip of a French fry in her mouth.
“Are you going to wear a tux?”
I nod, frowning. I hate wearing monkey suits. I always feel out of place, like a fraud, but it’s my parents’ requirement. In any case, I have to look my best—the guests are the ones who fund us. They’re the reason we can support these boys and provide them with more than the typical group home.
“Do you own one, or do you rent one?”
“Much to my mother’s dismay, both Aiden and I rent.”
“Why would she care?” Kayla scoffs. “As long as it looks good, does anyone even know?”
“She knows. Both of my parents come from money. My father’s side used theirs to establish foundations, scholarships, and Wyatt House. My mother’s family has always been a little more frivolous.”
“How did they even end up togeth
er?” Kayla gapes.
“Opposites attract?” I laugh. “I don’t know. My mom went to a charity event with her parents when she was twenty-one and my dad refused to let her go home with them at the end of the night.”
“That’s kind of romantic.”
“It was stupid,” I snort. “Her father was one of Wyatt House’s biggest donors at the time, and my dad was messing with his little girl. He was pissed.”
“Obviously it worked out, though.”
“I guess,” I agree. “From what I remember, my grandfather and my dad always seemed to get along.”
“He isn’t around anymore?”
“No. He died when I was twelve. My grandmother died when I was in jail.”
“What about your dad’s parents?”
“Granddad Wyatt’s still around. He lives in Au Claire.”
“Wisconsin?”
I nod. “Yeah. The Wyatt Family Estate. He’s got Alzheimer’s, though. He doesn’t always know who we are.”
“That’s really sad.” Kayla frowns.
I shrug. “I try to look at it positively. At least he doesn’t remember the accident or anything after that. He still remembers me as the little boy who used to collect frogs from the lake at their country house. I’d hide them in my grandmother’s teapots to scare Mita when she had tea parties.” I smile at the memory. I was about six and Aiden was nine or ten. We hid behind the curtains while Mita prepared everything meticulously. She wanted everything to be perfect. When she opened the lid to put the tea in, she found four baby mink frogs. Fuckers smelled disgusting. Aiden and I fell down laughing when she screamed bloody murder and dropped the pot. We were lucky it didn’t break. Grandma Wyatt was really mad. Granddad pretended to be, but we caught him laughing when Grandma’s back was turned.
Kayla chuckles and then looks confused. “Mita’s a Wyatt?”
“Technically, she’s a De Luca, but, yes, her mother is my dad’s sister.”
“I guess I always assumed your dad was an only child. When Emily was giving me the Wyatt House rundown, she didn’t mention any other kids.”
I shake my head. “Nope. He has a younger sister. Aunt Charlotte’s much more of a free spirit. She always wanted to travel and ‘explore herself.’ She met an Italian painter in Florence named Pietro De Luca and nine months later, Mita was born. They were together for about four years, but Charlotte got bored and came back home around the time I was born.”
“So Mita never saw her dad?”
“She saw him every summer. Aunt Charlotte would take her over and backpack around Europe while Mita stayed with Pietro. “
“Wow.”
“It worked out for everyone. Mita’s close to both her parents. Charlotte’s still traveling around like she’s twenty and Pietro’s a pretty well-known artist throughout Italy. Mita even has some of his artwork up at The Jumping Bean. I’ll have her show you next time we’re there.”
“I’d like that.”
I look down at my watch. I have to get back to Wyatt House soon. Simon is supposed to be in to check out the weekend schedule, and I don’t want to abandon Tracey with him the entire time.
“You about ready to get out of here?”
“Yeah, I suppose we should,” Kayla sighs.
I motion for the waitress, and she brings us our bill. I toss some cash in the billfold and stand up. Kayla doesn’t even complain this time. I think she’s finally getting the idea that I like to pay.
I reach out a hand to help her up. Once she’s standing, I expect her to pull it back, but she doesn’t; she holds on tighter. We walk out of the burger shop hand in hand. It feels weird, but not bad. When we get to the car, she squeezes to get my attention and smiles at me before letting her fingers slip from mine and making her way around to the driver’s side.
On the drive back, I have a hard time keeping my eyes open. I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep well again last night. After carrying Kayla inside and putting her in the guest bed, she looked so comfortable that I wanted to crawl in next to her. But there were two things I couldn’t guarantee: one, that I would keep my hands—and possibly other body parts—to myself; and two, that I wouldn’t have a nightmare. She would either wake to find me groping her or wake to find me screaming and thrashing. I didn’t think either option was acceptable. The more time we spend together, the harder it is to deny my attraction. I should just stay away from her, but I don’t want to, and I don’t think I could make myself even if I tried.
We pull up to the house and see Brayden in the side yard playing basketball by himself. He looks up, grins, and waves.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“My pleasure,” she says, smiling. “Thanks for lunch.”
