Angel of Redemption

by J. A. Little

  “Did your attorney know this?” Andy starts. “Because if he did—”

  “Nobody knows,” Dean answers quickly. “I mean, a few people do.”

  “Your parents don’t,” I grumble.

  “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does. If my child were arrested and thrown into jail for something he didn’t do, I’d want to know.”

  “If I were still there, maybe, but I’m not. I served my time. It’s over.”

  “You served her time,” I argue. “She should have been the one sitting in that prison cell getting worked over by thugs, not you!”

  “She was pregnant, Kayla. I wouldn’t do anything differently even if she had told me the baby wasn’t—” I feel him tense. In a matter of seconds, we’ve completely forgotten that there are two other people listening to our conversation. Shit. He’s gonna start pulling away.

  Dean clears his throat. “I need to go to the bathroom.” He gets up and walks out of the room. I slump into the couch.

  Both Andy and Sara look absolutely stunned.

  “Holy shit!” Andy gasps.

  “He has a kid?” Sara asks.

  “No,” I shake my head. “Kid wasn’t his. I’m gonna go…” I point toward the bathroom.

  “Yeah, sweetie. Go,” Sara urges. “Babe, we should probably go, too. Give them some privacy,” she adds quietly.

  “Buttercup?” Andy asks, making sure I’m okay.

  “We’ll be fine, thank you.” I wave and make my way to the bathroom.

  “Dean?” I knock on the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah,” he says quickly. I open the door and find him leaning over the countertop, his hands on either side of the sink. His face is wet, as though he’s just splashed water over it.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go there.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not mad.”

  “You’re not?” I ask, surprised.

  He shakes his head. “Nope.” He smiles and pulls me to him.

  “How come?” I ask, worried that maybe there might be a delayed reaction in the middle of the night and he’ll end up leaving

  “Something Brayden said to me not that long ago.”

  “Uh, Brayden said?”

  Dean chuckles. “Well, something Brayden passed on to me via his therapist. He said talking can go a long way toward helping people deal with shit.” He pauses. “I’m not ready to tell my parents, though.”

  “Okay.” It’s a struggle not to congratulate him on such a huge step, but I don’t want to add any pressure.

  We leave the bathroom hand in hand, but when I pull Dean toward the bedroom, he looks at me in confusion.

  “They left,” I explain.

  We make love slowly, Dean lavishing attention on all the sensitive parts of my body he’s discovered. He doesn’t speak other than to tell me how beautiful I am. We come together, his arms wrapped around my back, his hands gripping my shoulders. Afterward, he holds me against him while I trace the ink on his shoulder.

  “Why a dragon?” I ask softly.

  “It’s a dual symbol in mythology. On the one hand, dragons were bringers of death; they left destruction behind them wherever they went. But on the other hand, they were also protectors of those they served…those they loved.”

  “Is that how you see yourself?”

  Dean nods. “I guess so. I’ve caused so much pain, but from that, I think I developed a need to guard and protect. That sounds stupid.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” I move my fingers down to the scorpion on his forearm.

  “I wanted my left side to represent me, while my right side represents those I hurt.”

  “Scorpions are very passionate,” I tell him. “My Grandma Brooks lived in the desert. She used to take me out on certain nights to watch the scorpions dance.”

  “I don’t dance,” Dean says quickly.

  “It’s a mating ritual. The male constantly comes closer and then backs away.”

  “Okay, maybe I do dance,” he chuckles.

  “It can go on for a long time, but eventually he just grabs her and deposits his sperm.”

  Dean’s chest vibrates in laughter. “What happens after he does that?”

  I sigh dramatically. “He runs away so she doesn’t eat him.”

  “Are you planning on eating me?”

  “Not tonight,” I tease.

  “That’s a shame.” After a couple of beats, he nudges my chin up so that I’m looking at him. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

  I smile and nod. No, I don’t know that, but right now, I’m willing to believe him. He kisses me, and I lay my head back down on his chest. Within minutes, he’s breathing deeply.

