Angel of Redemption (63 page)

“What did he say?”

Dean smiles. “He said he wasn’t me.”

I laugh. “That kid is so freaking stubborn.”

“I didn’t tell him everything, but I told him
enough. I don’t do well when any of the kids start driving. I never have, and I
probably never will, but at least I know that I’ve talked to them about what
could happen. He’s on Wyatt House’s insurance policy right now, liability only.
I told him if he gets one fucking speeding ticket, I’m pulling it, though.”

“How much is that running you?”

“About a hundred a month for however long he
stays. It’s fine. I’m not worried about it.”

“Speaking of staying,” I sigh. “We need to sit
down and have that meeting with him.”

“I know. He’s getting antsy. He asked Santiago
for more hours. One of their guys had to quit last week, so he got them.” I
take another bite of my sushi. “Something’s not right with him, Kayla,” Dean
says quietly. “I’ve been watching him for the last couple of weeks, but I can’t
figure it out. One minute he’s happy and relaxed, the next he’s wound up and
agitated. He won’t talk to me, Aiden or Emily. I feel like I’m running up
against a brick wall.”

“You are. Logan’s one of the best stonewallers I’ve
ever met. Better than you.” I smirk and continue. “When there’s something he
doesn’t want you to know, the only way you’re going to find out is by accident.”

“When he’s riled up.”

I nod. “Really riled up. It’s a matter of
weighing the costs and benefits of getting him that way.” We both sit,
contemplating the situation before I try to lighten the mood again. “How about
this one?” I ask, pointing at my eel.

“That’s fucking
… Ugh, that just looks… You
realize I’m not kissing you until you brush your teeth, right?”

“You’re such a baby,” I tease.

Kayla

Monday is a long, long
workday. Not in terms of time, but patience. Warren has a set of three-year-old
twins girls in the office for half the day, and I swear it’s the best form of
birth control. They are everywhere—getting into everything, asking
non-stop questions that none of us understand because we’re not fluent in
toddler. One of them gets ahold of a sharpie and writes all over the walls,
Warren’s desk, and her sister’s clothes and skin. The foster mother finally picks
them up, and we all sit at our desks, enjoying silence for the last half hour
of the day.

When I get home, Dean is there, sitting at the
kitchen table and laughing with Andy and Sarawhile Andy makes dinner.

“When did you guys get home?” I ask, setting my
things down. I walk straight to Dean and give him a kiss.

Sara grins at me. “About half an hour ago. We
found this bum outside and decided to feed him.”

Dean laughs, his arm slipping around my waist. We
eat dinner and then settle down in the living room, Dean and me on the couch,
and Sara and Andy on the floor. Dean tells us the story of what happened at the
gala with Madison. The visual of that woman making such a ridiculous fool out
of herself in front of so many people is too much. Sara and I are giggling
hysterically.

“That bitch is nasty. She’s my age, too. I don’t
get it,” I complain. “She doesn’t have to fall in love, but Jesus Christ,
shouldn’t she bang someone her own age? Or at least closer to her age? Why
marry someone she so obviously doesn’t want to be with?”

“Money,” Sara spits. “Chicks like her would do a
dead guy if they thought it’d improve their status.”

“That’s stupid,
” I mutter. “I’d rather be
living happily in a double-wide than in a mansion blowing air up the ass of
some rich old dude.”

Dean’s whole body shakes in laughter.

“People get married for all sorts of fucked-up
reasons, Kayla.” Andy says, stretching out on the floor and putting his head in
Sara’s lap.

“Trust me, I know. My whole life got messed up
because of those fucked-up reasons.”

“Do you think your mom married your stepdad for
the money?” Sara asks, running her hands through my brother’s hair. I’ve
wondered that same thing a million times.

“No. I think she fell in love with him. I think
Richard represented a freedom she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her fifteen-year
marriage was stale, and she had a kid who was growing up and making her feel
older and older. And then in walks this smart, handsome, respected surgeon
offering her excitement.”

“Are you defending her?” Dean asks, tilting his
head.

“No. I think the way she went about it was
complete shit. If she wasn’t happy, all she had to do was tell my dad. Yeah, he
would have been upset, but
… I think she took the chickenshit way out.
And for what? To spend the next seventeen years with a controlling,
manipulative prick like Richard. Way to trade up, Mom. My dad may not have been
exciting, but at least he respected her; at least he loved her. Richard loves
himself.”

Dean’s fingertips are drifting back and forth
over my neck, making my skin prickle with goose bumps. I lean into him, and his
fingers drift to my arm without breaking their rhythm.

“I almost lost my shit at Claire’s dinner,” Andy
scoffs. “If we hadn’t left
… What a fucker. They give their kid two grand
in cash for her birthday and then bitch and complain about people who actually
put thought into their gifts. And your mom, Kayla. Jesus Christ, when did she
turn into such a robot?”

I lift my shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess I
haven
’t really been paying attention.” I feel a pang of guilt.

“Why do you think she stays with him?” Sara
wonders quietly, almost as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“I can honestly say I have no idea. I don’t
understand anything she does.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t
understand my mother either.” Dean chuckles.

“But you said she defended you to that woman,
right?
” I ask. “That’s a big step for her.”

“Defended you for what?” Sara asks. Dean looks up
at her. “Sorry,” she squeaks. “I just… I don’t know what you did.”

“You don’t?” Dean asks, looking surprised.

Sara shakes her head.
“No.” She glances at
both Andy and me. “Do you guys?” Andy and I both nod. “Oh.” I can tell by her
voice that she doesn’t like being the only one out of the loop, but it’s not my
place to tell her. Dean glances at me. I shrug lightly.

“It’s up to you.”

I watch as he contemplates what he
’s going
to do. Finally, he takes a deep breath.

“I was arrested for possession of methamphetamines
when I was nineteen. I was already on parole for an incident from when I was a
juvenile, so I served three years.”

“Okay,” Sara says, looking as though she’s
processing it. I want so badly to tell them that he didn’t do it. I hold my
tongue, though. While Dean’s talked about dealing with his past, and I know
finally admitting to others that he served time for a crime he didn’t commit
will help him in that process, I can’t force him to do it.

He closes his eyes and lowers his head.

“I didn’t do it.” The words are so soft that if
the room weren’t dead quiet, no one would have heard him.

“What are you talking about?” Andy asks, sitting
up and looking between us. “You didn’t… The drugs weren’t yours?”

“They were my wife’s.”

“Wife’s?” Sara asks, her eyes wide.

“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.”

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 Brayden?”

“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.