Angel of Redemption (64 page)

“I don’t know who Zach’s father is.”

I shake my head.
“Big fucking surprise,” I
mutter.

She pulls her sleeves down over her hands and
stands up. “Never mind. I’ll
…” She doesn’t finish her sentence but
starts to walk toward the door, her whole body defeated and sagging. Her hands
drop to her sides, and I can see the picture of her kids that she showed me,
clutched in her fingers.

Fuck. I look around the apartment
—an
apartment I haven’t slept in for two weeks. An apartment I have no personal
attachment to. An apartment I could walk away from today and never look back.

“Fine. Whatever. You can stay here,” I relent. I
don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that some part of me fears what will
happen to her if she leaves here feeling completely hopeless. What will she do?
She’s in the most critical period of withdrawal. Most addicts relapse within
the first thirty days, and there are dozens of dealers between here and the bus
station. They won’t see a mother struggling to stay clean for her kids. They
’ll
see an easy target—a depressed addict who needs a means to escape. She’s
asking for help. What kind of person am I if I turn her away?

I want to believe she can change. I want to
believe she loves her children enough to get clean and stay that way. That’s
who I am, what I do. I take kids everyone else has lost faith in, and I give
them a chance to succeed. And a lot of them do. I feel like I need to believe
that Steph can, too. Maybe, by doing this one last thing, I can find the
redemption I’ve been seeking for nearly fifteen years. Nothing will replace the
three lives I took, but this could be a step in the right direction. And by
dealing with Steph, regardless of the outcome, I can do what everyone has been
begging me to do and finally let go. I can give everything I am to Kayla.

I can finally accept that I am falling insanely in
love with her.

“I can stay with you?” Steph asks softly, looking
around.

“No,” I scoff. “I won’t be here. I don’t have
anything valuable here, so if you’re looking to steal shit, you’re looking in
the wrong place.”

“Where will you be?”

“Doesn’t matter. Not here. You can stay as long
as you keep clean. No pimps, no johns, no drugs, no alcohol.”

“I’m not an alcoholic!” she protests.

“You’re an
 addict, Steph. No alcohol.
If you want a place to stay, then you follow my rules. I don’t even want a
fucking boyfriend here. This is not a hotel. Get on the list for Section 8,
because my lease runs out at the end of the year and I don’t plan on renewing
it. And I better not find any of this shit in a pawn shop. You fuck up even
once, and, I swear to God, you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can blink.”

She swallows, and I can tell she’s holding back
from mouthing off.

“Do you understand me?” I ask in a voice I use
specifically for the boys. It’s a voice that means they better sit up and pay
attention, or they’ll pay the consequences. She’s shaking, her lip quivering,
but I’m not sure if she wants to cry or if she’s incredibly pissed off. Maybe
both. “When are your urine tests?”

“I don’t know. They’re random.”

“I want proof you’re staying clean.”

“Jesus Christ, Dean. Why don’t you plant one of
those fucking microchips in my brain so you can see where I am every second of
every day, too?”

“I’m not fucking around, Steph. You want your
kids back, this is your chance. Do this right or fuck off and let them go.” I
open the drawer where my spare key is. “I’ll leave this with the super tomorrow
after I make sure all my shit’s gone. I’ll tell him who you are so he doesn’t
harass you, but he has my number.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles, taking a step forward
cautiously.

I turn away from her, still trying to figure out
what I’ve just done. “Might be a good idea to get a job,
” I bite. “One
that doesn’t require you to be on your back or your knees.” I know it’s a cheap
shot, but it makes my point.

She mutters under her breath, and then I hear the
door slam shut behind her. I’m glad she’s gone. Now I can bang my head against
the wall.

* * *

It takes me two hours to
strip the apartment of everything I need or want. By the time I’m done,
furniture and basic kitchen utensils are all that’s left. I toss almost all the
food because it’s stale, moldy, or rotten. I keep the last package of
Strawberry Pop-Tarts from the box I made for Kayla that first morning she
stayed over. I’m usually not very sentimental, but it makes me smile.

