In the 20-some hours that follow after sending Liam off to Jordan, I’m so consumed by our initial meeting that my focus is total shit. I get called out on it after an IEP conference for another client at one of the middle schools. Takes me ten minutes to convince my supervisor afterwards that I’m merely preoccupied and not on anything.

In an attempt to collect myself, I take my time with a cold deli sandwich on the shore of the city’s biggest lake. It’s a few blocks down from the middle school where the South Side melds into middle class, and less likely to be frequented by thugs.

The late morning’s a little warmer than the past few days, making the park a hot-spot for the locals to walk their little mutts, and stay-at-home moms to jog around the path in their designer spandex. I’ve always wondered what it must be like to have the luxury of spending every day doing whatever the fuck you want, making coffee dates and synching your fucking periods with other stay-at-home friends.

Leaning back on the blanket from my car, I will the warm sun to cancel out the paranoia lingering from my meeting with Liam. My heart flutters every time I remember the way he looked at me. But he’s so damn young. And I can’t let my feelings take the lead. It’s just every time I peered into those mischievous green eyes, brandishing his abuse for all to see, I saw a reflection of myself. I felt his pain, both the physical wounds and the mental anguish of being hurt by those who brought us into this world. We’ve both been through unbearable pain and rejection by those we expected to love us unconditionally.

As much as I want to show him that not everyone in the world is a heartless bastard, it would be close to impossible to open up without letting it go too far. Mere seconds after meeting him, he’d exposed my vulnerability unlike anyone before him. Getting emotionally involved with the beautiful, soon-to-be man would be dangerous, and that’s not how I roll. “Safe” became my middle name ever since I escaped the South Side.

There are too many ways I could hurt both Liam and myself.

Maybe Jordan could find him a nice girl from his school. One that would provide Liam with the kind of emotional stability he needs. But anyone who hasn’t grown up in the old neighborhood would never understand what he’s going through, or what he’s done to stay alive. Girls from other parts of the city would consider getting involved with him as “slumming it,” and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some spoiled brat treat him with any less than what he deserves.

He needs someone who’s walked in his shoes.

Someone who can empathize with all he’s endured.

Someone who can prove there is such a thing as unconditional love.

Once again, my foolish heart kicks up a beat as I recall the way my body reacted to him.

The generic melody of my work phone ringing nearly gives me a heart attack. I slide it out with one hand, playing with my ponytail with the other when the name of Liam’s school flashes across the screen.

“Brooke Emerson.”

“Miss Emerson,” a scratchy voice hisses, as if speaking in parseltongue, “this is Principal Fowler from South Valley High. I thought you would want to know straightaway that Liam Rooker skipped out on second block.”

Fuckity fuck. Why is this kid trying his damnedest to piss me off?

“Shall I contact the authorities so they may issue a warrant?” he asks.

“No, I’ll take care of it. Thank you for calling, Mr. Fowler.”

I tap the red phone icon, half tempted to toss my phone into the thawing lake. Where could that little shit have run off to? My first thought goes to the apartment he shares with his dad. When I told him I’d take him there over the weekend after the police have finished their investigation, he wasn’t too pleased with my answer. Apparently he plays bass in a band with his friends, and wasn’t keen on being separated from it for too long. Plus I’m certain he’s dying to get back into his own clothes and not the generic shit I bought. Nothing screams “foster care” like a kid on the South Side with a brand new, generic wardrobe.

I chide myself for not giving him one of the department’s pay-as-you-go phones that are always in my car. It’d be so much easier to find him with a simple call. Granted I would hate that it would give the little turd free reign to harass me all hours of the day. Or would I?

Convinced Liam’s apartment is the best place to start, I fold the blanket into a square and toss the plastic sandwich container into the garbage before heading for my car across the street. With the sight of Liam and a brunette off to my left, I forget that I’m waiting for the crosswalk light to turn, and stumble into the road.

What are the chances?

Pretty damn good, apparently. At least something is going my way for a change.

The thin girl scowls as Liam drags her behind. She probably doesn’t want to skip class with a South Sider. But her torn jeans, ratty sweater, and dirty shoes aren’t anything a middle or upper class teenage girl would be caught dead in. Could it be his girlfriend? She’s beautiful—almost exotic, although much younger, with stick-straight brown hair down to the middle of her back, and irises so dark that her eyes appear to be solid black circles.

I’m appalled when I recognize the hot sensation rising in my chest as jealousy, vile and unwanted. If I don’t lose my job over this kid, it’s guaranteed I’ll lose something valuable. Namely, my mind.

“Liam!” I call out, marching in their direction. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

At first, his eyes widen and his thick lips part with an expression I hadn’t seen on him before.

Hope.

