Alex (Striking Back #4)

by S. M. Shade

  “No!” My arms tightened around him. “Don’t go. I love you.”

  His palms cup my face. “And I love you. But I’m gone and you have your whole life ahead of you. Get off your ass and live it.”

  The sound of the garbage collectors banging down the street woke me, and after bawling into my pillow for a few minutes, I thought about what Cooper said. I knew it wasn’t really him, but I also knew it was exactly what he would say, what he would want. So I dragged my ass out of bed and went to the gym.

  Now, I’m paying for it, but I also feel lighter. Like I’ve been buried under a pile of heavy blankets and one by one they’ve been removed.

  I let Mason talk me into helping paint the new shelter after today’s class, so I’m in for a long day. Mason waves when I enter the gym and his son, Cody, tackles me at the knees, falling on his butt when I don’t budge.

  “Uncle Alex! Daddy says you’re teaching my class today!”

  “That’s right.” I hoist the manic six year old to his feet.

  “Can we do an obstacle course?”

  “Do you remember how to set it up?”

  “Yes!” He dances around, and I ruffle his hair. Was I ever so happy?

  “Go ahead and get started before the other kids show up.” Obstacle course is fine by me. The kids run in and out of cones, dodge a swinging bag, and balance on an array of equipment. At this age, it’s as much about teaching them to follow directions as building their strength and flexibility. Plus, they love it, and it’s an easy class for me.

  When it’s over, I head over to Mason’s new house. He decided to move the Striking Back shelter out of the city and add more long term housing. In addition to building his house on the expansive property, he’s ordered two more constructed in the hopes Parker and I will also move in.

  The long term housing unit consists of small apartments built around a courtyard where a playground is under construction. The builders are off for the holidays, so I have the place to myself until Mason shows up. He doesn’t need any help. Like Ian, he’s trying to keep me busy and distracted.

  Still, I grab a roller, pan, and a bucket of yellow paint, and start in one of the kitchens. Mason arrives a few minutes later and pulls an earbud out of my ear. It’s possible I was singing and dancing along while I worked. “Damn, your dancing is worse than your singing. You call yourself gay?”

  “Don’t stereotype. I can dance my sexy ass off.”

  Mason grins and sets to work. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Guess so.”

  “I’m trimming trees tomorrow if you want to.”

  I hold up my palm. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  He frowns. “You’re still visiting?”

  “Yes.”

  “To countdown the days until he’s executed?” he continues, his voice matter of fact.

  “Yes.”

  With a sigh, he gazes at me. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No thanks.” My worthless father abused me and my brothers. My mother caught the worst of it, though, for trying to leave. For trying to protect us.

  He killed her when I was eight years old. Shot her in the head seventeen years ago this month. I hate him and can’t wait to see him pay with his life. He’s scared. I could see it in his face. So every week on visiting day, I sit across from him, stare through thick glass, and remind him how many days he has left to live. It’s the least I can do.

  The subject turns to lighter topics and I’m happy to have an enjoyable evening with my older brother. Between his new wife and son, and his work at Striking Back, we haven’t spent much time together lately.

  Ian is sitting on the couch when I get home, a distant expression on his face. He doesn’t even seem to notice when I stand in front of him. “Hey, everything okay?”

  His eyebrows jump, then he leans forward, running his hands through his hair. “Fine.”

  “Have you decided whether to contact your grandmother?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

  “You’ll figure it out. I’m going to grab some food. You hungry?”

  “No, I’m going to crash. See you tomorrow.”

  After he heads to his room, I nuke a couple of frozen burritos and settle in front of the T.V. to watch some Netflix. I feel strangely at peace tonight and it isn’t long before I doze off.

  The sound of the lock being turned as Ian leaves wakes me. Damn. Ten hours of uninterrupted dreamless sleep. I can’t remember the last time I had that. Visiting time at the prison is at ten, so I have time for a quick shower before I go.

