Cards of Love: Knight of Swords

“Is it true?” she asked.

“Mostly. One of my foster homes, the dad taught martial arts, so I learned from him.”

“Was it a good home?”

She seemed so genuinely concerned, I actually wanted to talk about it, something I hadn’t done in a long time.

“Yeah, they were nice people. Probably the best home I’ve been in.”

“What happened?”

“They had a baby.” I shrugged as if the memory didn’t sting. “My time was up.”

“Do you still keep in touch—”

I shook my head, cutting her off. “No, that’s discouraged.”

“That’s so sad.”

Her mouth turned down. She seemed so damn distressed by my story. Maybe I should’ve kept it to myself. I’d never thought of my situation as happy or sad.

It was all I knew.

Ten

Roman

The rest of the day wasn’t as exciting as my morning. I did manage to stay out of trouble. Doug and his friends avoided me.

Actually, everyone except Juliet acted like I had a contagious disease. Maybe word had spread that I was one of the kids from the group home. I didn’t dwell on it, because I didn’t care.

Before our last class of the day, I found Juliet waiting for me, just as pretty as she’d been first thing this morning.

“We have to stop meeting this way,” she teased, stepping aside, so I could chuck my books in the locker before we headed to art class.

I liked art. Maybe not as much as Pip enjoyed it, but I could draw a decent portrait if I had a worthy subject.

Juliet would be worth drawing.

Hell, my notebook already contained half a dozen doodles of her long hair, secret smile, and perfect profile.

It was a small, advanced art class taught by a somewhat eccentric middle-aged guy—Mr. Broom. I’d joined the class right before they started a section on photography. A subject that interested me but I’d never had the luxury of exploring. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to have a flip phone. While all my peers were busy snapping selfies and fucking around on social media, I was busy with therapy sessions, learning house rules, protecting myself, and chores.

There was an extra fee for this part of the class and I’d have to ask one of the counselors or my caseworker to approve it. I usually avoided asking for anything, but I didn’t want to drop out of the class.

We sat two to four kids to a table and naturally I sat right next to Juliet. So close our legs touched from thigh to knee. A thrill ran through me at the contact and she peeked up at me as if she sensed it too.

After the opening lecture, Mr. Broom strolled through the room, passing out magazines that demonstrated different styles of photography.

Mr. Broom stopped by my table and leaned down. My whole body tensed, afraid I was already in trouble.

“Your fee has been taken care of, so you don’t need to worry about it, Mr. Hawkins,” he said quietly before straightening up and walking away.

It was a relief, but it also bothered me. Taken care of by who? The school? Mr. Broom? He didn’t even know me. My social worker? She barely seemed to know where I was half the time.

It was a mystery I couldn’t solve, but I was grateful that for once in my life something wouldn’t be a big deal. Grateful he went out of his way not to embarrass me, allowing me to avoid the shame of being the poor orphan begging for scraps.

We took the magazines home and I was supposed to decide what subjects moved me. People, nature, animals, objects?

After class, I wanted to talk to Mr. Broom, but he was surrounded by students, so I followed Juliet into the hallway instead.

“What did he say to you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Her face fell as if she expected to share things with me and I’d disappointed her. “I’ll tell you on the way home,” I added.

The way home. On the way to her home. I didn’t have one.

“Oh, I can’t wait until we get an actual camera. And we’re going to develop the film ourselves. That will be so much fun!” Juliet skipped ahead of me, hair flying behind her. I jogged to catch up to her, grabbing her hand to slow her down.

Her enthusiasm was infectious and I found myself smiling.

That smile didn’t fade until we got closer to her house and I spotted some guy crouched down in front of an all matte-black Harley Davidson motorcycle in her driveway. I pulled her back, stopping her in her tracks. “Who is that?”

“Who? Where?” She glanced around and when her gaze landed on the leather-clad biker, she broke into a grin. “Uncle Dex!” she jerked out of my hold and ran toward the stranger.

I sprinted after her, still unsure whether the guy was a danger to her. At the sound of her voice, he stood and turned. A grin broke out over his face. He held out his arms and she launched herself at him.