He’s wearing the jeans and long sleeved shirt I picked up last night after work. By the time I dropped them by Jordan’s, Liam had already gone to bed. Honestly, I was just relieved that I didn't have to face him again. And now as I study him, I remember why. The shirt doesn’t show off his pectorals the way the bloodied shirt had, but damn it, he’s still irresistibly gorgeous. Arms that muscular have no business on a high schooler. Guilt rises in my throat for not chipping in my own money beyond the agency’s budget to buy him a light jacket.

The easy-going smirk that makes my throat dry slips over his mouth. His bright green eye—only one because the other is basically swollen shut today—slowly drags down my body, following the curve of the skirt that’s tight on my thighs beneath my trench coat, and down to my heeled boots. A raging inferno ignites in my belly as I attempt to swallow.

Lips twisting with a wicked grin, he winks with his healthy eye. “You following me, babydoll?”

Again with the damn nickname. My insides clench in a Pavlovian response until the girl snorts quietly beside him.

“No, but apparently I should,” I snap, squaring up in an authoritative stance. “Why aren’t you in school?”

He gestures toward the brunette before releasing his hold from her arm. “Had to deal with an emergency.”

The girl clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic. I still don’t understand why you had to pull me out of class.”

“Who are you?” I ask the girl, stopping myself short before adding and what are you doing with Liam?

Her lips snap shut. Worry fills her eyes as they dart to Liam.

He lifts one shoulder, slightly wincing like he momentarily forgot he’s broken inside. “She’s the sister of one of my closest buddies.”

I push my glasses up on the bridge of my nose as I ponder the best way to handle this. Whatever relationship he’s formed with this friend’s sister is obviously valuable. I simply need him to help me understand why he’d put his freedom at risk for her. It’s crucial to tread lightly in order to preserve what little family he has left. “So what’s the emergency?”

Liam crosses his arms, giving me one of his holier-than-thou grins that does the weirdest shit to my insides. It’s like teetering over the edge of the peak on a roller coaster, knowing I’m about to plunge to the bottom, only sexual. Very sexual. Proof pools in my cotton underwear as he’s licking his lips.

“Remember that favor you promised me?” He quirks one eyebrow, eye lit with mischief. “This is me, cashing in.”

* * *

While Sasha’s in Jordan’s living room, flipping through Netflix with the bewilderment of a kid with new toys on Christmas morning, I join Liam as he puffs on a cigarette on the front step. The well maintained neighborhood’s quiet since everyone’s either at work or school. Like Liam and I should be.

I’ve always been jealous that Jordan can afford to live in a house in this nice of a neighborhood over my cramped apartment complex. Though not jealous enough to take him up on the offer to move into his spare room. At least my apartment’s in an area far enough from the South Side that I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed, or having shit stolen.

I cross my arms, trying to decide if the flutter in my stomach is from being around Liam again, or the fact that I could be in the deepest of shit for aiding him. “Are you going to at least tell me why I should help you conceal a fourteen-year-old from my own department?” Irritation over the situation grows with every second, gnawing at my obligations like a shark out of water. “By law I’m a mandated reporter. Jordan too. That means we’re both breaking the law by—”

“I know what that means,” he snaps, flicking ashes onto the sidewalk. “I’ve been around the system long enough to speak legalese bullshit.” With another drag of the cigarette, his uninjured eye drifts closed. “Her brother, Trask, started taking care of her after their crack-whore mom bailed out on them over Christmas. He still isn’t eighteen, so he knows they’ll both go to a foster home if your people discover they’re living alone.”

I pinch my lips together before I correct him on who “my people” really are, instead letting him continue.

“The cops came to school this morning, dragged him off in handcuffs. He didn’t say what they’re charging him with, but I have a feeling he’s in a shit-storm of trouble. He begged me not to let anything happen to Sasha. I had no other choice except to promise him that I’d keep her safe. He’s like a brother, and that means something when I don’t have shit for family.” His lone eyelid snaps open, beautiful green eye locking with mine. I’m made prisoner by the intensity of the striking hue, unable to move or breathe. “I think King Marty might be after him, and Trask is worried he’ll come after Sasha too.”

Stomach clenched, I lower to the step at his side. “Oh…shit. You’re asking me to provide her sanctuary from the South Side king?”

Before he can answer, I pluck the smoke from his fingers and take a long, hard drag. My lungs burn, and the bitter flavor makes me a little nauseated. I’m soon rewarded with a mild floating sensation. I absentmindedly blow the smoke from my nose before letting my head roll forward.

I’m so fucked. Our similar pasts have connected us in a way that can’t be undone. How can I tell him no?

“Goddamn, that’s sexy,” Liam says quietly, almost as if to himself.

I turn to face him, stomach warmed with the close proximity of his body to mine. So, so dangerously close. “Why do you think King Marty is after him?”

“Because King Marty’s head honcho was sniffing around the school right before Trask was arrested. Trask sells pot for King Marty, but I have a feeling this was something else.”