  This is my fifth visit to the Indiana State Prison and the fences and barbed wire no longer intimidate me. Actually, the dull gray walls and dim corridors make me smile. It’s a horrible, miserable place and Gene deserves every second he’s rotting here.

  Like the past visits, Gene takes a seat on the opposite side of a glass wall, smiling like I came to cheer up his day. Asshole. Leaning his elbows on the counter, he speaks through the holes drilled in the glass. “Alex, good to see you. Still can’t get your brothers to join you, huh? Can’t say I blame them, I guess. Place sucks a flaccid dick. So, how was your holiday?”

  He knows nothing about me or the fact I lost Cooper. How could he? Each visit, I only speak three words. Seemingly unaffected by my silence, he blathers on about everything and nothing. This is how it always goes, me sitting stone faced while he acts like we’re hanging out and having a good old father son chat.

  His fake happiness is betrayed by his thinning frame and graying hair. Sometimes I think that’s why I really visit, to watch him deteriorate, to see the fear of impending death eat away at him.

  When he finally shuts up, I stand, lean close to the glass and announce, “Four more months.”

  His shoulders slump just a fraction before he forces a smile. “See you next week, son.”

  Cool air greets me at the exit, rushing over me, and I breathe deep. It’s refreshing after the stifling environment of the prison. I never know how I’ll feel when I leave. Sometimes I’m happy to see he’s suffering, others I feel guilty for taking joy in someone’s misery, no matter how much he deserves it.

  Today, I don’t really feel anything and even that worries me. I felt this way so much after Cooper died, disconnected and indifferent. I don’t want to go back to that.

  My phone rings as I sit in my car, trying to decide whether to go home or maybe to the gym. Mason makes the decision for me. “Alex? Where are you?” he asks without so much as a hello.

  “Heading to grab some lunch. What’s up?”

  “We have a situation, a repeat offender, and Roberts says he could use our help. I don’t have the whole story, but there’s a kid involved. Evie is in New York visiting Amy, and Parker took Macy out of town. I really don’t want to take Cody to a scene.”

  “I’ll take care of it. What’s the address?”

  After rattling off the location, he adds, “We have a safe house available if you need it. The shelter is at capacity.” He sighs. “We need to get the new building finished.”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle it,” I assure him, typing the address in my navigator. “I’ll call you when I know what’s up.”

  This is my first rescue in months. Mason has delegated to Parker and our hired security to give me the time I needed, but it’s time to go back to work. A ten minute drive brings me to a tiny house with a sagging porch. Quick strides cut through the garbage littered across the yard, and Officer Roberts meets me on the porch. “Alex, that was quick.”

  “What do you have?”

  Anger thins his lips and he keeps his voice low. “I’ve been here more times than I can count. Typical worthless drunk keeps beating his seventeen year old son. The state just keeps giving him back. I know you don’t normally take kids without a guardian, but…” He shakes his head. “I’m afraid the bastard will kill him if something isn’t done.”

  Shit. “We don’t take kids without a guardian because it’
s kidnapping.”

  “I realize that. I also know you have taken underage victims and hidden them with their distant relatives. This boy…he has no one.”

  Mason’s going to tear me a new one for making this decision without consulting him. “Let me talk to the kid.”

  “His name is Kyle,” he replies, leading me inside. The stench of old food and stale beer permeates the living room. If you can call it that. A pile of blankets are piled against one wall and a dilapidated couch rests against another.

  Perched on the edge of the couch, a thin blond boy gnaws on a split lip, his hand brushing absently at the purple bruise under his eye. Defeated eyes meet mine. “You from social services? Do I have to go back? I can stay with a friend.”

  “I’m not a social worker,” I interrupt, ending his nervous babble.

  Roberts takes a seat on his other side and asks, “When do you turn eighteen, son?”

  “Six more months,” he replies instantly as if he’s been counting it down. I sure as hell would be.

  “I want to talk to you about something, but it needs to stay between the three of us. I know what you’ve been dealing with and I think my friend Alex here can help.”

