Angel of Redemption

by J. A. Little

  “Who took them?”

  “CPS.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit! You’re sitting here high as a fucking kite and you’re telling me you don’t have any idea why the state took your kids away?”

  “They were fine, Dean. I took care of them. I didn’t abuse them. I made sure they got food.”

  “So why did they take them, then?” She’s fidgeting again. “Stephanie!”

  “Zach got into my stash. I don’t know how he found it, but he did, and he ate it, and I freaked out. He was shaking so hard, and then he threw up.”

  I close my eyes and toss my head back. “Motherfucker,” I groan.

  “I had to take him to the hospital. I couldn’t let my baby die, Dean. We got there and they took him back to work on him. They wouldn’t even let me see him. I started to fill out the paperwork, but then I heard the nurse calling the cops, and I got scared.”

  “You fucking ran?” I gape.

  “I didn’t know what else to do. But I went back,” she rushed out. “When Abby didn’t come home from school, I went back to the hospital. They sent a social worker to talk to me and she said they’d taken her from school.”

  “What happened to your son?”

  “She said he was okay, but I wasn’t allowed to see him.” Steph’s voice cracks. “She said I needed to turn myself in, and then I could work on getting them back.”

  “Did you?”

  She nodded. “I served forty-five days for possession and child endangerment. I’ve never been in real jail before—just juvie. It was really scary, and I kept thinking about you when I was there.”

  I grit my teeth angrily. “That’s funny. When I was there, you and Abby were the only ones I thought about, too.”

  She drags the back of her hand across her face and shivers. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t know she wasn’t yours.”

  “You were my wife, Steph. There shouldn’t have been a reason she wasn’t mine.”

  “Are we going to do this again?”

  “No. We’re not. You’re going to go back to wherever you came from and I’m going to go back to sleep.”

  “Dean, please,” she begs. “I need them. They’re the only reasons I’m still alive. If I can’t get them back, I’ll die. I know I was horrible. I know that I was a bitch and a junkie and a whore. You deserved so much more than what I did to you, but please. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

  I shake my head. “You gotta go.”

  “Here,” she says, reaching into her bag again. She grabs a pen and a piece of paper. “I got a cellphone. It’s just one of those disposable ones, but I always have it. Just think about it, please?”

  I watch her trembling fingers as she writes. When she’s done she holds it out to me.

  “Just leave it there,” I tell her, nodding toward the counter. “But I’m not promising anything.”

  “I know,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”

  Stephanie walks toward me. I step back, making it perfectly clear that I’m uncomfortable, and hold the door open. She gets the message and passes by me.

  “Hey.” She turns. “Uh, I saw your picture in the paper from that gala thing a few weeks ago. The girl, is she your…”

  “Girlfriend.” It rolls off my tongue like I’ve said it a million times—I should have said it a million times. What happened with Stephanie was not a relationship. It wasn’t love. It was a fluke—a messy, juvenile mistake. As I look at her, the idea that my future with Kayla could be anything like my past with Steph is suddenly ridiculous.

  But Kayla’s not my girlfriend—not officially—and I have no idea if she’s going to forgive me. I’ve been pushing her away for months and she’s taken it in stride, but now I may have pushed her too far.

  Stephanie sniffs. “She’s really pretty.”

  “I know.”

  She walks through the door, turning back one last time. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “I haven’t done anything. And like I said, I’m not making any promises.”

  She smiles lightly. “You listened. That’s more than anyone else has done for me.”

  I shut the door, twisting the lock and adding the extra chain across the top. Sitting back down on the couch, my mind is reeling. I can’t wrap my head around what just happened.

  “Fuck!” I yell, slamming my fist down onto the coffee table. Guess I’m not sleeping again tonight.

  Chapter 42

  Dean

  Steph’s visit totally fucks me up. I’m like the walking dead on Thursday. I text and call Kayla again to no avail, which makes me feel even worse.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Aiden asks. “Are you hungover?”

  “No,” I grunt.

  “Spent all night getting laid?” I walk away from my brother before I can punch him in the face.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Tracey coos as I walk into the kitchen. She’s doing the breakfast dishes, her hands submerged in soapy water, but looks up when I grab a glass from above her head. “Oh, Dean. Are you sick?”

  I sigh. “I’m just tired.”

  She pulls her hands out from the water and dries them on a towel before touching my face like a mother checking her child’s temperature.

  “You’re warm, honey. Did you get any sleep last night?”

  I try to smile. “I’m fine, T.”

  “You don’t look fine. Why don’t you go take a nap? I’ll bring you some soup and crackers in a little bit.”

  As much as I want to argue, I don’t have the energy. I drag myself to my bedroom. I actually am starting to feel really shitty—beyond the not sleeping and the ex-wife visit. I’m suddenly cold, my skin breaking out in goose bumps.

  Crawling under the covers, I try to get warm. Within minutes, I’m back up again, stumbling my way to the toilet. I don’t even have the time to lift the seat before I empty the contents of my stomach, which is essentially coffee and an English muffin. After half a dozen hurls, I begin to dry heave. When I’m sure there’s nothing left, I fall backward against the wall and shut my eyes.