  “Dean?” I whisper, making sure he’s asleep. When he doesn’t answer, I know it’s safe.

  “I love you.”

  Chapter 47

  Dean

  “How are things going with you and Kayla?” I look up from my sandwich at my brother, who’s taking a bite of a buffalo wing.

  “Fine.”

  “Has she forgiven you for being a dickhead yet?”

  “Yeah. We talked it out,” I answer.

  “Talked it out, or…?”

  I flip him off and return my focus to my lunch.

  “It doesn’t take a fucking genius.” He chuckles. “You’re either at Wyatt House or at Kayla’s. Do you even remember what your apartment looks like?”

  I frown. I’ve been avoiding my apartment for the last couple weeks because I haven’t decided what to do about Steph. The first few days after she showed up, she left me alone, but in the last week, she’s called three times. I know her number now, and I haven’t answered her calls. Part of me is hoping she’ll just go away. It’s not like I can do anything for her. I’m not going to give her any money, and I can’t vouch for her. I don’t know what she wants from me. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, but I keep seeing the faces of those kids in my head. I want to believe they’re better off in foster care, and maybe they are, but the reality is that the system doesn’t always work the way it’s supposed to. It could take years for them to find any kind of permanence. In the meantime, they’ll likely be shuffled from place to place.

  “Dean?”

  “There’s nothing there for me anymore.”

  “Why don’t you get a place closer, then? Give up that rat’s nest?” he asks.

  “I’m paid through the end of the year. No point right now.”

  “Geez, bro. What bug crawled up your butt today? You’ve been pissy all morning.”

  I shrug. I know exactly what’s making me so uptight, though. Kayla left for Indianapolis yesterday morning to visit a kid who’d been placed with relatives. She was supposed to be back today, but decided to stay an extra night and visit a friend from college who lives in the area. I won’t admit it to my brother, but I was looking forward to going home to her tonight, and I’m irritated that I won’t be able to.

  “When’s she coming home?” Aiden asks, reading me perfectly.

  “Tomorrow,” I mumble.

  “Are you going to survive?” My brother sticks out his lower lip in a fake pout. Before he can register what I’m doing, I reach across the table, slapping him upside the head. “Ow,” he whines through a laugh. “Dude, that hurt.”

  “I’m not a pussy like you, A.”

  Aiden coughs. “Yeah, sure you’re not,” he jokes. “Hey, did you ever find your credit card?”

  “No, but I cancelled it.”

  “No weird charges like lingerie or vibrators?” I laugh. When Aiden was in college, he had a crazy-ass ex-girlfriend who stole his credit card and racked up almost one thousand dollars at a sex shop.

  “There were a few. Nothing freaky, though. Gas stations, Target, that kind of shit. Credit card company is refunding the amount.”

  “I guess that’s a good thing.”

  I sigh and bob my head. “I guess.”

  “You think it was B
rayden?”

  “I don’t want to. He says it wasn’t him, but I can’t help my suspicions.”

  “But you could have lost it anywhere, right?” he asks. I shrug. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  He’s right. It’s been awhile since Brayden’s fallen into his kleptomaniac tendencies, and it’s not fair for me to assume it was him.

  We keep eating our lunches, and I start to feel better. We joke and tease like when we were kids. It’s not often that Aiden and I get to hang out away from work, just the two of us.

  “What are you doing Saturday night?” Aiden asks me as we’re finishing up.

  “Working.”

  He shakes his head. “No you’re not, Simon is. You’re on Sunday.”

  “I don’t know, then. Why?”

  “You wanna babysit? Emily and I really need some time out. Her parents have something going on, and Mom and Dad are going to see Granddad.”

  “Are you guys okay?” I ask, concerned.

