Angel of Redemption

by J. A. Little

  “I’m getting there.”

  “Good.”

  We watch the sun as it descends over Lake Michigan, leaving oranges, pinks, and yellows behind it. Once it’s completely dark, Kayla stands up.

  “Let’s go to bed.”

  “It’s only nine o’clock,” I say, looking up at her.

  “Exactly.” Her tongue darts out and wets her lower lip before she draws it in-between her teeth. I practically fall out of the chair trying to get up as fast as I can.

  * * *

  Sunday is the first day in for-fucking-ever that I don’t wake up early. I not only don’t wake up early, I am out cold until after nine. I don’t have a single nightmare, but I do dream. I dream that Kayla and I are here at the beach house. We’re grilling and laughing. She’s at the railing, facing the water. Her back is to me so I can’t see her face, but I know it’s her. I’d know her anywhere. She’s wearing a white dress, and it’s blowing in the breeze. I walk over to join her and to see what she’s laughing at. Below us is a little girl—three, maybe four years old. She’s sitting in the sand, her feet buried, a shell necklace around her neck.

  “Look at me, Daddy,” she squeals. She looks just like Kayla, and I have an overwhelming surge of emotion when she smiles at me. Kayla finally turns to me, and I have to take a step back because her belly is huge. She rubs her hand over it and then grabs my hand, pressing it firmly against the bump.

  “I love you,” she says softly.

  “I love you, too,” I answer easily.

  I wake to Kayla’s back pressed against my chest. My arm is around her, my hand resting on her tit like it usually is. Her breathing is normal, but her heart is beating fast. I wonder if she’s dreaming, too. I let my hand slide down over her flat stomach. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed to wake from the dream. Ever since I found out Abigail wasn’t mine, I’ve rejected the very idea of having kids. But now…now I find myself toying with the possibility.

  I push away the thoughts and distract myself by groping Kayla into consciousness. We don’t make a lot of noise this time. I don’t seem to be able to speak due to the images fucking with my head, and Kayla simply whimpers every time I thrust into her.

  We don’t shower together because the shower’s smaller than a fucking bread box. When I get out, however, I’m greeted by Kayla standing in nothing but my T-shirt with coffee in one hand and a plate with two Pop-Tarts on it in the other.

  “Wow, I think I just came again,” I tease, offering her a kiss as I take the goods from her. She strips off my shirt, leaving it on the floor, and sways her hips on her way to the bathroom.

  A little later, she joins me on the deck and lies down on top of me on the lounger. We stay like that for awhile, listening to the surf and the people on the beach.

  “Dean?” she says, breaking the silence.

  “Hmm?”

  “How’d therapy go last week?” I tense a little, and I know she feels it. “You don’t have to tell me, I was just wondering.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I relax and run my hand through her hair. “There wasn’t much to it.”

  “Do you like the therapist?”

  “He’s… Yeah, so far. I mean, he’s all right. I told him about the accident and Stephanie. I think he’s going to try to help me deal with it all; sort through it.”

  “That’s good.”

  I tilt her chin up with my index finger. “You know how I feel about you, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Know so. I’m not fucking around, Kayla. You’re everything to me. I’m getting myself…unfucked for you.”

  “Unfucked?” She laughs.

  I shrug. “Yeah. Whatever. You know what I mean.” She nods and then sighs.

  “Dean. I love you the way you are now. You are compassionate and loving and patient.”

  “I’m not really patient.”

  She purses her lips. “You are patient. I see you with those boys. Not many people could do what you do. Regardless, if you think you need to get…unfucked, don’t feel like you need to do it for me. Do it for yourself.”

  I bend my head down and close the distance between us. The kiss starts out innocent enough, but progresses quickly. Kayla rolls so she’s sitting on top of me. It isn’t until we hear laughter and whistles that we pull apart. The kids next door start clapping.

  “Whoops,” Kayla giggles. I just hum and shake my head. “What do you want to do today?” she asks.

  “I thought we could head over to the lighthouse. Maybe go to the Kal-Haven Trail and take a hike.”

  “Can we pack a lunch? Have a picnic?”

