by J. A. Little
Fuck. I look around the apartment—an apartment I haven’t slept in for two weeks. An apartment I have no personal attachment to. An apartment I could walk away from today and never look back.
“Fine. Whatever. You can stay here,” I relent. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that some part of me fears what will happen to her if she leaves here feeling completely hopeless. What will she do? She’s in the most critical period of withdrawal. Most addicts relapse within the first thirty days, and there are dozens of dealers between here and the bus station. They won’t see a mother struggling to stay clean for her kids. They’ll see an easy target—a depressed addict who needs a means to escape. She’s asking for help. What kind of person am I if I turn her away?
I want to believe she can change. I want to believe she loves her children enough to get clean and stay that way. That’s who I am, what I do. I take kids everyone else has lost faith in, and I give them a chance to succeed. And a lot of them do. I feel like I need to believe that Steph can, too. Maybe, by doing this one last thing, I can find the redemption I’ve been seeking for nearly fifteen years. Nothing will replace the three lives I took, but this could be a step in the right direction. And by dealing with Steph, regardless of the outcome, I can do what everyone has been begging me to do and finally let go. I can give everything I am to Kayla.
I can finally accept that I am falling insanely in love with her.
“I can stay with you?” Steph asks softly, looking around.
“No,” I scoff. “I won’t be here. I don’t have anything valuable here, so if you’re looking to steal shit, you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“Where will you be?”
“Doesn’t matter. Not here. You can stay as long as you keep clean. No pimps, no johns, no drugs, no alcohol.”
“I’m not an alcoholic!” she protests.
“You’re an addict, Steph. No alcohol. If you want a place to stay, then you follow my rules. I don’t even want a fucking boyfriend here. This is not a hotel. Get on the list for Section 8, because my lease runs out at the end of the year and I don’t plan on renewing it. And I better not find any of this shit in a pawn shop. You fuck up even once, and, I swear to God, you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can blink.”
She swallows, and I can tell she’s holding back from mouthing off.
“Do you understand me?” I ask in a voice I use specifically for the boys. It’s a voice that means they better sit up and pay attention, or they’ll pay the consequences. She’s shaking, her lip quivering, but I’m not sure if she wants to cry or if she’s incredibly pissed off. Maybe both. “When are your urine tests?”
“I don’t know. They’re random.”
“I want proof you’re staying clean.”
“Jesus Christ, Dean. Why don’t you plant one of those fucking microchips in my brain so you can see where I am every second of every day, too?”
“I’m not fucking around, Steph. You want your kids back, this is your chance. Do this right or fuck off and let them go.” I open the drawer where my spare key is. “I’ll leave this with the super tomorrow after I make sure all my shit’s gone. I’ll tell him who you are so he doesn’t harass you, but he has my number.”
“Thank you,” she mumbles, taking a step forward cautiously.
I turn away from her, still trying to figure out what I’ve just done. “Might be a good idea to get a job,” I bite. “One that doesn’t require you to be on your back or your knees.” I know it’s a cheap shot, but it makes my point.
She mutters under her breath, and then I hear the door slam shut behind her. I’m glad she’s gone. Now I can bang my head against the wall.
* * *
It takes me two hours to strip the apartment of everything I need or want. By the time I’m done, furniture and basic kitchen utensils are all that’s left. I toss almost all the food because it’s stale, moldy, or rotten. I keep the last package of Strawberry Pop-Tarts from the box I made for Kayla that first morning she stayed over. I’m usually not very sentimental, but it makes me smile.
After loading the boxes into my car, I stop by the super’s apartment. He’s a short, stubby little man with a beer belly and a balding head. His name is Rubin. I have no idea if it’s his first name or his last name.
“She gonna cause trouble?” he asks, his apartment reeking of marijuana.
“Not the kind you’re worried about,” I say flatly. “But if you have concerns, you’ve got my number. Use it.” I slip an envelope with the key along with a hundred bucks into his grubby little hand. He looks at it and smiles before shoving it into his pocket.