After loading the boxes into my car, I stop by
the super’s apartment. He’s a short, stubby little man with a beer belly and a
balding head. His name is Rubin. I have no idea if it
’s his first name
or his last name.

“She gonna cause trouble?” he asks, his apartment
reeking of marijuana.

“Not the kind you’re worried about,” I say
flatly. “But if you have concerns, you’ve got my number. Use it.” I slip an
envelope with the key along with a hundred bucks into his grubby little hand.
He looks at it and smiles before shoving it into his pocket.

I don’t look back as I’m driving away. I have no
emotional attachment to the place. It’s my past, and it’s time for me to start
letting go of it. My future lies somewhere else.

Dean

“Are you home?”

“You must have ESP. I just walked through the
door.”

I look down at the bowl of leftover spaghetti I’m
getting ready to heat up—it’s what the boys ate last night—
and
put the lid back on. “Have you eaten lunch?”

“No,” Kayla answers. “I had a huge breakfast with
Courtney this morning and just wanted to get back.”

“So, I can’t take you to lunch?” I remove the lid
again.

“You absolutely can. That was four hours ago.”

I put the lid back for the last time and shove
the bowl back into the refrigerator. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

“Okay. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Come on in.”

I hang up, grab my keys, and stop in to tell
Emily that I’m leaving.

“Kayla home?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She smiles and
waves.

When I get to Kayla’s, I knock, even though she
told me to just walk in. There’s no answer, and she doesn’t come to the door,
so I open it.

“Hello?” When I don’t get a response, I call a
little louder. “Kayla?”

“In my room,” I hear her say. I hesitate, not
sure what that means. Does she want me to stay here? Go to her? I think we
’ve
made up completely, but I don’t want to overstep my bounds if we’re not
entirely on the same page. “You can come back if you want,” she calls as though
she can read my mind. I make my way to her bedroom and knock on the door before
opening it. “Come on in,” Kayla says.

Opening the door, my eyes widen and my throat
suddenly feels very, very dry. Kayla is lying on her bed, stomach down with her
legs bent, ankles crossed. She’s flipping through a magazine
…completely
naked. Well, not completely. On her feet are the red shoes that make my dick
instantly hard. She’s obviously just taken a shower, because her hair is damp
and the room is permeated with the smell of her shampoo.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” I tease once I’ve
regained my ability to speak.

Her lips twitch into a smile, which quickly
disappears as she struggles to keep a straight face. “Reading.”

“Reading what?” I shut the door the rest of the
way and twist the lock behind my back.

“These articles are so fascinating. Did you know
that Kristy wanted to be a kindergarten teacher?” She flips the page and I see
a flash of skin. I clear my throat, feeling a significant strain against my
jeans. Fuck! The woman is reading a nudie mag.

“That does sound fascinating. What else have you
learned?” I step forward and lift my shirt up and off. She glances my way, a
sultry smile on her face. I’m pretty sure my brain has switched off and all the
blood is flowing directly to my cock.

“Heidi got her first boob job at seventeen,” she
offers. I laugh and continue walking toward her until I’m standing next to the
bed.

“And?” I ask, trailing my finger from the curve
of her ass down the back of her thigh.

“Ummm, well, uh
…” she stutters a little as
I kick off my shoes and remove my pants. Since I’m not wearing boxers today, we’re
equal now. I lean over her.

“You know what those shoes do to me, don’t you?”
I whisper in her ear.

“No, what?” she asks innocently. I tackle her,
forcing her onto her back. She giggles, looking up at me. “Hi,” she breathes.

“Hi. How was your drive?”

She raises her eyebrows. “You want to talk about
my drive? Right now?”

I shake my head. “No, not really.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

I do as she demands, pressing my open mouth
against hers and immediately pushing my tongue inside. After a few minutes, I
roll over so she’s sitting on top of me.

“How long have you been planning this?” I ask,
stroking the soft skin of her thighs.

“Since you said you missed me.”

I grin at her. “Is that what I said?”

