Clarity - Nicole Dykes Page 0,31

has to finish their investigation of him before he can push forward with that, but I don’t think he’s going to just give up.”

I know he won’t.

“An investigation like that can take a while.” But not if you can grease the right palms.

“Only time will tell, Rhys. All you can do right now is be the best foster parent possible. Stay out of trouble.”

I grunt into the phone, and her voice is kind, almost soothing.

“I know this is difficult. We’ll talk soon. Okay?”

I nod my head even if she can’t see me. “Okay.”

We get off the phone just as Bree opens the back door and climbs in, her little friends waving to her and eying me suspiciously.

“What are their names?”

I navigate my way out of the school parking lot, and she answers with an annoyed tone. “Fletcher and Rhett.”

“Who are they to you?” I try to keep my voice casual, but I see her eyes roll in my rearview mirror.

“Friends. We met in the group home, but we go to school together.”

Group home. Fuck. So, they’re foster kids too. Makes sense. We tend to keep to our own. Instinct for safety.

She puts her headphones in until we reach my shop. Last week, I closed up early, and we just went back to Blair’s after school. But I can’t afford to keep doing that, so she’s been hanging out at the shop this week until Blair picks her up after work.

We go inside, and she makes herself comfortable on the couch meant for customers, taking out a book and her headphones, but she looks up at me as I prepare to reopen.

“Rhys?”

I look over at her. “What’s up?”

“Why are you doing this?”

I try to offer the simple answer, hoping she’ll accept it because, let’s face it, this is Bree. She likes to talk about as much as I do. “You asked me for help.”

She lifts a questioning eyebrow “You always help everyone who asks for it?”

“No.” That’s the simple answer, and I add, “You’re special.”

“I’m a handful,” she grumbles as she searches for something—probably a song—on her phone. “That’s what they all say. All my files describe me as a handful. School. Social workers.”

“They’re all idiots. You haven’t been a handful for us.”

My saying “us” kind of surprises me, but I know Blair likes Bree too. She’s embraced having her around.

I walk to where she’s sitting, and I crouch down in front of her, not touching her of course, but I want her to see my eyes, and I want to see hers. “Do you want to stay with me longer?” She looks cautious. “I was approved for long-term foster care today. And you can, if you want to.”

She just lifts her shoulders, feigning indifference that was learned long ago even if she’s only eleven. “That would be okay.”

I nod my head in decision. “Good. I want you to.”

A small smile graces her face as she puts her headphones back in and holds her book in front of her face.

I have no idea what I'm doing, but today, I feel good.

“So, he can just adopt her? Even though she’s in our custody?”

“Technically, she’s still a ward of the state. So, I don’t know.”

I stare at him, annoyed that he doesn’t seem more worked up. I mean, this was his fucking idea in the first place. He brought this little girl here. And god damn if I didn’t go ahead and fall for the little brat. I mean, how could you not?

She’s tough. I have no idea the horrors she’s seen in her short life, but she has a sweet side. And a funny side. I like hanging out with her when I pick her up from Rhys’s shop after work. She humors me and goes shopping with me. We watch trashy TV together. She won’t talk about boys with me yet, but I'm oddly excited about that part.

And now, Rhys is telling me that the motherfucker she’s afraid of can just take her away? No way.

“So what? We just sit here and wait around?”

He turns to me, and I see the defeat in his eyes. Bree is asleep—at least her little butt better be asleep. She has school tomorrow. And we’re in my room. His body is stretched out on the ridiculous chair as I lie on the bed facing him, already under the covers.

“Yes.” His voice is strained.

“That’s fucking stupid.”

I can tell his patience with me is growing thin. He tucks his inked, heavily muscled arm under his head as