I don’t look back as I’m driving away. I have no emotional attachment to the place. It’s my past, and it’s time for me to start letting go of it. My future lies somewhere else.
Chapter 48
Dean
“Are you home?”
“You must have ESP. I just walked through the door.”
I look down at the bowl of leftover spaghetti I’m getting ready to heat up—it’s what the boys ate last night—and put the lid back on. “Have you eaten lunch?”
“No,” Kayla answers. “I had a huge breakfast with Courtney this morning and just wanted to get back.”
“So, I can’t take you to lunch?” I remove the lid again.
“You absolutely can. That was four hours ago.”
I put the lid back for the last time and shove the bowl back into the refrigerator. “I’ll be there in thirty.”
“Okay. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Come on in.”
I hang up, grab my keys, and stop in to tell Emily that I’m leaving.
“Kayla home?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She smiles and waves.
When I get to Kayla’s, I knock, even though she told me to just walk in. There’s no answer, and she doesn’t come to the door, so I open it.
“Hello?” When I don’t get a response, I call a little louder. “Kayla?”
“In my room,” I hear her say. I hesitate, not sure what that means. Does she want me to stay here? Go to her? I think we’ve made up completely, but I don’t want to overstep my bounds if we’re not entirely on the same page. “You can come back if you want,” she calls as though she can read my mind. I make my way to her bedroom and knock on the door before opening it. “Come on in,” Kayla says.
Opening the door, my eyes widen and my throat suddenly feels very, very dry. Kayla is lying on her bed, stomach down with her legs bent, ankles crossed. She’s flipping through a magazine…completely naked. Well, not completely. On her feet are the red shoes that make my dick instantly hard. She’s obviously just taken a shower, because her hair is damp and the room is permeated with the smell of her shampoo.
“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” I tease once I’ve regained my ability to speak.
Her lips twitch into a smile, which quickly disappears as she struggles to keep a straight face. “Reading.”
“Reading what?” I shut the door the rest of the way and twist the lock behind my back.
“These articles are so fascinating. Did you know that Kristy wanted to be a kindergarten teacher?” She flips the page and I see a flash of skin. I clear my throat, feeling a significant strain against my jeans. Fuck! The woman is reading a nudie mag.
“That does sound fascinating. What else have you learned?” I step forward and lift my shirt up and off. She glances my way, a sultry smile on her face. I’m pretty sure my brain has switched off and all the blood is flowing directly to my cock.
“Heidi got her first boob job at seventeen,” she offers. I laugh and continue walking toward her until I’m standing next to the bed.
“And?” I ask, trailing my finger from the curve of her ass down the back of her thigh.
“Ummm, well, uh…” she stutters a little as I kick off my shoes and remove my pants. Since I’m not wearing boxers today, we’re equal now. I lean over her.
“You know
what those shoes do to me, don’t you?” I whisper in her ear.
“No, what?” she asks innocently. I tackle her, forcing her onto her back. She giggles, looking up at me. “Hi,” she breathes.
“Hi. How was your drive?”
She raises her eyebrows. “You want to talk about my drive? Right now?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“Then shut up and kiss me.”
I do as she demands, pressing my open mouth against hers and immediately pushing my tongue inside. After a few minutes, I roll over so she’s sitting on top of me.
“How long have you been planning this?” I ask, stroking the soft skin of her thighs.
“Since you said you missed me.”
I grin at her. “Is that what I said?”
She shrugs. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“Hmmm. Why don’t you scoot on up here and let me show you how much I missed you.”
Kayla starts shimmying up my body, but stops at my chest. “Come on,” I urge, curling my finger before resting my hands on her ass to help her the rest of the way. When she’s directly over my face, I hold her in place and take a long lick, dragging my tongue through her warm, wet flesh.
