Angel of Redemption (91 page)

“I can do that. I’ve actually got some candidates
that look really good right now.” I sift through the pile of papers I’ve just
handed him and pull out three. My favorite so far is a guy who’s a social
worker from Chicago. He’s worked in several different departments and is
currently in the Independent Living program, but his wife was just relocated to
Minneapolis. They have three kids and he needs to be home during the week, so
he’s looking for a weekend position.

My dad and I go over the other candidates one by
one, and he helps me decide which we’ll interview. Emily and Aiden, of course,
will help me determine who gets the position, but I’m much more enthusiastic
with this bunch of candidates than I was before, most likely because I
’ve
been given the okay to offer Kayla the overlap position. That in and of itself
makes my entire day so much better.

* * *

“How was your day?” I ask
as I walk into the house and plant a kiss on the back of Kayla’s head.

“Good,” she answers, continuing to cut up the
chicken in front of her. “Karen gave me a recipe.” I smile and look over her
shoulder to the detailed instructions on a napkin. “If I follow it exactly, I just
might not screw it up.”

Laughing, I slide my hands around her waist. “I’m
sure it’ll be fantastic. What can I do?”

“I could go for a glass of wine.”

I nod and let go of her, reaching into the fridge
for a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. I pour her a glass before grabbing myself a
bottle of beer. “How was work?” she asks.

“It was good. I think my dad likes it there.”

She turns to grin at me. “Really?”

“Yeah. I haven’t seen him that happy in awhile.
”

“What do you think he’s going to do when you guys
are back at full staff?”

“He wants to pick up a couple of shifts here and
there and be added to the rotation for sick leave and vacations. It’ll help to
have an extra person who knows what he’s doing. He probably shouldn
’t
have quit cold turkey in the first place. This will be good for him. How was
your lunch with Karen? Is she doing okay?”

“She’s doing really well.” I can hear hesitancy
in Kayla’s voice, and I frown. I set down my beer and turn toward her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she answers quickly. I stare
at her. “Nothing,” she insists. She sets down her knife, throws the chicken
into the hot skillet sitting on the stove, and washes her hands. “She and my
dad are looking to make some changes in their lives. That’s all I can say right
now. She made me promise not to say anything, even to you.”

“That’s not really fair,” I complain. She reaches
for me and lifts herself up on her tiptoes.

“I know it’s not, but I promised. I’ll explain as
soon as I can.” She leans in and the kiss she gives me makes me forget about
everything else that’s going on. Her lips are soft at first, but then they
become more aggressive and I can feel her tongue. I’ve been aching for this
kind of closeness for awhile, but wanted her to take the reins. We’re lost to
each other
…until I smell the burning. I pull back abruptly. Kayla
whimpers.

“Baby, your chicken’s burning,” I explain.

“Oh, shit!” she yells, pushing me away as she
darts over to the stove. I laugh and pick up my beer.

Claire comes out of her room just in time for
dinner. She’s been studying ever since she got home for her midterm test coming
up on Friday. Caitlynn shows up at eight o’clock and the two disappear back
into her room.

Kayla and I clean up the kitchen together and
then sit down to watch whatever crap rerun is on. I lie down on the couch and
open my arms. Kayla curls up against my chest. I think we must fall asleep
because I jerk awake when I hear the front door shut.

“Sorry,” Claire says quietly. When I hear a car
start up outside, I assume Caitlynn’s leaving.

“It’s okay. You going to sleep?”

She nods and yawns.

“Night.”

“Night, Dean.”

Kayla stirs. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know; you’re lying on my watch. Late.
Caitlynn just left.”

Kayla chuckles and burrows into my body.

“Can I talk to you about something?” I ask,
running my hands through her hair.

“Okay,” she whispers lazily. “What?”

“Going back to work.”

“I know,” she sighs. “It’s time. I want to go
back, but Fallon is
—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I interrupt.
“I don’t want you to go.”

She lifts her head, her forehead wrinkled.
“What?”

“I don’t want you to go back there.”

She sits up. So do I. She’s on her knees next to
me. “I have to go back. It’s my job.”

“I know it’s your job, but I want you to get a
new job,
” I tell her. She stares at me, her mouth slightly open in
confusion. “Come work with me,” I beg.

Understanding crosses her face. “I can’t,” she
says, shaking her head.

“Please, Kayla.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“Name them.”

“We’d never see each other.”

“It’s an overlap position. We’d see each other
most of the day.”

“Then we’d get sick of each other.”

“It’s a big house. You’d have your own office,
and one day a week you’d be at the administrative office. Emily and Aiden make
it work.”

She takes a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t
want to, but I just
…”

“I hate being away from you all day,” I finally
admit. “And I’m worried about you— about your physical well-being and
your emotional well-being. I know you love your job, but I love you, and I don’t
want you to go back. Please just think about it.”

