Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) (3 page)

That had been my mantra for as long as I could remember. The words I had been forced to hold onto in my darkest days, where there was no sun, no warmth, no reprieve for the pain. The words I repeated over and over in order to stay alive.

M
ONDAY MORNING, I WAS
catching up on casework when the center’s program director, Amber, knocked on my door. I massaged my temples as I called for her to come in, the tension I had expended over the weekend creeping back in.

“Hey, Dom. I know you’re swamped, but I’d love your help on a situation,” she said, entering my tiny, shoebox of an office. Amber smiled, fingering her short, naturally coiled hair and took the seat across from me, sliding a file folder across my desk.

“Ok, what’s up?” I asked, hoping the irritation wasn’t present in my voice. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my job. I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. But Charlotte was definitely feeling the effects of the struggling economy. Working at a non-profit organization for at-risk and special-needs youth was no easy feat, especially when funding was getting cut left and right. The city was constantly growing, yet donations were becoming scarcer. It seemed like we were being hit with high priority cases every other day, with no room in the budget to hire.

“We’ve got a kid coming in this week, but here’s the thing . . . he doesn’t speak.”

“You’re shitting me,” I frowned, though I knew she wasn’t. I could see it for myself right there in his file:

Toby Christian, age 12.

Tutoring for Math M, W, F. Language Arts T, Th.

Counseling services 3x a week.

Special circumstances: Selectively Mute.

“I wish I was,” Amber replied. I could hear the exasperation in her voice, and I knew she was just as dumbfounded as I was on how to proceed.

“Wouldn’t this be better suited for social services? Considering his handicap . . .” I flipped through his file, scanning the info provided on his home life. Single guardian home. I released a sigh and shook my head. Of course. And his poor mother was probably working herself to the bone trying to stay afloat while also caring for a special-needs child. I’d seen it far too often in this line of work, and my heart broke just a little every time I saw how starved for love and attention some of these kids were. They didn’t ask for this life. They didn’t choose to be born into poverty and substance abuse and overcrowded public schools, where they were left to slip through the cracks. And while we did what we could at Helping Hands, there were still so many kids out there that were waiting on someone—just one person—to open their eyes and give a damn.

I gave a damn, which was why I was here. And yeah, I could’ve put my degree towards something more lucrative that would fill my pockets. Still, nothing but this right here—knowing that I was doing something that could potentially save a life—would ever fill my soul.

“That’s the thing . . .” Amber replied, a touch of hesitance in her voice. “They referred him to us. Medically, there’s nothing wrong with him. Mentally, the kid’s been through hell. About a year ago, he found his mom face down in her own vomit. Heroine overdose. Hasn’t spoken a word since.”

I exhaled back into my seat and closed my eyes, letting it all sink in. Dammit. No kid should ever have to face that type of horror. To see the person who was put on this earth to love you—to care for you and protect you—be so selfish with her own life. How heartbreaking for him to learn at such a young age that his mother loved her drug more than she loved him. Because that was what it came down to. She should have quit for him. She should have been there to cheer him on at Little League, or watch him in the school play, or help him with his math homework every evening at the kitchen table. Something—anything—but this.

“Father?” I asked, trying to get my head back in the game and stow my own personal feelings. It was vital in this profession, although I wasn’t very good at it.

“Not around. His sister is his legal guardian.”

Red flags. At that revelation, I sat up, leaning forward with my elbows on the table. “Sister? Is she stable?”

“Seems like it. Student and Certified Nursing Assistant by day, waitress by night. She’s done everything she can to get him the help he needs through the school system, but as far as they’re concerned, there’s not much they can do for him. He’s resistant to most authority, to the point that he almost shuts down. He can communicate non-verbally, but that’s only when he wants to. Honestly, after reading his case file, I can’t be sure that we even have the manpower to take on a case this demanding.”

I looked back down at his file, reading what little info we had on the kid provided by his school counselor at the third school in the district he’d attended in the past year. Apparently, after hitting brick wall after brick wall, they referred Toby’s sister to us. Poor kid. No one wanted to deal with him, so he was being passed around, leaving him to be someone else’s problem. I knew what that felt like more than I wanted to admit. I, too, had been a problem that had been handed over to relative after relative, until I ended up in the care of the monster that completely destroyed my body and stripped my soul of its innocence. I couldn’t let the same happen to this child. Not if I could help it.

“I’ll do it,” I said with an air of finality. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I knew that his file had landed on my desk for a reason.

“Great!” Amber exclaimed, clapping her hands together before nearly jumping out of her seat. Maybe she was afraid I’d change my mind. I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t . . . or I shouldn’t. “He’ll be here this afternoon for his first tutoring session. Then I was hoping you could show him around . . . ? Make him feel welcomed? He’s experienced some bullying with the little knuckleheads at school. A kid that can talk yet chooses to remain silent? Instant target.”

I winced before nodding, totally feeling Toby’s pain. Amber always thought of my empathetic heart as a gift—I could understand these kids like no one else, because I could literally feel the hurt and confusion they were dealing with. I’d always thought of it as a curse. To take on all those emotions and expect to part with them at the end of each day? Not likely. There was no magic switch to turn off the images of their dejected faces when some punk at school called them stupid or gay or fat. There wasn’t enough liquor or women in the world that could make me
unfeel
their hurt and rejection when their parents forgot to pick them up from school or show up for awards assemblies or, shit, feed them fucking dinner.

It hurt. Every part of my job hurt like a bitch. But the reward—seeing those same kids thrive and blossom into strong, resilient, responsible young adults—was worth every frustrated tear I’d ever shed behind closed doors.