  I smile at her. “We can do whatever you want, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  The rest of the day is spent doing touristy shit. Normally, I hate this kind of thing and avoid it as much as possible, but it’s not so bad this time. Kayla makes some poor old dude take four hundred pictures of us in front of the lighthouse. It’s a good fucking thing the camera’s digital, because half the pictures are crooked or out of focus.

  We get back to the house by mid-afternoon, just as a storm is blowing in. I turn on the electric fireplace, and we curl up on the couch. As the rain pours down outside and the fog swallows up the beach, we make love and fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing wildly against the shore.

  “I think we must be characters in some sort of novel or movie,” Kayla says as we’re walking barefoot along the beach after dinner.

  “Why?” I laugh.

  “Because in the last few weeks we’ve had violence, drama, and romance.”

  “And sex,” I add.

  “Okay, so it’s an erotic novel or movie.”

  I laugh. “So what comes next?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on whether we’ve hit our climax or not.”

  “Oh, we’ve hit our climax,” I snort. “Many times.”

  “You’re such a perv.” She hits my chest with the back of her hand.

  “Hey, I’m just keeping it real, baby.”

  She laughs and twirls under my arm. “I guess that means all that’s left is the happy ending, then.”

  I pull her to me, kissing her temple. It’s a nice thought, and I hope it’s true. Being here with her, away from Minneapolis and all of our responsibilities and memories, it’s easy to forget; easy to believe that we really are the heroes of some fucking sappy love story. But the truth is, we’re not. Eventually, we have to go home, and I will have to tell her the truth about Stephanie. Even if she forgives me for not telling her everything—even if I can be everything she needs—there are no guarantees.

  “Stop thinking so much, Dean,” Kayla interrupts my brooding, pulling away and turning around so she’s walking backward. “You’re too young for that gigantic wrinkle you have in the middle of your forehead.”

  My hand automatically goes up to feel for a groove. “There’s no…” Kayla grins at me. “You think you’re funny?” She nods and continues walking backward. “You’re not so funny.”

  “Yeah, I kinda am.” She tries running, but I don’t know why—it never works out for her. It takes me four long strides to reach her. Picking her up, I run toward the water. “Dean, don’t!” she screeches, clutching at me and flailing her legs.

  “What’s that, sweetheart? I can’t hear you over all my laughter ‘cause you’re so funny.” The water’s pretty damn cold. The waves hit my knees, and I consider just letting her go, but that doesn’t happen like it’s supposed to. When I try to put her down, she thinks I’m going to dump her and ends up yanking me forward. I stumble and fall into her, and the two of us go crashing into the waves. Water goes up my nose and stings my eyes. “What was that?” I ask, coughing as I stand up and help her get her balance.

  “I figured if I was going in, so were you.” She wrinkles her nose and sneezes.

  I shake my head and look down at myself. My shirt is clinging to my chest; my pants are heavy and sagging. Then I look at Kayla, who looks a little
like a drowned puppy, and start laughing.

  “Shut up,” she grumbles with a smile on her face.

  We trudge our way out of the water and head back to the house, climbing the stairs to the deck. At the top, she faces me. She’s standing in the exact position she was in my dream.

  “I love you, Dean,” she says quietly. “Thank you for this weekend.”

  I know how I feel, but the fucking words still won’t come out. I don’t know why I’m holding back. Fear? Anxiety? Maybe it’s my subconscious telling me that I need to be honest with her before I can say the words.

  I wrap my hands around her head, cradling her cheeks between my palms.

  “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I kiss her with everything I have and then sweep her off her feet to carry her inside. It’s our last night here, and I don’t want to waste it.

  Chapter 63

  Kayla

  When Dean and I pull away from the beach house, I stare out the window, feeling my mood take a nosedive. It’s been like a little haven for us. It feels like everything at home is so chaotic.

  Once we get out onto the main road, Dean’s hand slips into mine.

  “We can come back anytime, Kayla. Charlotte’s rarely here. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to have people using the house.”

  I smile halfheartedly. “I know. But it’s not going to be easy.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  I nod and return my attention to the passing scenery.