“I have to go back, Dean. I can’t let this take
me out.”

“Baby
—”

“Just let me do this. I need you to support my
decision to do this.”

I sigh heavily in frustration. She straddles me
and puts her hands on my chest.

“How soon do you need to hire someone for the
position?”

“End of summer, tops. Six weeks maybe.”

“I can’t just walk away. It’s not fair to my unit
to lose two workers at the same time. That’s nearly sixty cases, including
Matty. They’re already scrambling to keep up.”

Shit! I forgot that Dana was Matty’s worker. I
don’t want to pressure Kayla any more than I already have. She knows what I
want.

“Okay,” I say quietly, trying to hide my
disappointment. “It’ll be hard for me to watch you go back there, but I will if
that’s what you really want.”

She leans forward, pressing her mouth against
mine. “Let me think about it?” she whispers. I nod and kiss her again. “I can’t
make any promises, though.”

“I know.”

She kisses me again and again. My body responds.
She grinds down onto me, but it’s not enough. It’s been so long and I want her.
She knows it. I can see it in her eyes. Her hands hold my face, caressing my
jaw.

“Will you take me to bed now?” she asks. I stand
up abruptly, taking her with me. She doesn’t have to ask me twice.

* * *

Tuesday morning, I wake
Kayla early.

“What are you doing to me?” she groans.

“I want to take you someplace.”

“Where?”

“Just come on.”

Kayla showers and dresses while I make coffee.
“Are
you taking me to Wyatt House?” she asks, looking around as I drive in that direction.

“No, I’m not,” I answer, pulling into the parking
lot of the church. I’ve been thinking about doing this for awhile now, but life
has been so crazy that I haven’t had the chance.

“We’re going to church?”

“Yeah. We are.”

“Okay,” she says, obviously confused. I open her
door and hold her hand as we make our way to the entrance. Mrs. Thibodeau,
right on schedule, is also on her way up the stone steps.

“Dean.” She smiles when she sees me, and her pale-green
eyes light up when she sees Kayla at my side. “I’ve been missing you.”

“I know,” I answer, letting go of Kayla’s hand to
help the old woman up the steps. Over the last few months I haven’t been as
regular about attending mass. I do miss the routine.

“And who is joining you this morning?”

“This is my girlfriend. Kayla, Mrs. Thibodeau,” I
introduce.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” she says, patting my hand.
“Welcome, dear. It’s nice to see that our sweet boy has some company.”

“Thank you.” Kayla grins at me. Once we sit down,
she leans over and presses her mouth to my ear. “If you brought me here to show
me what an incredible man you are, I already know.”

I chuckle and reach for her hand again. We sit
through mass, and when it’s over, say our good-byes to Mrs. Thibodeau. But
instead of leading Kayla out the front door, I take her to a little room off to
the side of the foyer. It’s a prayer room, where people can kneel and light
candles. Above the candles is a painting.

“That’s your tattoo!” Kayla gasps.

“Yep.” I nod. “
The Angel of Redemption
.” It is my tattoo, but it’s different.
When I brought an image of the painting into my artist’s parlor, I asked him to
remove the color that signified renewed life because, at the time, all I saw
was death. Now, as I stare at the artwork in front of us, I feel like I’ve
robbed it—ruined its meaning by taking that away.

“Oh, Dean. It’s so beautiful.”

I kneel down and light three candles. Kayla
kneels beside me.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Standing, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and
kiss her temple.
“I think it’s me who should be thanking you.”

Kayla

“Are you sure you want to
do this?”

“Yes,” I answer unconvincingly.

Dean and I are standing outside the DHS building
—the
back entrance, because I’m too chickenshit to face the lobby and walk by the
visitation rooms. It’s raining and I’m looking more and more like a drowned rat
every minute we stand here. But twenty minutes after we first pulled up, I’m
still no closer to the door of the building.

Dean’s being patient. His hands are in his
pockets and his shoulders are hunched over, but he’s still standing next to me.
I look up at him. Rain is dripping from the ends of his hair onto his face.

“You don’t have to,
” he sighs. “Or you can
wait a little bit longer.” He offers me a reassuring smile. I let out a breath.

“I’m okay. I need to do this today. Right now.” I
take five steps before I stop again. “I’m sorry,” I groan.

“It’s all right. I’m here as long as you need
me.” His large hand grasps mine. It’s wet and cold, giving away how
uncomfortable he must actually be, but he hasn’t complained. I close my eyes.
This shouldn’t be such a big deal. Without letting myself think about it any
more, I pull him forward toward the building, up the stairs, and in through the
door. The guard nods at me when I lift up my badge. Dean signs in and follows
me to my office.

