Driven (6 page)

These boys and my staff are my second family. They fuel me emotionally and challenge me mentally. At times they try my patience and push my limits, but I love them with all my heart. I’d do anything for them.

Connor comes flying though the kitchen, running to the back door with something under his arm, Aiden chasing after him. “Hey, guys, calm down,” I reprimand as I hear Aiden shout that he’s going to get it back and make him pay.

“Cool it, boys,” Jackson says in his deep baritone, rising from the couch to watch the interaction. Those two have a habit of antagonizing each other, sometimes to the point where it becomes physical.

I feel small hands wrap around my thigh, and I look down into the angelic eyes of Scooter. “Hey, bud.” I smile, taking slow and deliberate movements to reciprocate the hug. I can see him steel himself for my touch, but he does not flinch. It has taken me sixteen months to elicit this reaction from an eight-year-old whose only physical contact in his short life with his mother was through fists or objects. I squat down to his eye level and kiss him softly on the cheek. Trusting, chocolate-brown eyes look to me. “I agree with you. Spiderman is
way cooler
than Batman. He’s got that spidey-sense that Batman only wishes he had.” He smiles at me, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Why don’t you go pick up your mess? It’s almost time for dinner.”

He nods, granting me a shy smile, and I watch him walk back to the family room and his beloved comic books, which are sprawled haphazardly across the floor. I move my gaze from Scooter to the figure huddled on the other couch.

Zander is static. He is in the same mute state he’s been in for the past three months he’s been in my care. He is curled into himself, an impassive expression on his face as he watches the muted television with large, haunted eyes. He has his beloved stuffed dog, ratty and coming apart at the seams, a lifeline held tightly against his chest. His wavy brown hair curls softly at the nape of his neck. He desperately needs a haircut, but I can still hear his terrified shrieks from a month ago when he caught sight of the scissors as I approached him with the suggestion of a trim.

“No change, Jax?” I murmur to Jackson who has walked up beside me, keeping my eyes on Zander.

“Nope.” He sighs loudly, empathy rolling off him in waves. He continues in a muted tone, “His appointment with Dr. Delaney was the same. She said he just stared at her while she tried to get him to participate in the play therapy.”

“Something is going to trigger him. Something will snap him out of his shock. Hopefully it will be sooner rather than later so we can try and limit damage done to his subconscious.” I hold back my sorrow for the lost little boy, “And help the police figure out what happened.”

Zander had come to us after the police found him covered in blood in his house. He had been trying to use a box of band-aids to stop the bleeding from the stab wounds that covered his mother. A neighbor walking her dog had overheard his mother’s strangled cries for help and called the police. She had died before they arrived. It is assumed that Zander’s father had committed the murder, but without Zander’s statement, it’s a relative mystery as to the events that led up to the actual act. With his father missing, he’s the only one who knows what happened that night.

Zander has not uttered a word in the three months since his mother’s murder. It’s my job to make sure we provide for him in every way possible so that he can dig his way out of the catatonic, repressed state he’s in. Then we can help him and begin the lengthy process of healing.

I turn from the heartbreak that is Zander and work with Jackson to get dinner finished. We work in sync, side-by-side, like an old married couple for we’ve had this shift together for the past two years. We can anticipate each other’s movements from repetitive practice.

We both work in silence, listening to the flurry of activity that is The House, mentally aware of the activities of the seven boys as well as what’s still needed to be done.

“So I heard the benefit was a success—with an unexpected entrant in the auction,” he wiggles his eyebrows at me and I roll my eyes in response before turning back to the sink, “and one hot and heavy make-out session backstage.”

I drop the knife I’m washing, clattering loudly against the stainless steel basin. I’m grateful that my back is to Jackson so that he can’t see the stunned look on my face.
What the hell
? Someone must have seen me with Donavan. I have to remind myself to breathe as I panic, trying to figure out how to respond. I don’t need my staff gossiping about my backstage encounter.

“What—what do you mean?” I try to sound casual, but I hope I am the only one who can hear the distress in my voice. I turn the water off, waiting for the response.