She shrugs. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Hmmm. Why don’t you scoot on up here and let me
show you how much I missed you.”

Kayla starts shimmying up my body, but stops at
my chest. “Come on,” I urge, curling my finger before resting my hands on her
ass to help her the rest of the way. When she’s directly over my face, I hold
her in place and take a long lick, dragging my tongue through her warm, wet
flesh.

“Uh.” She lets out a breathy whimper.

I explore every bit of her before closing my
mouth around her swollen clit and sucking. Kayla’s riding my face just like she
rides my cock, and it’s hands down the sexiest fucking thing I’ve experienced.
Just as she’s about to get there, I stop what I’m doing and push her hips back.

“What are you doing?” she asks, frustrated. In
answer, I flip her over and slide into her. “Oh,” she gasps. The headboard is
knocking against the wall with every thrust I make. Kayla looks up to where the
collision is happening.

“Are we gonna make a dent?” she asks teasingly.

“We can try, sweetheart.” I begin to slam into
her harder. The banging gets louder and louder. I watch her expressions as she
whimpers and moans. When she catches me staring, she smiles almost shyly. I
slow down a little because I want her mouth again. Placing one hand on her
breast, I tease her nipple with my thumb as I lean in and kiss her.

Without warning, she tenses. Her mouth falls open,
her lips parting from our kiss. The feeling of her pulsing around me is enough
to make me swell and, after a few more thrusts, I let go. Physically, it’s not
the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had, but Jesus Christ, it makes my heart
pound in my chest. I lift the hand caressing her nipple to her head, cradling
it as I continue to rock into her, bringing us both through the aftershocks.

When I stop, I can’t look away. Something in her
eyes has me pinned. She blinks slowly and a tear slips from the corner of her
eye. I watch it slide down the side of her face. I’m confused and a little
bewildered.

“Are you okay?” I breathe.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, her lips pressed tightly
together.

“You sure?”

She nods and offers me a smile.
“Absolutely.”

Rolling off her, I lie on my back and wait for
her to curl into my side. She does as expected and I wrap my arm around her
shoulders, still trying to figure out her reaction.

“Did we make a dent?” she asks. I look up and see
that the paint’s a little chipped around the area, but there’s no dent. I
’m
not sure what the tear was about, but it’s gone now. She seems very content.

“We’ll have to try harder next time,” I joke.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we go get some lunch? I’m really hungry now.”

My mouth contorts into a smirk. “As long as you
wear those shoes.
”

* * *

“How’d you get the easy
job?”

Kayla looks up from where she
’s painting
my niece’s toes pink. Wait—not pink.
Fuchsia
. I’ve been corrected
twice already. “You think you could do this?”

I frown. No. I couldn
’t. “Caleb, I need you
to sit down so I can finish getting your pants on.”

My nephew hops from foot to foot and shakes his
head. “No. Don’t wanna.
” I could pin him down, but I don’t want to hurt
him.

I glance back at Kayla. I can see her snickering
silently. It isn’t funny
—I’m getting frustrated. I can’t figure
out how to make him stop moving.

“Oh my Lord, Dean,” Kayla chuckles and stands up.
She picks Caleb up and sits him on her lap, lifting her hand toward me. I toss
her the pajamas and watch as she effortlessly dresses the little monster and
sets him back on the ground. “There. All done.”

“I’m not impressed,” I mutter, impressed. She
continues to laugh at me and goes back to her nail painting. I sit on the floor
while Caleb runs circles around me, giggling every time I reach out in a
half-assed attempt to catch him. Kayla is talking to Ashley about a boy she hit
with the stapler in her kindergarten class.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Ashley states
matter-of-factly.

“And you hit him with a stapler?” Kayla asks. “Why?”

“He said he wasn’t.”

Kayla’s eyes shift to me. I smile at her. She
tries not to smile back, but fails miserably before returning her attention to
Ashley.