“Hey, Dean,” Sara greets.

“Wassup, my man?” Warren grins, standing up. He
fist bumps my boyfriend, and then wraps me up in his arms. “Girl, I’m so proud
of you.”

“Don’t be,” I mumble into his chest. “It took me
almost thirty minutes to get from the car into the building, and I’m still
pretending I’m outside.”

“Hey,
mi amor
,” he says, grabbing
my shoulders and pushing me back so he can look me in the eyes. “People who
weren’t
there
are having a hard time with this. It’s not easy. Give
yourself a break.” I nod and try to smile, but it doesn’t feel right. Warren
gives me one last tight hug and releases me.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “I can stay for awhile if
you need me to.”

“I’ll be fine,” I answer. “You’re late as it is.”

“The boys are probably all still sleeping anyway.
If you need me, just call.”

“I will,” I say quietly. He brushes his thumb
over my cheek.

Once he’s left, I sit down at my desk. I have no
idea where to start. It
’s the first time I’ve ever not known what’s
going on with my cases or what I need to do. After a couple of minutes of
reacquainting myself, I finally look over at Dana’s desk. The photo of her kids
is gone, as are the mementos, cards, and pictures she had on the filing cabinet
and wall behind her.
I notice new things on the desk and a coffee cup sitting next to the
keyboard.

“What happened to all of her stuff?” I ask Sara.

“Bethany came and got it the day after the
funeral.”

“Whose stuff is that?”

Sara glances over. “Sabrina. She just started about
a week ago.”

“So we have a rookie taking over all of Dana’s
cases?” I don’t like this. I don’t like someone I don’t know taking over Matty’s
case.

“I wouldn
’t call myself a rookie,” a
strong voice says from the doorway. I turn my head, startled. “I’ve been a CPS
worker in Detroit for the last ten years.” This must be Sabrina. She’s in her
late thirties, tall, with dark hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t
—”

“It’s okay. Trust me, I understand. You must be
Kayla.” She reaches her hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry you had to go
through what you did. We had a worker who was attacked about six years ago
while investigating a report in one of the rougher neighborhoods. Luckily, she
had the cops right behind her.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was okay, but couldn’t handle CPS anymore.
Ended up in adoptions. She’s much happier there. Anyway, I just saw the hottest
guy ever walk out of the building. Please tell me he works here. I could get
used to that view every day.”

Sara starts giggling. “Aren’t you engaged?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Engaged
—not
dead. I’d never go there, but I can definitely look.” Sabrina sticks her tongue
out through her teeth. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Tall? Wearing jeans and a black hoodie?” Sara
asks.

Sabrina nods. “Yeah. And an ass you could bounce
a quarter off of.”

“That’s Dean,” Sara snickers, looking at me. “He’s
Kayla’s boyfriend.”

“Really?” Sabrina’s eyes widen.

“Yeah,” I laugh lightly.

“Jesus, woman,” Sabrina laughs. “How do you get
out of bed in the morning?”

Before I can even get settled at my desk, Kate
calls me into her office to let me know what’s going on with my cases. Everyone’s
been pitching in, so I don’t have much to do this week except deal with my
emotions and get back into the routine. For a couple of hours I think I’m okay,
but it doesn’t last. Just before noon, while Sara, Sabrina, and I are sitting
in the cafeteria, I start to feel warm. Suddenly, there are too many people. It’s
loud and chaotic. I try to focus on my food, but a person I don’t recognize
keeps staring at me. My stomach feels full of rocks.

“What’s the matter?” Sara asks.

“Um
… I don’t feel very well.” I stand up
and bolt to the bathroom. I barely make it before my lunch makes a second appearance.

“Do you want me to call Dean?” Warren asks,
resting a hand on my back as I’m spitting into the sink.

“War, this is the women’s room,” I say, splashing
cold water on my face.

“I don’t give a shit,
mi amor
. I’m
more worried about you than any of these bitches being offended by my gender.
Should I call him?”

I nod reluctantly. A part of me doesn’t want to
go, but I’m not sure I can stay. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

* * *

It’s not. I don’t even
make it to noon the next day. Around eleven thirty, I get called to the front
lobby. A foster parent who’s in the area for an appointment wanted to stop in
to see how I’m doing. At first, I think I can get there, but I have to pass by
the visitation rooms, and the closer I get, the more I begin to panic.

Wednesday, a fight breaks out between a
seventeen-year-old girl and her foster sister, who were both kicked out of
their placement for smoking pot. They belong to the workers in the office next
door. It starts out with just a little swearing, but quickly escalates to
screaming. I’m a wimp, and I can’t take it.

I don’t make it a full day all week.