  Kyle snorts. “You going to lock my old man up for good? That’s the only way you can help.”

  “We can take you out of here.”

  “And back into foster care? It never lasts. I’ll be back here before I can see out of my right eye.”

  “Not if I hide you,” I tell him, and his eyes widen.

  “Hide me? You going to tuck me away in an attic or basement somewhere? I’d rather not end up chained to a water heater.”

  “My brothers and I run a domestic violence shelter that helps women and children. We can keep you safe. Keep you away from your father and out of the system until you’re eighteen.”

  His eyes narrow and he angles his body away. “What’s in it for you? I’m not fucking anyone.”

  Damn. What the hell has this boy seen? “I don’t want anything except to get you out of this situation.”

  He turns to Officer Roberts. “And you can do this? Just let me go with him?”

  “Not legally,” Roberts says with a smirk. “But if you happened to run away and they took care of you until you’re emancipated, there’s not much the law could do.”

  Disbelief fills his face, but I also see a spark of hope in his eyes. “Why would you do this? Either of you?”

  I look him in the eye. “This is what my organization does. I’ve been where you are. My father is an abusive asshole who’s sitting on death row for killing my mother.”

  “Shit. And I thought I had issues.” His hands fumble in his lap.

  “And I don’t want to get a call that your father has beat you to death,” Roberts says.

  An uncomfortable silence hangs heavy around us until Kyle finally says, “Okay, I’ll go.”

  “Grab some clothes and anything else you want to take. We can get you whatever else you need.” He gets to his feet and grabs a trash bag from the kitchen, pausing at a bedroom door when I add, “Take your time and don’t forget anything. You won’t be coming back here again.”

  For the first time a smile spreads across his face. “Yes, sir.”

  “Where are we going?” Kyle asks as we pull onto the highway, his trash bag of belongings tucked into the backseat.

  “I need to call my brother and make arrangements for a safe house and a guardian. We’ll go back to my place in the meantime.”

  “I don’t need a guardian. I’ll be fine living by myself.”

  “We’ll see. Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat.” He shrugs.

  “Pizza?”

  “Sounds good.”

  We can hear Ian yelling into his mic before we even get the front door open. “Fucking camper! That’s why you got blown up!”

  Kyle grins and flops down beside him on the couch. “Call of Duty! Awesome.”

  Ian looks up from his game, and I nod toward Kyle. “Ian, meet Kyle. He’ll be staying with Striking Back for a while.”

  Understanding darkens Ian’s eyes and he offers Kyle the controller. “Want to take out some of these losers? I always end up in a group of squeakers.” Ian and Kyle spend the next few hours lost in the game, only breaking away to eat more pizza. Mason texts to tell me he’s looking for a guardian to stay with Kyle and asks if I’d mind keeping him overnight.

  One surreptitious glance and Ian follows me to the kitchen. “Do you mind if he stays in the guest room tonight? Mason is making arrangements for a more permanent solution.”

  “Fine by me. He seems like a good kid.”

  “And now you have a playmate your own age.”

  “Bite me.” He breaks down the pizza box and shoves it into the trash.

  “I’m going to take him to S.B. and get him some clothes and stuff. Want to go?”

  “Nah, I’ll run to the grocery store. Teenage boys eat everything in sight.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you letting him stay the night.”

  Ian gazes at me. “This is your home too. You don’t need my permission for shit.”

  Well, okay then.

  Seeing the Striking Back shelter and meeting the residents and staff seems to put Kyle at ease. He can see he isn’t being drawn into a group of predators or dangerous people. After Ms. Den insists on feeding him again—and damned if he didn’t clean that plate too—we make our way to the store room where the donations are kept. Racks and shelves of clothing line the walls, surrounding large boxes of items yet to be sorted.

  “Okay, men’s clothing is kept on those two racks. See what we have that will fit you. And grab a coat, too.”

  His eyes widen at the prospect of new clothes. “You’re just giving them to me?”