Jackson laughs his deep, hearty laugh. “I would have loved to see you in action, Ry.”

Shit, shit, shit! My heart races. How am I going to explain this one? I feel warmth on my cheeks as my flush spreads. I open my mouth to answer him when he continues.

“Parading around on stage in the event you so desperately fought against.” I can hear the amusement in his voice. “My God, you must have been pissed!”

“You have no idea.” My response is almost a whisper. I have nothing left to wash but I keep my back to him, afraid if he sees my face, the questions will start.

“And then Bailey told me she met this hot guy—her words, not mine—and lured him backstage in typical Bailey fashion and had a hot and heavy make-out session with him.”

I release the breath I’m holding, grateful that it was our intern Bailey bragging about her exploits rather than gossiping about her boss’s. And then I realize that sexy siren Bailey, whom all the guys at work want to date, was most likely Donavan’s first conquest on Saturday night.

If that were the case, why would he want to go from the auburn-haired bombshell with legs for days to me? Talk about reinforcing my feeling of being second choice.

I blow my hair up out of my face. “Well, you know Bailey,” I counter, trying to phrase my next words carefully, “She definitely likes to have her fun.”

Jax laughs at me, patting my back as he walks by, “That was a nice way of putting it,” he says as he starts to make the boys’ school lunches for the next day. “She’s a great girl, works hard, the kids love her … just not a girl I’d want my son to date.”

I murmur an agreement thinking about our beguilingly sweet intern, who is only five years my junior, and her
free
ways. A part of me has always been jealous of girls like her. Girls who throw caution to the wind in spontaneity and live their life without regrets; kiss random boys recklessly, take spur of the moment road trips, and are always the life of the party. I often worry that one day I’ll look back on my life and feel like I haven’t lived. That I haven’t taken enough chances, sowed my wild oats, or ventured outside my comfort zone.

My life is safe, predictable, controlled, and always in order. I like it that way most of the time. It’s not that I’m not jealous of her because she kissed Donavan first (well maybe a little), but rather that she lives without regrets.

I shake myself out of my thoughts, ones that I have been having more of lately with
the anniversary
approaching. If anything, I should have learned that life is short and I need to
really
live it, not stay in my safe corner of it as it passes me by. I pull myself from my thoughts and refocus on my task at hand.

“Boys,” I shout over the cacophony of chaos, “it’s time to come finish your homework.” I hear groans coming from various rooms for I’ve said the dreaded “H” word. Six boys, varying from eight to fifteen years old, sullenly walk toward the table, grumbling as they go.

I look over toward the couch where Zander remains curled into himself, rocking back and forth in rhythmic comfort.

I slowly walk toward him and kneel in front of him. “Zander, do you want to join us? I can read you a book, if you’d like?” I speak softly to him, slowly reaching my hand out, holding it still for him to see my intention, and rest it on his hand that rests on his knee. He continues rocking, but his blue eyes flicker over to hold mine.

I see so many things in the depths of his eyes that shake me to the core. I smile softly at him and squeeze his hand. “We’d love for you to join us.” He remains silent but his eyes are still fused on mine. A small sliver of hope springs within me since he normally looks at me and glances away after a few seconds. “Come on, Zander, take my hand, I won’t let go if you don’t want me to.”

He continues to stare at me for some time, as I remain stock still, a reassuring smile on my face. His tiny hand moves, and he closes his fingers around my hand. He stands slowly, and we move to join the rest of the boys at the table.

CHAPTER 5

I’m dragging big time. I’m in the last hour of my shift at The House, and the long hours of the past couple of days have caught up with me. The boys were a handful today and it seemed that the chaos moved steadily through each child at various parts of the day.

Kellen, my co-counselor, has the boys outside and is playing tag with them. I can hear their laughter and squeals through the open windows.

I’m in the kitchen getting everything together for dinner for the next shift when the house phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Oh, good! You’re still there.” I can sense relief tinged with excitement through the phone.