  “Oh, dear Lord.” I hear Tracey’s voice close by. “Aiden?”

  Footsteps echo through my ears. “Ah, fuck!” my brother’s voice rings out when he sees me.

  “No wonder those boys have such filthy mouths. You two…”

  “Sorry, T. Dean?”

  “Hmmm?” I can hear myself respond in my head, but it doesn’t sound like me at all.

  “Can you get up?”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Was that a yes or a no?”

  “I’m gonna say it was a no.”

  “I can get up,” I groan.

  “Just don’t spew on me,” my brother says, helping me stand. I feel really fucking weak. It reminds me of the time that Larry Rambow beat the shit out me in lockup and left me coughing up blood all over the cafeteria floor. That was really his name: Rambow. No wonder he was such a mean motherfucker.

  “That’s great, Dean. If I ever meet Larry, I’ll know how to pay him back.”

  “That’s horrible. Aiden, he’s delirious.”

  “I’m fine,” I growl, even though I’m pretty sure I’m not. They get me back into bed and I feel Tracey’s ice cold hand on my face again.

  “He’s burning up. Will you get me a cold washcloth, please?”

  * * *

  “Do you want something to eat?” Tracey asks the next morning when I finally feel good enough to get out of bed.

  “No,” I grumble, scratching my jaw. After a week of not shaving, I now have a full beard. Tracey holds out a mug.

  “Here, it’s tea to settle your tummy.”

  “Can I have coffee?”

  “Coffee will agitate your stomach. Stop being difficult and drink the damn tea.”

  I chuckle weakly and take the mug from her. “Thank you.”

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  I look up at her. My head is aching, my stomach is churning,
and I’m pretty sure I still have a fever.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Mmm,” Tracey hums, narrowing her eyes. “Go back to bed, Dean. I’ll take care of things today. Aiden’s coming in at seven for the night shift.”

  “Where’s Simon? I thought he was supposed to be on tonight.”

  “He was. He’s sick, too.”

  * * *

  “Aiden, have you seen my credit card?” I ask when he comes in that night.

  “What are you doing out of bed, dude?”

  “Trying to find my fucking credit card,” I snap.

  He sighs. “Which one?”

  “Mine. The Chase one.”

  “Nope. Sorry. You want me to ask the boys?” Aiden frowns at me. We hate going there, but occasionally one of them gets sticky fingers.

  “Yeah. Just mention that it’s missing. Chances are, if one of them has it, it’ll show up mysteriously in a place I’ve already looked.”

  I go back to my office and try to think of the last place I used it… Hudson’s, the night I went out with Kayla. I pick up my phone and call. It’s Friday night, so it’ll be busy. Lance is the only one who picks up the phone during busy hours.

  “Hudson’s, this is Lance.”

  “Hey, it’s Dean. Did I leave my credit card there last week?”

  “You sound like shit. What’s the matter?”

  “I was sick,” I grumble, wiping a bead of sweat from my temple and swallowing back a wave of nausea.

  “Was? I haven’t seen your card, but I’ll check in the back. Do you want me to send it with your fiancée if I find it?”

  “My what?”

  “Kayla,” he laughs. “Do you want me to send it with Kayla?”

  “Wait, she’s there?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “No,” I rush out. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks, man.”

  I hang up and pull on my coat and hat. It’s been raining all day, and the air is almost icy. I look like a homeless scrub, but I can’t be bothered to shave.

  “I’m heading out,” I yell to Aiden as I lock my office door.

  “What?” he yelps. “What the fuck do you mean you’re going out? Dean!”

  I ignore him and slam the door behind me. I’m really in no shape to be driving, but I need to talk to Kayla.

  The parking lot of Hudson’s is packed. There must be a big game on tonight. I have to park two blocks down. I stumble my way to the entrance.

  “Hi, can I help you?” the hostess asks, looking me over with a frown.

  “No, I’m, uh…looking for someone.” I scan the place. I don’t see Kayla anywhere, but over at the bar, I spot Lance talking to Gage. I swallow hard and make my way over.

  “Heeeeey, man.” Gage grins, lifting his fist for me to bump. His eyes are glassy and heavy, the telltale sign that he’s completely stoned. I can’t begrudge him his “medicine.” It helps him with the phantom pain in his amputated leg.

  “Hey, G,” I reply, feeling a tremendous amount of guilt hit me.

  “It’s been a long time, brother.”

  “Yeah,” I grimace. “Sorry ‘bout that. You know how busy life gets.” It’s a shit excuse.

  “Whatever,” he shrugs. “No biggie.” While part of me wants to stay and see how Gage is doing, I really just need to find Kayla. I look over at Lance.

  “You look worse than you sound. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Kayla?”

  “I think she just went outside. Patio.”

  “Thanks.” I turn toward Gage. “I’ll catch you later, G?”

  “Sure thing,” he slurs.

  I make my way toward the back and out the door. I see her standing by herself against the railing. Her head is down.

  “Hey.”

  She jumps. “Jesus, you scared me.”

  “Sorry,” I apologize. “You okay?”