  “They were given to us for that purpose,” I explain, handing him an empty box. “Some of it is worn, but in good condition. The drawers contain new packages of underwear and socks, so don’t forget them. I’ll be back in a second.”

  While he digs through the clothes, I move to the personal items and grab him some soap, shampoo, razors, and shaving cream. It should be enough to hold him over for a bit. When I return he’s studying a box of art supplies, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Do you like to draw?”

  “Sometimes. I’m not too bad at it.”

  I grab a set of colored pencils and a sketchpad and add them to the box of personal items. “Did you find some clothes?”

  “Yeah, I have everything I need.”

  “Then let’s go back to my place. I’m sure Ian needs a video game buddy.”

  “You don’t play?” he asks as we carry the boxes to the car.

  “I suck at video games. Always have. Except Tetris. I kick ass on Tetris.”

  Kyle snorts. “And Pong?”

  “All right, smart ass. Get in the car.”

  Pausing, he looks at me. “Thanks Alex. I really…I thought I’d never get away from him.”

  “I know. Things will get better now. I promise.”

  Ian is grinning like a madman when we come through the door. “One of your floozies coming over?” I ask, and Kyle laughs.

  “Nope. Just picked up a little something.”

  He waves a new game and Kyle exclaims, “The new Halo!” And I’ve lost them. They spend the rest of the night shooting and laughing while I dig into my new Stephen King book. It’s after midnight when Kyle stumbles off to bed and Ian turns to me.

  “Do you know where he’s going to end up?”

  “It’s difficult,” I sigh. “He can’t go to school or get a job. Even if no one is actively looking for him, he’s a missing person. He can’t use his social security number until he turns eighteen. Mason said one of the residents we relocated a few years ago has offered to take him in until then. She lives in Alabama.”

  “Maybe we could,” he says, nonchalant.

  “We could what?”

  “Take care of him until he’s emancipated.”

  My
jaw nearly touches my collar. “You want to take on a kid? It won’t be all late night video games, you know.”

  He switches off the game console. “I’m aware. He’d be with you most of the time, since I have a day job. He could go to the gym with you, couldn’t he? I mean, it’s up to you, but I wouldn’t mind if he stayed. He’s a good kid and he needs help.”

  “If you aren’t careful, people are going to think you’re a good guy, you know.”

  His reply is punctuated with a wicked grin. “Plenty of women to argue that.”

  “I’ll talk to Mason. See what we can do.”

  Ian never fails to surprise me, I think, lying in bed a few minutes later. He wields that carefree persona, acting like nothing affects him, like he doesn’t really care, but it’s transparent to anyone who spends enough time with him. There’s a depth there he doesn’t like to show. Underneath his womanizing ways, there’s a sweetheart hiding, afraid of his own emotions.

  When I wake, Ian and Kyle are lounging on the couch, scarfing down sausage and egg biscuits. “Mason’s coming over in a few minutes,” I inform them.

  Kyle appears nervous. “Am I leaving?”

  “That’ll be up to you. We have a couple of options to discuss, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Half an hour later, we’re gathered around the kitchen table as Mason lays out the options for Kyle. “There’s a nice young woman named Maia who would be happy to have you come live with her in Alabama. You know you can’t hold a job or enroll in school until you’re eighteen, so you’d mainly just be hiding out.”

  Fiddling with the tablecloth, Kyle replies, “Maybe I can find something under the table. Where they won’t ask for ID.”

  “Possibly, but there’s another option. You could stay here with Alex and Ian.”

  Kyle’s head jerks up, his eyes hopeful. “Stay here until I’m of age?”

  “Yes, but there are a few conditions. You dropped out of school at sixteen, correct?”

  “Dad made me. Wanted me to work.”

  “Striking Back employs a tutor to work with the kids who can’t enroll in school. I want you to work with her so you can take the GED test as soon as you turn eighteen.”

  “Sure. I mean, I didn’t want to quit school in the first place.”