Who the fuck was this dude?

She laughed and chattered a mile a minute as he spun her in a quick circle, then set her down. His gaze landed on me and he placed a protective arm around her. “Who’s your friend, Julez?”

She grabbed his hand and tugged him in my direction. “Dex, this is my friend, Roman. He’s new in school and we share a locker and a bunch of classes,” she said in a rush.

Dex was no fool, he took one look at me and knew I wanted to be a hell of a lot more than Juliet’s friend. I’d gotten similar looks from girls’ fathers in the past. This guy might not be her dad, but he had overprotective instincts like one. Not in a creepy-asshole way like the uncle I met yesterday. No, this guy’s demeanor was completely different. Something I actually respected.

I nodded and held out my hand. “Roman Hawkins, sir. Moved to the area recently and Juliet’s been kind enough to show me around school.”

He shook my hand and released Juliet. “Nice to meet you, Roman.” His shrewd gaze lingered, observing everything no doubt. I stood up straight under his scrutiny because anything else wouldn’t earn his respect.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Juliet asked with a pleading note in her voice I hadn’t heard her use before.

“Can’t, Julez. You know that. I did want to give you an early birthday present though.”

“Really?” She squeezed her hands together and squealed a bunch of happy noises. Damn, she was fucking cute all excited. She grabbed each of our hands and dragged us toward the back porch. While we settled into chairs, she ran inside.

“So where you from, Roman?”

“All over.” I wasn’t trying to be evasive. That was the truth.

“Where do you live?” he asked in a more specific, don’t-bullshit-me-tone.

I swallowed hard and met his stare head-on. “At the Pine Bluff Group Home, sir.”

His eyes narrowed and he nodded. “How’d you end up there?”

I knew what he was asking. Was I a delinquent who got tossed into the system by the criminal courts—someone who might hurt his niece—or was I an orphan?

Instead of giving him my whole sad history, I answered the question he really wanted to know. “Been bouncing around the foster care system since I was seven years old. Never found the right family to adopt me, sir.”

That seemed to relieve some of his tension about me and he settled back in his chair just as Juliet burst out of the house carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and several glasses. I jumped up to help her, taking the tray and setting it on the low table in front of her uncle.

“Thank you,” Juliet said breathlessly. “I was worried I would drop it for a minute.”

I caught Dex watching me again as I sat back in my chair and looked away. My grandmother had been strict when I lived with her. She firmly believed that being polite never went out of style. That meant holding open doors, carrying heavy things, and generally helping ladies instead of standing by and watching. It was probably childish, but I liked to think if Grandma was somewhere watching over me she’d be proud I hadn’t let the system beaten her lessons out of me.

&nbs

p; Juliet sat facing her uncle and gave him her full attention while he handed over a package tightly wrapped with dazzling silver paper. I’ll admit I was a little jealous. First, I didn’t realize Juliet had a birthday coming up. Second, even if I did know about her birthday, I didn’t have a penny to buy her anything.

She gasped and squealed when she pulled out the dark, green leather jacket.

“Oh my God, it’s beautiful. So perfect!” She jumped up and slipped it on, zipping it up to her chin. “Am I ready to ride with you now?” she asked her uncle.

He stood and fixed the collar for her. “Gotta get you a helmet and Aunt Suzy’s permission first.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “Never gonna happen.”

“If not, I promise I’ll take you out for your eighteenth birthday, okay?”

“I’m holding you to it.”

He laughed. “Expect nothing less from you, Julez.”

She sat down and peppered him with questions about his travels and I gathered she hadn’t seen him in a long time.

“What do you do that keeps you on the road so much?” I blurted out, genuinely curious. Having never been outside of New York state—except for a miserable six weeks at a “youth wilderness camp” in Massachusetts—I was dying to travel and it sounded like Dex did a lot of it.

“Different things,” he answered with practiced evasiveness.

“He does a lot of charity runs with his motorcycle club too, right Uncle Dex?”

His lips twisted into a half-smile. “That’s right.”