“Just barely,” I laugh. “I have about fifteen minutes left. What can I do for you, Teddy?”

“I know you’re probably exhausted, but is it possible for you stop by the office on the way home?”

It’s the last thing I want to do as much as I love him. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep until the next day. “Um, okay. Sure. Is something wrong?”

“Just the opposite! I think we found the solution to rest of the funding for the new facilities.” Enthusiasm is evident in his voice. “I’ll tell you all about it when you get here. We’re just hammering out all of the details right now.”

“Wow! Are you serious?” My hopes start to rise. Even with the charity event and the numerous other donations we have already received, we are still shy of our goal by several million dollars. “I—I will be there as soon as I can, depending on traffic.”

I hang up the phone, excitement bubbling. All my hard work over the past two years to get the approvals, the board’s backing, the plans, the funding—it all might finally come to fruition and become a reality.

I finish with the dinner preparations so all that the next shift has to do is put it in the oven. I grab my purse and overnight bag and start to gather my things. I glance at my cell phone in my purse, and begrudgingly decide to check my email. Maybe I can tackle a few phone calls from them while I am in traffic.

I scan my inbox and notice one I’d received earlier in the day from Donavan. I contemplate just deleting it, but curiosity gets the best of me, and I open it up.

To: Rylee Thomas

From: Ace

Subject: Dexterous Fingers

__________________________

Rylee—

You’ve left me no choice. Your lack of response has left me to take matters into my own hands.

You remember how those felt, don’t you?

—Ace

Arrogant ass
. I delete the email. What’s he going to do? I’m even more indifferent to him now that I know about his and Bailey’s tryst in the dressing room. Or at least I am trying to be. Come to think about it, they probably fit each other perfectly.
Manwhore and maneater
.

I smile at the thought as I finish collecting my things and say goodbye to the troops.

Traffic is unusually light as I drive toward the office. I take this is a sign that good things are going to happen. It’s a beautiful, sunny California day, unusually warm for the ending of January. What I would give to grab a towel, head to the beach and lay there, letting the sun’s warmth rejuvenate me.

In no time at all, I pull into the parking lot of Corporate Cares. I walk quickly up to the building’s lobby, checking my reflection in the mirrored windows. I have on my favorite blue jeans that sit low on my waist and a snug, red V-neck t-shirt. Luckily I had an extra one in my bag because I don’t think Teddy would enjoy my original one that’s now splattered with Ricky’s vomit. I fuss with my hair a moment, pulling the clip from it, letting my curls fall down my back.

After a short elevator ride, where I’m able to touch up my lip-gloss and pinch my cheeks for color, I arrive on the floor of the main office. I walk past my office, nod to several people and exchange pleasantries on my way to Teddy’s receptionist. I note that the shutters on the conference room windows are closed and absently wonder what meeting is taking place in there.

“Hi, Sandy.”

“Hey, Rylee. I’ll let him know you’re here. He’s expecting you.”

I smile. “Thanks.” I walk toward the wall of windows that extends throughout the office and watch the line of cars of people heading home on the freeway.
The ants go marching one by one.

“That was quick!” I turn to face my boss, a broad grin on his face. “I can’t wait to catch you up to speed.”

“I can’t wait to hear what’s going on,” I say as I follow him into his office.

I sit down across from him in the black leather chair, happy to be sitting and off my feet.

Teddy sits across from me, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “I got a call earlier today and have been in a meeting all afternoon hammering out a deal. Get this,” he emotes as he leans toward me, placing his hands on his desk, “CD Enterprises has come forward wanting to put up half of the remaining cash for the facilities as well as raise the remainder of the money by getting other companies to match or sponsor them.” His words come out in a rush of air, excitement in his eyes.

I process his words, trying to formulate a coherent thought. I can’t believe this is really happening. “What? How? Wow!” I laugh, caught up in Teddy’s whirlwind.

“I am still fine-tuning the finishing details of it right now. Colton’s in the conference room right now.” He motions with his hand toward the hallway, “I’ll bring you in there in a second to reintroduce you.”