“Uh.” She lets out a breathy whimper.
I explore every bit of her before closing my mouth around her swollen clit and sucking. Kayla’s riding my face just like she rides my cock, and it’s hands down the sexiest fucking thing I’ve experienced. Just as she’s about to get there, I stop what I’m doing and push her hips back.
“What are you doing?” she asks, frustrated. In answer, I flip her over and slide into her. “Oh,” she gasps. The headboard is knocking against the wall with every thrust I make. Kayla looks up to where the collision is happening.
“Are we gonna make a dent?” she asks teasingly.
“We can try, sweetheart.” I begin to slam into her harder. The banging gets louder and louder. I watch her expressions as she whimpers and moans. When she catches me staring, she smiles almost shyly. I slow down a little because I want her mouth again. Placing one hand on her breast, I tease her nipple with my thumb as I lean in and kiss her.
Without warning, she tenses. Her mouth falls open, her lips parting from our kiss. The feeling of her pulsing around me is enough to make me swell and, after a few more thrusts, I let go. Physically, it’s not the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had, but Jesus Christ, it makes my heart pound in my chest. I lift the hand caressing her nipple to her head, cradling it as I continue to rock into her, bringing us both through the aftershocks.
When I stop, I can’t look away. Something in her eyes has me pinned. She blinks slowly and a tear slips from the corner of her eye. I watch it slide down the side of her face. I’m confused and a little bewildered.
“Are you okay?” I breathe.
“Mmhmm,” she hums, her lips pressed tightly together.
“You sure?”
She nods and offers me a smile. “Absolutely.”
Rolling off her, I lie on my back and wait for her to curl into my side. She does as expected and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, still trying to figure out her reaction.
“Did we make a dent?” she asks. I look up and see that the paint’s a little chipped around the area, but there’s no dent. I’m not sure what the tear was about, but it’s gone now. She seems very content.
“We’ll have to try harder next time,” I joke.
“Dean?”
“Hmm?”
“Can we go get some lunch? I’m really hungry now.”
My mouth contorts into a smirk. “As long as you wear those shoes.”
* * *
“How’d you get the easy job?”
Kayla looks up from where she’s painting my niece’s toes pink. Wait—not pink. Fuchsia. I’ve been corrected twice already. “You think you could do this?”
I frown. No. I couldn’t. “Caleb, I need you to sit down so I can finish getting your pants on.”
My nephew hops from foot to foot and shakes his head. “No. Don’t wanna.” I could pin him down, but I don’t want to hurt him.
I glance back at Kayla. I can see her snickering silently. It isn’t funny—I’m getting frustrated. I can’t figure out how to make him stop moving.
“Oh my Lord, Dean,” Kayla chuckles and stands up. She picks Caleb up and sits him on her lap, lifting her hand toward me. I toss her the pajamas and watch as she effortlessly dresses the little monster and sets him back on the ground. “There. All done.”
“I’m not impressed,” I mutter, impressed. She continues to laugh at me and goes back to her nail painting. I sit on the floor while Caleb runs circles around me, giggling every time I reach out in a half-assed attempt to catch him. Kayla is talking to Ashley about a boy she hit with the stapler in her kindergarten class.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Ashley states matter-of-factly.
“And you hit him with a stapler?” Kayla asks. “Why?”
“He said he wasn’t.”
Kayla’s eyes shift to me. I smile at her. She tries not to smile back, but fails miserably before returning her attention to Ashley.
By seven thirty, Caleb’s looking a little wobbly. He keeps rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“I think it’s somebody’s bedtime,” Kayla says, picking him up and cradling him in her arms. He doesn’t argue or fight. He just wraps his arms around her neck and lays his head down on her shoulder. I fight back the nausea I feel when I catch myself wondering what kind of mother she’ll be. I don’t want kids, so thinking of Kayla having them means admitting that there could be a day when she won’t want me anymore—when she wants someone else. “I’m going to go put him down,” she says softly, swaying from side to side.