  About halfway home, my phone rings. Logan’s name pops up on my screen.

  “Hey! What’s up?”

  “Is it okay if I pick Claire up tonight?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Good. I miss her like fucking crazy. I’ll bring her home right after dinner. I got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

  “Okay.”

  “Cool!” He hangs up without saying good-bye.

  “What was that about?” Dean asks, glancing sideways at me.

  “Logan wants to pick up Claire, and then he wants to talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  I shrug. “Don’t know. If he tells me he’s not graduating tomorrow, though, I’m going to kick his ass.”

  Dean laughs. “He’s graduating, Kayla. Relax.”

  “I think I’m going to talk to Matty tomorrow night about the change in social workers. I can’t keep it from him anymore. I keep trying to tell myself I’m doing it for his sake, but the truth is, I’m just plain scared of how he’ll react. That’s kind of selfish of me, isn’t it?” I look over at Dean and see him grimacing like he’s in pain. “You okay?” I ask. He nods once. I narrow my eyes at him when he looks over at me, and he offers me a small smile. “Do you have a therapy appointment tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “I’m looking forward to dealing with my shit,” he says flatly. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I leave it alone and rest my head against the window. Dean reaches over and switches on his iPhone, letting soft music fill the silence, and then rests his hand on my knee.

  When we get to my house, Dean turns off the car and releases a deep breath. I look over at him. It’s really over. Our perfect weekend has come to an end.

  Grabbing our bags from the trunk, we lug them inside. Andy and Sara are home, cooking with a few friends from the child advocacy office. I know most of them either from cases or because they’re Andy’s friends. They wave polite hellos, beer and wineglasses in hand as we approach.

  “You stayin’ for dinner, man?” Andy asks, popping the top off a beer and handing it to Dean. He declines with a frown.

  “Nah, I have to get back to the house for work. I just need to pick up a few things. Thanks, though.”

  “Sure.” Andy nods, offering me the bottle.

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching for it. I take a sip and set it down on the counter. As Andy makes his way back to his friends, I slip my hand into Dean’s and tug him toward the bedroom. When we get there, I let go and sit on the edge of the bed watching him pull clean clothes from the dresser.

  “Aren’t you going to take out your dirty ones?” I ask when he shoves a pair of jeans into his bag.

  “I’ll wash them at the house.”

  I stick out my lower lip, feigning insult. “Dean?”

  He glances up at me. “Huh?”

  “You can leave it here. I’ll do your laundry.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know I don’t.”

  Standing, I take a couple of steps toward him and put my hand on his wrist to stop him. I run my thumb over his ink. I’m not looking at his face, but I can tell he’s staring down at me. His body shifts, his hand reaching for my hip. The heat radiating from him screams want.

  “You are the perfect woman,” he says, his voice thick and husky.

  “Why?” I ask, smiling. “Because I offered to do your laundry?”

  His fingers slip into the waistband of my pants and move back and forth along my hip bone. “Uh-huh. That must be it.”

  “Oh,” I say, wetting my lips and pushing out my chest. “Well, in that case…” I pull away and reach for his bag. “I’ll just go wash thiiiiiiiiisss.” I squeal as his arm wraps around my waist and I’m lifted into the air before landing on my back on the bed. His mouth presses against mine. I giggle because he’s being eager and aggressive, his hands pushing up my shirt until they reach my breasts and feel me through my thin, satin bra. He grunts and thrusts his hips between my legs.

  “God, you’re so hard,” I pant.

  “I’m always hard for you. You should know that by now,” he answers, pulling down the fabric and rolling his tongue around my nipple before latching his lips around the whole damn thing.

  I’m just about to insist we take our clothes off for one last time this weekend when I hear my name being called from the other room. Dean releases me and rests his forehead against my flushed chest with a sigh.

  “Kayla?” My door opens just as I’m pulling down my shirt. “Oh! Shit! I’m so sorry,” Sara gasps. “I, uh…”

  Dean stands up and tries to slyly adjust himself so that his massive boner isn’t so obvious, but it doesn’t work. I giggle.