  She nods, but I don’t believe her. Her eyes aren’t shining like they usually are. They’re sort of dull and pained. She looks over me. “Emily said you were sick. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yeah,” I lie. “How have you been?” I absolutely hate that we’re resorting to this type of small talk, but it’s my fault. I need to fix it.

  She shrugs. “Busy. Dealing with work and family shit.”

  “Family? Is everyone okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. My mom and Richard had a birthday dinner for Claire the other night. For some reason, they invited Andy and me. Sara came, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, hoping that moving in this direction is a good sign in terms of our communication. “How was that?”

  “Amazing food, wonderful service, shitty company. Claire said about three words all night, including ‘hi’ and ‘thank you,’ and my stepdad was on some sort of a roll. He spent the first half hour yelling at my mother. Somehow, it was her fault they were out of his favorite bottle of wine. Then he spent the rest of the night insulting me and bringing up things I’d rather forget, but hey, it was just family and friends so no big deal, right?”

  I scrape my hand over my jaw. I can hear the agitation in her voice. I should have been there with her—for her.

  “Then he complained about the necklace I gave her. Apparently, I’m an idiot for not realizing gold is more valuable than silver at the moment. And Karen’s gift was both inappropriate and cheap. That’s when Andy and Sara excused themselves, leaving me to the wolves.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

  “For what?”

  I open my mouth. I’m sorry she had to deal with her fucker of a stepfather. That she had to do it on her own. That I’ve been a complete asshole. None of that comes out, though. Instead, a wave of nasuea hits me, and I swallow the need to vomit.

  “What are you doing here, Dean?”

  “I came for you.”

  She shakes her head, her lips turning downward into a sad frown. “Why?”

  “Because I needed to talk to you.”

  “So we can clear the air? So I can say everything is okay? So you can take me home and fuck me all weekend, and then take off until you feel the need again?”

  “That’s not what happened. I didn’t—”

  “I wasn’t going to push you,” she interrupts. “I was perfectly content to let things be what they were. I was happy just being with you, in whatever way, because I…” her eyes dart around the patio before coming back to me. “I care about you. But you hurt me. I wasn’t asking for a commitment, but I was under the impression that friendship—even one with benefits—means not completely blowing someone off.”

  “Hey, Kayla. I thought you might like another drink.” I turn toward the male voice and nearly lose it when I see who it is. I look back at Kayla.

  “What the fuck?” I spit. Her expression is controlled. I can’t read it at all. “No fucking way.” I turn my back to Brody, blocking him from our conversation, and lean in close. “I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out how to change myself for you,” I growl. “How to be the guy you need and want. And you show up at my bar with this douchebag? This is un-fucking-believable.”

  “What are you talking about?” she says loudly, causing a few heads to turn our way. “You left me! I never asked you to change.”

  “You didn’t have to.” I scowl. “You know what? Forget it.”

  She grabs my arm, but I shake her off, slamming my shoulder into Brody as I leave. I’m pissed and feel like I need to just fucking hit something—or someone.

  “Dean! Hey, what are you doing here?” Emily is standing in front of me. I don’t even think about what she’s doing here. “Whoa, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Fucking Kayla.”

  “What about her? Is she okay? Where is she?”

  “She’s on a date. I gotta get out of here.”

  “Date? What?”

  “Brody or whatever the hell his name is.”

  “Oh my God, Dean. Did that fever fry your brain? She didn’t come here with him. She came here with me! I
don’t know where he came from, but he’s been bugging her all night.”

  “Why are you out with her?” I ask, confused.

  “Um, because we’re friends. You know, people who care about each other and want to make things better when someone feels bad. She’s been depressed all freaking week, and I asked her if she wanted to come have a drink with me and talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  Emily jaw drops. “You cannot be that stupid. Two weeks ago, you couldn’t keep your hands off her. The way you looked at her, Dean, I seriously thought there was something there, but you took what you wanted and bailed on her. If all you wanted was a quick fuck, you should have told her that and let her make the call.”

  “That’s not what I wanted,” I hiss, “but I’m completely lost on this one. I don’t have a fucking clue how to act around her anymore. I don’t know how to do relationships. The last one I had is still fucking me up.”

  Emily narrows her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about? Stephanie? That was over seven years ago. Dean, I love you, you know that, but you cannot let one single relationship dictate the rest of your life. Stop letting her do this to you!”

  I scowl at Emily. I know she’s right, and I’m trying, but that is much easier said than done. Especially now.

  I see Brody walk in from the patio. Kayla’s not with him, and he’s sopping wet. He sits down at the bar looking pissed.

  Emily sighs. “I’m going back to my friend. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Goddammit!” I groan, running my hands through my hair in frustration. Gage comes over and hands me a beer. I shouldn’t be pounding it since I haven’t eaten anything but crackers in the last twenty-four hours and my stomach is still all fucked up, but I do.

  “What went down, bro? You look like someone just amputated your leg or something.”

  I slam the glass down on the nearly table. “What the fuck, G? That shit’s not funny.”

  He chuckles. “Man, I’m just playin’. You need to chill out. You need some weed?”

  I shake my head and glare at Brody from across the room.

  “That guy macking on your woman?” He looks Brody up and down. “Let’s go. I got your back.”