  “We’re fine. You know that we moved Caleb into a big-boy bed, right?” I nod. “He refuses to stay in it. He’s been climbing into bed with us every night for the last two weeks and we haven’t been able to…” Aiden sticks a toothpick in his mouth and shifts it around for a minute. “He walked in on us last week. Emily was mortified.”

  “So lock your door.”

  “We tried that. I was just getting down to business when he tried to open the door and started screaming bloody murder. I’ve tried twice since then, and Emily was too busy listening for him to pay attention to me. We need uninterrupted time.”

  “Dude, I’m so glad I’m not you,” I snicker.

  “Shut up. Will you do it or not? Bring Kayla—I don’t care. I just need to, uh, romance my wife.”

  “Please don’t tell me anymore,” I beg. “Yeah, I’ll do it.” I wipe my face with my napkin and throw it down on my plate.

  “Thanks.” He grins.

  “No problem.”

  * * *

  “Where are you?”

  “In my car outside my apartment. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the lobby of my hotel waiting to have dinner with Courtney and her husband. What are you doing tonight?”

  I smirk. “I’m gonna take a hot shower and think of you.”

  “Really?” she asks, her voice quiet, but playful. “What kind of thoughts are you going to have about me?”

  “Clean ones.”

  “Well, that’s no fun,” she mutters.

  “Soapy ones,” I add. She catches on pretty quick.

  “Slippery ones?”

  “Uh-huh. Very slippery.”

  “That’s not fair, Dean. You can’t do this to me when I’m in a public place.”

  I laugh. “Do you have time to go back up to your hotel room?” I hear muffled talking and a sort of squealing sound. “Apparently not.”

  “Sorry, baby. Rain check?”

  “I’d rather you just come home.” The words slip from my mouth before I can catch them. I wince.

  “I will,” she says after a brief pause. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your shower.”

  “Yeah. See ya.” I hit END and shake my head as I’m getting out of my car. Back to fucking reality. I stare up at the gritty apartment building. I really don’t want to be here. “Fuck,” I breathe out, slamming my car door.

  I drag my feet up the stairs heavily. There’s a baby crying somewhere, a heavy bass thumping, a couple fighting, and the worst concoction of smells ever. It makes my stomach churn to breathe in through my nose. None of this used to bother me, but things have changed. A lot of things. Maybe this isn’t the place for me anymore.

  I make it up to my floor and turn the corner to see a small body sitting against the door of my apartment. I immediately want to turn around, but it’s too late. Her head, which was resting on her arms, lifts, and she stares at me. I walk toward her as she stands.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I was waiting for you. I thought I’d stop by since you can’t be bothered to answer your fucking phone,” she snaps. “Nice to know your wife is so high on your priority list.”

  “You’re not my wife, and you’re not on my priority list at all, Steph. How in the hell did you even know I was going to be here?”

  “Ex-wife. Whatever. I didn’t. I stop by every night after…” She stops.

  “After what?”

  “Here,” she growls, shoving a piece of paper against my chest. Her clothes are wrinkled and hanging, but not dirty. Her hair is clean and pulled back from her face, which is still heavily covered in makeup, but at least it’s not smeared across her skin like before. The things I notice the most are her eyes, though. They’re a little bloodshot, and there are deep bags underneath them as if she hasn’t been sleeping, but they’re bright blue and clear. She’s sober. I take the paper from her and look at it.

  “Don’t fuck it up. I have to give it to my worker,” she grumbles.

  The Minneapolis Addictions Recovery Center letterhead is the first thing I see, followed by the certification that Stephanie Leigh Newbaker is enrolled in the narcotics program. It’s dated four days ago.

  “So what, Steph? You’ve done this shit before. How long did it last?”

  “I stayed clean both times I got knocked up,” she defends.

  “And then you went right back to using. So, gonna get your kids back and celebrate by getting fucked up? Why would I even consider helping you cheat the system?”

  “I don’t want to cheat the system. I want them back, Dean.”

  “Why?”