  “I’ll…uh… I’ll wait…out here.”

  “It’s okay,” Dean chuckles softly. “I gotta go.” He walks out past Sara. As I approach her, her eyes grow wide.

  “I’m so sorry!” she mouths. I shake my head with a smile. It’s not like I didn’t just spend the weekend naked with the man.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I assure. I walk Dean to the door and lean into him. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whisper, planting a soft kiss on his mouth.

  “Absolutely.” He kisses me back, sucking on my lower lip a little, just the way he knows I like.

  “Thanks for the weekend.”

  “My pleasure.” He winks before turning around and strolling to his car. I hate watching him drive away, but I’ve just had three of the best days of my life, so I’m not complaining.

  I hang with Andy, Sara, and the others for awhile. We eat and drink, but I stay sober. First, because I have work tomorrow, and second, because Logan has something he wants to talk to me about. Knowing him and his propensity for doing stupid shit, I’d better not mess with my senses or reflexes.

  Around eight o’clock, everyone has left. We’re cleaning up when Claire and Logan walk in the door.

  “Hey, guys!” Claire smiles and lets go of Logan to come give me a hug.

  “How was it?” I ask quietly.

  “It was good. Much better than I expected.”

  “How so?”

  “I was thinking tents and sleeping on the ground and stuff, but we stayed in cabins with real beds. I mean, I don’t think I’d have a problem with it, but some of those girls’ stomachs were kinda big, and I can’t imagine sleeping on a hard ground like that.” She wrinkles up her nose and shakes her head. I chuckle. “And
they had showers and real toilets, too.”

  “I’m hoping that wasn’t the best part of the weekend,” I say, lifting an eyebrow.

  Claire looks back at Logan. “No, but I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Andy and Sara get the hint and take Claire out back. Andy has the fire bowl roaring, and the three of them settle into the lounge chairs on the patio.

  “What’s up?” I ask, turning to face Logan and pretending I’m a lot more nonchalant than I actually feel.

  “Um. So…I kinda wanted to say… Um.” He shifts from foot to foot.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Yeah.” He nods and flops down onto the couch without any grace whatsoever. I wait for him to start again, but now his legs are bouncing and he’s chewing on his fingernail.

  “Logan?”

  “Uh, yeah, right. So… Okay. You’ve been a fucking amazing worker.”

  It takes everything I have to keep from rolling my eyes and laughing. “Well, thank you, Logan.”

  “No. Really. I mean it. You’ve taken care of me since I was a shitty little kid pissing everyone off. I just… I guess I never really said thanks for that. So…thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” I bite the inside of my cheek in amusement.

  “I…” He takes a deep breath. “You didn’t deserve the way I treated you,” he continues. My slight smile fades as I realize what’s coming. He’s about to get serious. And for Logan, that’s a big deal. He looks down, concentrating on his hands. “I spent the first ten years of my life scraping food out of dumpsters. After Matty was born, I was so scared to go to school—to leave him. I didn’t know if he’d still be alive when I got home. My mom…” He grits his teeth at the mention of her. “She let her boyfriends beat the shit of me. She let them…” Logan glances up at me quickly. I can see the pleading in his eyes—begging me to understand without him having to say it. Although I don’t know exactly what happened, he already admitted to Dean that he was sexually abused. I nod to let him know he doesn’t need to say a word. He breathes out in relief before continuing. “You were the only one who ever loved me and I… I fucking… I don’t know. I always knew it, but it was like I was just waiting for you to walk away because everyone always does. And I thought that maybe if I pushed hard enough, you’d do it on my terms. Then at least I would have had a real reason to explain why you left, and I wouldn’t feel so shitty about it, ya know?” I can feel my throat tightening, making it hard to swallow as emotion floods through me. “I never really got over that way of thinking, and it started to be like second nature or something. I did shit to make you mad without even really thinking about it. But Claire wasn’t supposed to be one of those things. At least, I don’t think she was.” Logan glances out the back toward where my sister is. “She’s different from the girls I’ve known before, and it’s like every time I’m with her, I feel like I’m worth something.” He stops and looks down at his hands.