By seven thirty, Caleb’s looking a little wobbly.
He keeps rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“I think it’s somebody’s bedtime,” Kayla says,
picking him up and cradling him in her arms. He doesn’t argue or fight. He just
wraps his arms around her neck and lays his head down on her shoulder. I fight
back the nausea I feel when I catch myself wondering what kind of mother she’ll
be. I don’t want kids, so thinking of Kayla having them means admitting that
there could be a day when she won
’t want me anymore—when she wants
someone else. “I’m going to go put him down,” she says softly, swaying from
side to side.

“Okay.” I nod.

“Uncle Dean? Can I do your hair?” Ashley asks as
Kayla’s walking away. Her eyes are wide and hopeful. I furrow my brows into a
confused squint.

“Do my hair?”

She pulls her hands from behind her back. She
’s
holding a comb and a whole bunch of pink and purple girly stuff. I stare down
at her, still not quite understanding.

“Please,” she begs, blinking her eyes quickly. I
think she’s attempting to flutter her eyelashes. It doesn’t even matter what
she wants to do to me, I’m going to say yes because I’m a fucking sucker. She
knows it, too. She squeals and takes my hand in hers, dragging me over to the
couch.

“You sit on the floor and I’ll sit on the couch.
That’s how Mommy does it.” I pull my phone from my back pocket and sit down. “I’ll
be right back. I need my spray bottle.”

“Your what?” I ask pointlessly because she’s
already skipped out of the room.

For the next half hour, I look through emails on
my phone while my niece sprays, combs, and sticks things in my hair, chattering
the whole time. I have no idea what she’s saying, though. She talks way too
fast. When Kayla returns, she sits down across from me, a hint of a smile on
her face.

“Is he asleep?” I ask, glancing up at her.

“Yes,” she says, now fully grinning. “We read
half a dozen books, and then he passed out. He’s a sweet little guy. He made me
climb into bed with him.”

“Aiden said he’s been a little clingy lately.”

Kayla’s phone chimes. Emily must be checking in.
Seconds later mine does, too. I glance down. Aiden.

I hear a
click
and look up to see Kayla pointing the camera on her phone at me.

“What are you doing?”

“Emily wants to know what we’re up to. I’m
showing her.” I lift my hand and curl my fingers.

“Lemme see.”

She hands me the phone, and the picture on it
makes me choke. My hair is sticking straight up, decorated with barrettes and
bows.

“You look pretty, Uncle Dean,” Ashley gushes from
over my shoulder.

“I’m deleting this,” I groan.

“No!” Kayla and Ashley both cry. Kayla grabs for
the phone, throwing me off balance. I try to hold it out of her reach, but I’m
on the floor, so holding it above my head doesn’t work. Kayla gets a hand on it
and snatches it from me. Before she can get away, I wrap my arms around her
waist and pull her down. Ashley curls away, giggling as she watches Kayla and
me wrestle.

After a couple of minutes, I stop because I’m
getting turned on by all her squirming. Kayla must notice because she pats my
cheek and stands, knowing we need to cool down with Ash in here.

“Let’s go make some popcorn, and then we can
watch that princess movie,” she says, reaching her hand out to Ashley. I smack
her ass pretty hard as she walks away, making her jump and glare at me, but I
can tell she’s not mad.

Halfway through the movie, I look over to see my
niece fast asleep on the floor. I carry her to her room and put her into her
bed. Kayla pulls the covers over her, and we both steal out of the room as
quietly as we can. It’s only nine o’clock, but I
’m beat. Taking care of
little kids is hard. Maybe even harder than taking care of teenage boys.

When we’re back downstairs, Kayla pours us each a
glass of wine.

“I’m exhausted,” I complain. “How do people do
this full time?”

“What? Be parents?”

“Parents, teachers, babysitters. Anything that
has to do with little kids.”

Kayla laughs. “I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t take you
seriously right now.” She reaches up and starts taking the shit out of my hair
that Ashley put in there. I’d completely forgotten that I look like a freaking
Barbie doll. “You obviously don’t give yourself enough credit. How can you be a
foster parent to six teenage boys?” she continues.