  “What the fuck do you mean, why? ‘Cause they’re my kids. They’re the only things I’ve done right in this world, and I’m not gonna let some fucking worker take them away from me and give them to some rich bitch who can’t have her own.”

  “Maybe they’re better off, Steph. You ever think of that? Maybe they deserve a mother who can put their needs before her own.” I might as well have spit in her face. She gapes at me, wide-eyed and absolutely pissed.

  “You fucking bastard!” she snarls, swinging her fist toward me. I catch her wrist in my hand before it gets close, but she continues to try and hit me. “This is all your fault. You did this to me. If you hadn’t been all self-righteous, trying so hard to save me, I would’ve been dead by now. Do you think I like living like this? Do you think I wanted this for my babies? I don’t got fucking rich parents to save me.” She’s screaming and thrashing, making a scene for the people who have come out into the hallway to see what their quiet, elusive neighbor has done.

  “Why don’t you get some fucking popcorn and take a seat?” I yell at them, annoyed that they can’t mind their own business. A few of them go back into their apartments, but a couple of teenagers sit down in defiance to watch the show.

  Still fighting against Steph, I put my key into the lock and open my door, dragging her in behind me. I know a huge part of this tantrum is the withdrawal—I’ve been through this before with her—but it’s still really fucking irritating. I’m just able to get the door closed when she collapses.

  “Jesus,” I say, barely catching her.

  “Please,” she sobs. “Please, baby, please. If you ever loved me… I just need them back.”

  “Don’t start this, Steph,” I grumble, leading her to the couch and shoving her off me. “This has nothing to do with us.”

  She curls into herself, and I’m once again taken aback by how small she is. Has she always been this little, or has her body wasted away from all the shit she’s been putting in it?

  “What are you detoxing from?” I ask calmly, needing to know what I’m dealing with. I’ve seen people have psychotic breaks during withdrawals, and the last thing I want is to have to call 9-1-1.

  “Crank and blow,” she whispers, sniffing and picking at a scab on her wrist. “Five days. I got into the program around the corner, but it’s so hard, Dean.”

  “No shit?” I ask sarcastically. “That must be why they
recommend you don’t do drugs. Where are you living?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t really have nothin’ permanent. The shelter on First.”

  “Why aren’t you getting treatment through them?”

  “I’m on the waiting list. They said I’m, like, thirty down or somethin’ like that.” She rolls her eyes. I take a deep breath.

  “What do you want from me, Stephanie? I can’t help you get your kids back.”

  “I need a place to stay. They’re not gonna let me have them while I’m livin’ in a shelter. They’re not even gonna take me seriously.”

  “Get Section 8,” I say, immediately thinking of the housing program for low-income families.

  “That waiting list’s two years long. They’ll have my kids adopted before I even get a place. Just let me live with you until I can find another place.”

  “Me?” I shout, more out of surprise than anything else. “You can’t live with me. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

  She raises her gaze, her makeup starting to drip down her face from the tears and the wiping. I can see how bad her skin is underneath—a product of the meth she’s been smoking for nearly fifteen years. I’m surprised she doesn’t look worse.

  “I’ll do whatever you want me to,” she begs. “I don’t got nowhere else to turn.”

  “How about their fathers?” I sneer.

  She blanches. “Russell got shot a few years ago. His wife wouldn’t even let me into his funeral.”

  Russell was her pimp—the one who fathered Abigail. When Steph was nineteen, he was thirty-nine. He had six kids with his wife and God knows how many with his girls. His wife was the reason he didn’t come right out and fuck me up when I took Steph away after I got out of juvie. In retrospect, I think Steph loved him—much more than she ever loved me, anyway.

  “I don’t know who Zach’s father is.”

  I shake my head. “Big fucking surprise,” I mutter.

  She pulls her sleeves down over her hands and stands up. “Never mind. I’ll…” She doesn’t finish her sentence but starts to walk toward the door, her whole body defeated and sagging. Her hands drop to her sides, and I can see the picture of her kids that she showed me, clutched in her fingers.