“Kayla,” Dean sighs as he picks me up on Friday
afternoon. The look on my face must make him think twice about whatever he’s
going to say because he purses his lips and shakes his head before hitting the
gas.

When we get home, he spends about an hour
pretending to do stuff around the house. I know he’s just trying to make sure I’m
okay before he goes back to Wyatt House to finish out his shift.

“Wanna go have sex?” I ask when it looks like he’s
run out of excuses to stay.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks. “You’ve said
that, like, every day this week.”

“Are you complaining?” I scoff. “Because I can do
it myself.”

Dean stares at me for a second. “Now you’re just
teasing me.”

I smile, hoping it looks seductive. I back up
toward our bedroom. He follows, but I’m not sure he’s entirely happy about it.

“Seriously, Kayla,” he says once we get there.

I strip off my shirt. “I want you to fuck me
because I’m frustrated and it makes me feel good. Is there something wrong with
that?”

“No. I just want to make sure you’re not using me
to ignore your emotions. What are you doing?” he asks as I get closer and push
at his cheeks.

“Trying to figure out when you turned into Dr.
Phil.” I squeal when he lifts me into the air and crashes both of us onto the
bed.

“You and your smart-ass mouth.” He kisses me
roughly. When I try to reach for him, he pushes my hands back down onto the
bed. “Don’t move,” he says, straddling my hips and letting me go so he can pull
off his shirt. I’m too eager, though. He lets me unbutton his pants and then
stands up, removing everything else at once. While he reaches into the side
table’s drawer and slides a condom over himself, I rush to get naked.

It’s true—I’ve been a little hornier lately
than I have in the past. I’m not usually an every day kind of girl, but my
stress levels are on overload. The only two things that seem to relax me are
hitting the bag Dean installed in the garage and having orgasms. Which one I
choose depends on whether I’m depressed or pissed off. Right now, I’m on the
low side.

Dean pushes into me, and there’s an instant
release of tension. It feels so good. I moan. He pulls out and instantly
returns. I let myself focus on the thrusting of his hips, the feel of him gliding
smoothly in and out, the heavy breaths and light grunts from his mouth. I rake
my nails down his spine and arch my back so his pelvis hits me perfectly every
single time.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” I answer breathlessly. “Go.”

The moment he speeds up, I can feel the ache
creeping up from my toes. My legs start to shake. Dean holds my thigh up as he
puts more force into each movement. I can see he’s gonna lose it. The second he
starts to pulse inside of me, I let go.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles under his breath, pulling
out and rolling onto his back.

“Thank you,” I sigh. “I feel so much better.”

“Good. I’d hate to think you put me through that
horrible torture for nothing,” he says in a snarky tone.

I laugh and smack his chest. “Asshole.”

Rolling off the bed, he stands up and strips off
the condom, throwing it into the trash. “I hate these things,” he growls. “How
much longer?”

We’ve been using extra protection since I was put
on antibiotics. Neither one of us likes it, but the doctor recommended we
either do that until the start of my next cycle or abstain. Abstaining just isn’t
an option.

I stand up, slipping on my underwear. “My period’s
next week. You can get a break, and when we do it again, you’ll be free.” I say
sarcastically. His naked body is suddenly up against my back. His hands caress
the curve of my hips. He kisses my shoulder.

“You’re insulting my testosterone levels,
sweetheart. I don’t need a break. I just like to feel you. You got a problem
with that?” he asks. I shake my head with a grin. “Good.”

As we’re getting dressed, I hear a car outside.
Peeking out, I see Claire pulling her bag from the backseat of my car. I look
over at Dean and have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. He looks like he
just got fucked. I debate as to whether I should tell him, but I like the look
on him.

“Do I have sex hair?” he asks with a smirk,
obviously reading my expression.

“A little bit.”

“Hmmm.” Going to the bathroom sink, he wets his
hair in an attempt to straighten it out. It doesn’t really work, so he grabs
his knit hat from the dresser and slips it on over his head.

“You’re making me want to go again,” I tease,
scanning his body. He plants a wet kiss on my mouth.

“Next time I’ll make sure I drag you in here
first. I told Emily I wouldn’t be gone for more than an hour. She’s gonna kill
me.”

“You want me to write you note? ‘Dear Mrs. Wyatt,
please excuse Dean for being late. He was trying to fuck the chickenshit out of
his girlfriend so she can do her job without having a panic attack.’”

Dean frowns at me and grabs my arm, pulling me to
him. “Baby, you just gotta give it time. You’re doing fine. And I wasn’t trying
to fuck the chickenshit out of you.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“What were you doing to me then?”

He lifts my chin and his green eyes bore into
mine. “I love you.” It’s not an answer to my question…I don’t think, but it’s a
good answer nonetheless, so I take it and wrap my arms around his waist.

“I love you, too.”