Not all parents were bad or neglectful. Actually, most of them were supportive and receptive of our suggestions. But every now and then, we’d get a mom or dad or legal guardian, whether temporary or permanent, that just didn’t have it in them to care. So we tried our damnedest at Helping Hands to care enough for all of them.

I spent the next few hours dousing myself with copious amounts of caffeine and paperwork until lunchtime when I’d receive the reprieve I looked forward to every week—lunch with Kami.

Kamilla Duvall was indeed my best friend, a badass singer and musician, and the girlfriend/baby mama to Blaine, but she was also so much more. Shit, she was everything. For starters, she was undoubtedly the most gorgeous girl I had never had the privilege of sleeping with, which was saying a lot. Even Angel, who totally played on the All Girls Team—and had for as long as I could remember—had taken a dip in the Dirty Dom pond. Let her tell it, I turned her gay. But come on, she probably knew that no other guy would ever be able to compare, so she just gave them up altogether.

The thing with Kami was that she was as meek and mild as a church mouse, yet probably the strongest person in the world. You had to be, to carry the heavy burden of a past like hers. The girl had issues—
didn’t we all?—
but somehow it just made me love her more. She was a beautiful anomaly to me, which was why I had made it my mission for almost the last six years to protect her and give her the love she so desperately needed, yet rejected like the plague. She didn’t love easily, but when she did, she did it freely and with every torn bit of her broken, little heart. And it just so happened that she was currently giving the best parts of her fractured love to Blaine, who happily took over my role as her sole protector and cuddle buddy.

I knew we’d be best friends for life, but to be honest, I was a little hurt that I’d been replaced so quickly. Of course, I wanted her to lead a happy, healthy life, and I knew for a fact that Blaine would provide it for her, no matter how much of a misfit he appeared to be on the outside with all the tatts and piercings. And after coming to grips with the reality that she and I would never, ever be, a long time ago, it would have been selfish of me to hold her back from the happily ever after she so deserved. So maybe I wasn’t hurt. Maybe I was jealous. Of him, for cracking through the hard, cold shell around her heart. And of her for letting go of her past and choosing a different path—one that proved that storms were not everlasting, and that our pain didn’t have to define us, no matter how deep-rooted and corrosive it was.

“Knock, knock,” a sweet, melodious voice drifted from behind my ajar door. I glanced up from the files on my desk and my own tormented reverie, just in time to see Kami waddle in, glowing like that sun. Pregnancy really did suit her.

“About time,” I jibed, hopping up from my desk. I made my way around it to wrap her still-tiny frame in my arms. After pecking her on the cheek—a concession I made for Blaine, who didn’t appreciate our slightly inappropriate PDA—I stepped back to get a better look at her. “Jeez, Kam. What has that bartender of yours been feeding you? I swear, you gain another ten pounds every time I see you.”

Rolling those exotic, almond-shaped eyes, she gave my arm a slap before patting my midsection. “Shut up, you jerk. I don’t see you turning down any of those free meals at Dive.”

Dive was the bar that Blaine owned and the place where the two had met over a couple shots of tequila. A couple weeks after that, Kami was his new bartender, and it didn’t take long for the two of them to nix the googly eyes and actually make it official. Of course, Kam put up a good fight, but I had to give it to Blaine. The dude was persistent as fuck. Just another reason to hate/respect the guy.

“True enough. Shall we head on over now? I’m starved, and fish tacos are today’s special.” I couldn’t help it; I was a fat boy at heart. Plus, Mr. Bradley, Dive’s cook, could make a mean fish taco.

“Ugh. Do you mind if we go someplace else? I’m really not feeling that place right now.”

I frowned. Kami loved Dive like it was her own. And soon, after she and Blaine tied the knot, it would be. For her to blatantly avoid the place that had brought her so much happiness and pride for nearly a year meant trouble. And when it came to Kam, I’d cross hell and high water to ease her of all discomfort.

“Something wrong?”

She shook her head, but the little frown dimples between her eyes told a different truth. Oh shit, did Blaine already propose? Is she torn about her answer?

“No. Yes. I don’t know yet. Could be nothing or it could be a big ass, raging headache. Mind if we hit the little Mexican spot on Davidson? My treat?”

I smiled before leaning forward to kiss her forehead. There was no way I was saying no to that little pout. Or a free meal. “Sure. But only if you tell me what’s bothering you.”

We made our way to the restaurant, blasting AngelDust the entire way. Angel and her all-girl band (go figure) were gaining quite the following around town, and since they were based out of Dive now—voted one of Charlotte’s newest late-night hot spots—there was a good possibility that some record label would be pounding down our door any day now. So the girls had picked it up a notch, and started recording some of their most popular hits in the homemade studio at our condo. And now that Kam had moved out and was officially shacking up with Blaine, Angel was more determined than ever to fill the empty space with music. She put her everything into the band, to the point where I had to wonder if she was even more affected by Kam’s absence than I was. We were the Three Amigos, a dysfunctional Three’s Company. We were the
“three best friends that anyone can have.”
And then Blaine came along and fucked it up. You can’t have a two-man wolf pack. That’s not even a pack anymore. It’s a duo.

But I wasn’t bitter. Promise.

“So what’s got you all pissy and forcing me to miss fish taco day?” I asked before taking a massive bite. The fish tacos here were good, but they weren’t Mr. Bradley’s. That old man could make roadkill taste gourmet.

Kami plucked a black olive with her fork and sighed. “So, remember I told you about Blaine’s ex-wife, Amanda? The chick he married right out of high school?”

“Yeah,” I answered around a mouthful of cod and mango salsa.

“Well, apparently, she’s back in town. And you wanna guess what her first stop was when she got here?”