Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

“Ms. Carter,” I said, my voice softer than I’d intended.

She rose from her seat, the boy on her hip, her steps timid as she slung a duffle bag over her shoulder.

I gave her a tentative smile and led the pair back to my cubicle.

“You must be Liam,” I said, grinning at the toddler as she tried to settle him in the chair next to hers. He cried a bit, more of a whine, and it was almost more painful to see the exhaustion in his little eyes than his mother’s.

“Yes,” Melissa said, a deep sigh ripping from her as she tried to appease him.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. She was scared but trying to hold it together for her son, trying to keep herself from crumbling.

“Would it be all right with you if I gave Liam a little prize?” I asked, never daring to bring out a toy without asking the parent first.

“Sure,” she said, her eyes flickering around my desk.

I opened the bottom-right drawer—the one I kept stocked for occasions such as these—and grabbed a thick, colorful board book.

“Do you like animals, Liam?” I asked and handed the book to him, his eyes lighting up at the size and color and sounds the book made as he opened the pages. There were flaps hiding pictures of animals and sections of textured pages and glittered pages, too. A proper busy book, and as he hunted and searched it, his breathing calmed, his mind focused, and Melissa’s eyes closed for a moment from the silence.

“Thank you,” she said, her words barely a whisper.

Everything about her was quiet, tired, scared. She was only seventeen-years-old, but she looked like she’d weathered a few lifetimes in her short one. Too skinny, too frail, but she had a small fire burning behind her eyes when she watched Liam play with that book. A determination only a mother could muster from the hollow depths of exhaustion.

“Of course,” I said, keeping my voice as even and soft as possible. I always wanted my clients to feel safe, comfortable, and relaxed when they came to my office. More often than not with the cases I received, their lives were chaotic enough and didn’t need me adding to it with instant declarations of procedure and process. “Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked. “Or eat?” I added, hoping I wouldn’t offend her, but the girl looked starved. Starved for food and sleep and safety.

God, it was enough to churn my stomach, but I kept my face a mask of even calm. I’d mastered the art of separation over my years as a social worker, but some cases—like Melissa’s—had a way of creeping in and gripping me by the heartstrings. Especially ones that were so similar to my own—a lifetime ago.

She chewed on her lip, her eyes wary.

“I’ll go grab a few things,” I said before she could answer. I was up and back from our break room in no time. I handed her a bottle of water and set a few granola bars and two mini-boxes of Cheerios in front of her. “Is he on these yet?” I asked, indicating the tiny yellow boxes.

“Sometimes,” she said, opening the cereal before scooping the rest of the goods into her tattered duffle bag. “When I can get them.” She dumped a few Cheerios into her palm, her fingers trembling as she offered them to Liam.

He gobbled them up so fast she merely handed him the opened box and let him dig in while he continued to play with the book.

Tears pricked behind my eyes, my mind recalling a time when I went to bed with a hollow stomach but slept soundly knowing Elliott had had a good amount of food that day.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat and the memories away in one quick shift of my body. “I need to ask you some questions,” I said, trying like hell not to sound like a police officer.

Safe. I wanted to say. You are safe.

“Okay,” she said, wringing her hands.

“Before I’m able to place you, I need to know if there are any relatives you have that you’d rather—”

“No. They don’t…” She shook her head. “They cut me out of their lives.” Her eyes fell on Liam for a moment before returning to me. “A year ago.”

I gave her an understanding nod.

That kind of betrayal would haunt her for the rest of her life.

“Do you have a place of employment?” I continued, forcing myself not to rage for this girl. For the situation she was in. For the fear in her eyes.

“I work at the Y,” she said. “Check people’s memberships and enroll people in classes. Clean.”

I nodded again.

“It’s the only place I could find that has a daycare during shifts.”

“That’s incredibly smart of you,” I said. “You’ll be able to save more that way.”

A flicker of a smile danced on her lips before it vanished.

“And school?”

She shook her head.

“Not a problem,” I said. “We can always talk about getting your GED later down the road. After we’ve placed you and you get on your feet.”