“Okay.” I nod.
“Uncle Dean? Can I do your hair?” Ashley asks as Kayla’s walking away. Her eyes are wide and hopeful. I furrow my brows into a confused squint.
“Do my hair?”
She pulls her hands from behind her back. She’s holding a comb and a whole bunch of pink and purple girly stuff. I stare down at her, still not quite understanding.
“Please,” she begs, blinking her eyes quickly. I think she’s attempting to flutter her eyelashes. It doesn’t even matter what she wants to do to me, I’m going to say yes because I’m a fucking sucker. She knows it, too. She squeals and takes my hand in hers, dragging me over to the couch.
“You sit on the floor and I’ll sit on the couch. That’s how Mommy does it.” I pull my phone from my back pocket and sit down. “I’ll be right back. I need my spray bottle.”
“Your what?” I ask pointlessly because she’s already skipped out of the room.
For the next half hour, I look through emails on my phone while my niece sprays, combs, and sticks things in my hair, chattering the whole time. I have no idea what she’s saying, though. She talks way too fast. When Kayla returns, she sits down across from me, a hint of a smile on her face.
“Is he asleep?” I ask, glancing up at her.
“Yes,” she says, now fully grinning. “We read half a dozen books, and then he passed out. He’s a sweet little guy. He made me climb into bed with him.”
“Aiden said he’s been a little clingy lately.”
Kayla’s phone chimes. Emily must be checking in. Seconds later mine does, too. I glance down. Aiden.
Still alive?
I hear a click and look up to see Kayla pointing the camera on her phone at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Emily wants to know what we’re up to. I’m showing her.” I lift my hand and curl my fingers.
“Lemme see.”
She hands me the phone, and the picture on it makes me choke. My hair is sticking straight up, decorated with barrettes and bows.
“You look pretty, Uncle Dean,” Ashley gushes from over my shoulder.
“I’m deleting this,” I groan.
“No!” Kayla and Ashley both cry. Kayla grabs for the phone, throwing me off balance. I tr
y to hold it out of her reach, but I’m on the floor, so holding it above my head doesn’t work. Kayla gets a hand on it and snatches it from me. Before she can get away, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her down. Ashley curls away, giggling as she watches Kayla and me wrestle.
After a couple of minutes, I stop because I’m getting turned on by all her squirming. Kayla must notice because she pats my cheek and stands, knowing we need to cool down with Ash in here.
“Let’s go make some popcorn, and then we can watch that princess movie,” she says, reaching her hand out to Ashley. I smack her ass pretty hard as she walks away, making her jump and glare at me, but I can tell she’s not mad.
Halfway through the movie, I look over to see my niece fast asleep on the floor. I carry her to her room and put her into her bed. Kayla pulls the covers over her, and we both steal out of the room as quietly as we can. It’s only nine o’clock, but I’m beat. Taking care of little kids is hard. Maybe even harder than taking care of teenage boys.
When we’re back downstairs, Kayla pours us each a glass of wine.
“I’m exhausted,” I complain. “How do people do this full time?”
“What? Be parents?”
“Parents, teachers, babysitters. Anything that has to do with little kids.”
Kayla laughs. “I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t take you seriously right now.” She reaches up and starts taking the shit out of my hair that Ashley put in there. I’d completely forgotten that I look like a freaking Barbie doll. “You obviously don’t give yourself enough credit. How can you be a foster parent to six teenage boys?” she continues.
“They can function on their own, though. If I forget to feed them, they’ll go get something out of the kitchen and eat it.”
She lifts an eyebrow at me. “Do you forgett to feed them often?”
I chuckle. “Are you kidding? They’d never let me forget. I’m just thinking… I’m Ash and Caleb’s godfather. It’s in Emily and Aiden’s will that if anything happens to them, I’ll be the one to raise their kids. How the hell would I do that by myself?”