compared to some of the foster situations I’d been in, she was all right. She never laid a hand on me. She yelled a lot, but I could tune out her hurtful words. To make ends meet and probably in hopes someone would fetch her beer out of the refrigerator, she took in foster kids. Several had passed through the doors, but Lexie and I were the only ones who stayed. I had no doubt I would have been one of those kids who ran away thinking life would be better on my own, but Lexie ended any notion I held about leaving. Our bond was instant, and my internal need to take care of her kept me here—even after I turned eighteen.
Lexie was four and I was thirteen when Jo took Lexie in. I’d been with Jo less than six months. Lexie brought in extra cash because she was born with a disability confining her to a wheelchair. Her mother had been a druggie and had Lexie out of wedlock. Lexie had been left at a gas station at the age of one, probably right after the mother learned there was a reason her daughter had yet to crawl.
At twelve, Lexie already had a tough life. I tried to do whatever I could to make it easier for her. I became her mother, her sister, her best friend. I took her to school, made her lunch, and got her to medical appointments.
Walking to Jo, I picked up the blanket off the floor and covered her. She grumbled and shifted to face the other way. I actually felt like the mother to both. Trapped. Even though I was old enough to live on my own, I wouldn’t leave Lexie, and I couldn’t afford to take her with me yet. So I stayed. And because I brought in money, Jo let me.
With a sigh, I collected Jo’s empty beer cans and the TV dinner off the floor next to her chair and walked to the kitchen, throwing them in the trash. The microwave clock read 5:23. Ugh. I only had an hour before I needed to wake Lexie for school. Since she turned a preteen, it felt like my mission was to get her up and out the door on time. Sleep was probably not in my cards. I flipped on the coffee maker and decided on a shower while I waited for the caffeine I desperately needed. Tiptoeing into the room Lexie and I shared, I crept to my dresser.
“You just getting home?” Lexie’s sleepy voice drifted from her bed.
I whipped around. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
Lexie shook her head as I treaded to her small twin bed and sat.
“What happened to your mouth?” She glanced at my face.
“Oh, boxing class.” I waved my hand, disregarding my swollen cut lip. Cuts and bruises were easy to explain. People tended to use their hands or a weapon instead of words in this neighborhood. I never wanted Lexie to think violent behavior was right, so I said the wounds were from my self-defense classes. I didn’t want her to think it was okay for anyone to hit her. If you got hurt when learning to defend and stand up for yourself, it was different.
“I was worried. Why were you out so late?” She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Then her hands dropped to her lap. “Oh... ohhhh!”
My head moved back and forth. “No. It wasn’t like that. Daniel and I had to work.”
“Work... right.” She smirked. No one knew exactly what I did. Keeping the fae secret was a big part of our job. The government wanted to keep the public ignorant of the threats surrounding them daily. They felt the mass hysteria caused by people knowing would stop the world in its tracks. Sometimes it was cool to think of myself as a secret agent, and other times it got exhausting keeping the lies straight. Jo and Lexie thought I worked as an organ transplant coordinator, matching and delivering fresh organs to patients in need. It made a good cover why I needed to go at a moment’s notice at any time of the night and day. Lexie had met Daniel a couple times when he picked me up. Of course, she thought he was old, but loved teasing me about my crush on him. She assumed most of the time we went to an office and squabbled over who got which organ.
If only.
“Believe me, I wish it could be more.”