After a few more minutes of routine questions, I came to one of the hardest parts of my job. “I’ll need you to take a drug test,” I said, my face even. “The home I’d like to place you in has a zero-tolerance drug policy and requires monthly tests to maintain residence.”

“I’ve never touched anything like that,” she said, shrugging. “But he did…” Her voice trailed off, and I pressed my lips together.

“The bathroom is down the hall and to the left,” I said. “You’ll find everything you need in the basket on the table. When you’re done, place it in the metal door.”

She eyed Liam, peaceful, content, munching on the cereal, and looking through the book.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” I said. “I promise,” I added when she looked like she might scoop him up, the debate on whether to take him with her or let him have his moment of peace clear on her face.

She nodded and hurried to where I’d indicated.

Liam never looked up at me, never even registered his mom had left. There was a familiar sort of quiet as he crunched on those Cheerios and lifted those book flaps, his tiny fingers working, his little mind soaring at the colors and sounds.

For a moment, a split second, I longed for that age. Elliott had just turned ten and was an incredibly smart, talented girl, but she was as stubborn as me. Not that she had been any less stubborn as a one-year-old, but at least then she hadn’t been so adequate in her reasoning to fight me on something.

I smiled thinking of my strong-willed girl. Thinking of how we’d somehow made it out. Sure, we didn’t have a glamorous life by any means, and we didn’t need one either. She was fed, clothed, went to a good school, had friends.

Safe.

We were safe.

And every day of my life since she’d been born I’d worked damn hard to ensure that.

“Done,” Melissa said, grounding me in the present as she sat back down. Liam flashed her a wide smile, pointing to a page filled with bright yellow ducks.

“Perfect,” I said ten minutes later, the test coming back negative. I rifled through my drawer and pulled out a brochure featuring details on the home I was going to place her in. “This is where I’d like you to go,” I said, handing her the paper. “The residence is specifically for young mothers and only admits women and their children. They also offer classes, give certifications, and provide childcare when necessary.”

Her fingers shook as she slid them over the paper.

“They offer three meals a day,” I continued. “The bedrooms are small but clean and warm and—”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I didn’t know how long we could keep…”

I didn’t make her finish. I knew from her file she’d been staying in some of the free shelters scattered across the city. The facilities were in desperate need of an upgrade, but funding was low. It was always low. And they only let guests stay one night, forcing them to take their belongings with them whenever they left, and return entry was a first-come-first-served basis.

The place I was sending her to was relatively new, merely a ha

ndful of years old, and was the by-product of Paige Jackson’s chain of establishments throughout Seattle. It had been somewhat of an honor meeting her at Connor Bridgeton’s shindig a few weeks ago.

I’d known about her charitable work in the homeless circuit for years, but had never actually thought I’d meet her. She was in a whole other pay-bracket, so far up I’d need a crane to get on her level. But she’d been so down to earth and welcoming and humble at the party. Kind and generous and it hadn’t felt like we were so far apart of the social realm as we sipped drinks and chatted about our respective fields.

I’d meant to send Connor a thank you note or text or something but had let the busy days sweep me away. He’d been an easy, if not interesting case. His band of Seattle Shark brothers had rallied behind him in a way I’d never seen before, a true family—not of blood but something stronger—and it had been an incredible experience to be a part of. Of course, I’d known Hannah—his niece—would find no greater father than him, but we’d had to go through the motions. I was grateful to this day that his celebrity status hadn’t gotten in the way of adopting her—she was in the best care possible.

“This is temporary,” I said, coming back to myself. “But it’s monthly, with needs and progress assessed at the end of each month. They will not kick you out unless you’ve broken one of their rules.”

She chewed on her lip again.

“Which don’t include noisy toddlers,” I said, smiling. “They revolve around no drugs, no alcohol, and no overnight guests. They want to see effort, too, but you’re already one step ahead there with your employment status.” I resisted the urge to reach across my desk and squeeze her hand. “Any questions?”

She touched the brochure. “How far away is this?”

“You can check in today,” I said. “I called them after I checked your test result.”