“I’ll see you later.”
She leans as far over the center console as her seat belt will allow and draws me into a one-armed hug. I’m acutely aware that one of my kids is watching even though he’s pretending not to, but I snake my arm around her waist.
I get out of the car and make my way to the house, hoping Brayden will let it go. He doesn’t.
“Well, well, well.”
“Watch yourself,” I warn.
“Am I mistaken, or did you just get dropped off by Ms. Kayla-the-social-worker?”
“Brayden.”
“Awww, come on, Dean. You want me to pretend that I didn’t just see her drape herself all over you.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re friends.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“No! Just friends. We were at Aiden and Emily’s. I didn’t have my car so Kayla drove me home. That’s it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“That blows. She’s hot.” I begin to make my way into the house, but stop when he opens his mouth again. “So, it’s okay if I mention this to Logan? ‘Cause, ya know, you’re just friends and all.” I spin around, ready to rip into him. But then I see his mouth is pressed together trying hard not to smile; his eyebrows raised innocently. The little shit is taunting me. “That’s what I thought.” He grins. “I’ll keep it to myself.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Why don’t you come on inside and we can spar for awhile.”
Brayden laughs, but I’m serious. I need to work through some of my emotions, and he’s one of the best sparring partners around.
* * *
Tuesday morning, I feel like complete shit. I had an intense nightmare that woke me up at two in the morning and then I couldn’t get back to sleep. Now I’m not only exhausted, but I have a raging migraine. On top of that, I have to be at the school in a couple of hours for that fucking meeting about Matty. I’ve been at Wyatt House nonstop since Saturday afternoon. Kayla invited Emily, Aiden, and me to happy hour with her and Warren yesterday, but only Emily could go. Aiden and I couldn’t get away. Curtis’s social worker came to see us about the fight, the threat, and Curtis’s sexual activity. Standard follow-up.
After brewing some coffee, I grab the newspaper and sit down to read. I’m fighting the urge to start breakfast for the boys. This is Simon’s first morning on the job—I’m just here to make sure everything runs smoothly.
Brayden shuffles in, yawning and scratching himself.
“Morning,” he mumbles.
“Yup, it sure is.”
“I thought Simon was supposed to be on duty this morning,” he says, opening the fridge.
“He is.”
He looks around the kitchen, confused. “Um…”
“Don’t ask me. I’m not here.”
Brayden laughs and grabs the OJ. About twenty minutes later, Simon finally stumbles in.
“My fucking alarm was set for p.m., not a.m.,” he growls.
“I’m not here,” I inform him. “It’s all you.”
“Thanks,” he says bitterly.
I chuckle the entire time as the boys test him, shouting orders for all sorts of breakfast items. By the time he has them out the door, he looks frustrated and pissed off.
/> “What the hell? Are they like that every morning?”
“Little advice, Simon. They’re teenage boys. They’ll eat anything. Make a whole bunch of one thing and be done with it. If they want something else, they can get it themselves.”
“You couldn’t have told me that before they made me look like a total idiot?”
I stand up and put my coffee cup and plate in the dishwasher. “Nope. I’m not here, remember?”
I hear him muttering profanities under his breath as I walk back to my room to take a shower and get dressed. I make it to mass just in time to help Mrs. Thibodeau to her pew again.
“You’re too young to be so grumpy, Dean,” she says. “Go find yourself a good woman and bring her to church with you. That will make you happy.”
I hadn’t realized I was frowning, but considering I was thinking about my nightmare, I’m not surprised. I chuckle and shake my head. “Thanks, Mrs. Thibodeau. I’ll do that.”
I get to the school in-between classes. There are teenagers everywhere, pushing, shoving, laughing, kissing. They stare at me as I make my way to the office. A couple of cheerleaders smile at me and giggle. I’m pretty sure one of them is the girl I discovered with Brayden last year.
The office is a nice reprieve from the noisy, crowded hallway. There are a couple of kids milling about. One is sitting in a chair looking really pissed off. Another, apparently an office assistant, is behind the desk talking on the phone and taking a message.
The door to the administrators’ office opens. A student and another adult, presumably a parent by the way she’s gripping the kid’s arm and frog-marching him out, pass by me.
“Hello, Mr. Wyatt,” Principal Sylvester says curtly as she comes out of her office. “I think Rebecca is in the conference room. You can head on in there.”
I nod. No reason to make niceties. The woman has been a total bitch to too many of my boys for me to give her so much as a polite smile.
I make my way down a short hallway to the all-too-familiar room.
“Hi, Dean,” Rebecca Duchess sighs. She’s sitting at the table looking over papers. Rebecca is the guidance counselor for all my kids. She’s been a foster parent for twenty-five years and knows the kinds of physical, emotional, and educational issues they face. She’s someone I’m always nice to. She actually seems to give a shit.