A flicker of unease clenches my stomach. I know these kids do what they can to make it through another day, but for all I know, Liam has his hands in something that could put him behind bars for life. “Do you work for him too?”

“No fuckin’ way. The other guys in my crew ran errands for him once they were old enough to start hiding Playboys under their mattresses. Trask once told me it was innocent shit, like collecting rent from King Marty’s tenants, and passing messages along to other businesses that weren’t abiding by his strict rules. By the time I moved there, King Marty was using guys like Terrance Fisher to enforce his ruling.” Anger darkens his expression as he shakes his head, sneering. “Someone doesn’t become a multi-millionaire by renting out shitty buildings that should’ve been leveled decades ago, and selling pot to local college kids. He earned the respect of the neighborhood by beating a man to death for outbidding him on the auction of a building the city was threatening to condemn. Having Trask arrested wouldn’t be out of the realm of his business practices.”

Taking a calming breath, I hold his stare “It’s bad enough that I’m breaking the law along with violating a handful of ethical principles. We can’t get Jordan involved in this.”

His thick lips curl with a sexy smile that sends shivers through me. “You saying you’ll do this?”

Taking another drag of the smoke, I roll my eyes to the cloudy sky. I’m not going to verbalize anything that could be used against me in a court of law. “If my nosey neighbors start to ask questions, I’ll say she’s a niece. But it’s only a temporary solution.”

Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m really going to take this kid in. Not only because it’s wrong in every way imaginable, but because having her around could become a painful reminder of what I gave up.

“She won’t give you any trouble,” Liam insists. “She’s only a brat when I’m around.”

“I’m not worried about that.” I stop to take another long drag, forgetting how addictive this shit can be when under stress. “But if King Marty wants at her, he can pluck her right out of school. Administration wouldn’t dare stop him.”

Liam nods with a distant look passing through his good eye, the silhouette of his strong features making him appear so much older than seventeen. “Then we keep her at your place for a few days until I know more.”

“The school will send out a delinquency warning if she’s gone more than three days in a row.”

“So call her in sick,” he says, lifting one side of his lips with a smirk. “The school thinks they’re still living with their mom. Trask pays a waitress around the corner from his place to call in whenever they have to report something like this.”

And so it goes, the normal life of a South Sider. It’s astounding how many kids I’ve met over the years who were living on their own either because their parents are too wasted, or simply don’t feel responsible to care for the life they brought into the world.

We’re both quiet as I take another hit of nicotine. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but what if Trask is sentenced to life? She can’t hide out at my place forever.”

Just like that, a dark shadow falls over Liam’s features. His jaw goes to work as his gaze darts off into the distance. “That won’t fuckin’ happen.”

A sense of sadness for these kids wars with the need to make his foul mood disappear. “We’ll find a way to get him out of there,” I agree, although I have no idea how to make that happen when we don’t even know what Trask is being charged with. “My friend Pete is a public defender for the county. He’s not the best out there, but I trust him. He wouldn’t cave if King Marty tried to get to him. I’ll give him a call and see what we can find out. Maybe he can ask to be assigned to Trask’s case.” I shift on the step so I’m facing him head-on. “If this really involves King Marty, you need to keep your distance from Trask so you aren’t tempted to dig into the truth. We don’t want to tip him off that we’re onto him. Any questions you have can be fielded through Trask’s attorney.”

“Look at you, being all cloak n’ dagger and shit.” With a deep chuckle, he reclaims the smoke, sliding his fingers over mine. I shiver, my thighs automatically squeezing together from his touch, releasing a trickle of arousal between my legs. He grins knowingly while taking a long, slow drag. “Better watch out. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing your hair down.”

While he stomps the cigarette out and heads inside, I hold my breath and give myself a mental lashing for letting my resolve slip.

I am so very fucked. This kid already has me wrapped around his finger.

* * *

The following day after school, I meet Liam and Jordan at the courthouse for Liam’s first court appearance since the morning he was in the hospital. He’s ordered to remain in emergency foster care, attend counseling and anger management courses, continue close supervision, and meet with his assigned public defender to discuss charges pending his father’s condition. It’s standard considering his situation, and I’m hopeful anything criminal will disappear with time.

When the county attorney reports Liam’s father is beginning to show improvement, I notice Liam’s fists clench at his sides as a dark cloud of rage settles behind his annoyed expression. Tensing, he lifts his hand. “Your honor, I’d like to respectfully request that I be released from foster care after turning eighteen this coming Saturday. I could report in with Miss Emerson every day, or do whatever it takes to prove I’m staying out of trouble.”

Judge Groll peers at Liam over his reading glasses, smoothing his forehead with a lone finger. “Taking into consideration the fact that you may be facing attempted murder charges, the court’s inclined to retain jurisdiction over you until you turn nineteen. You’ll remain under strict supervision until otherwise ordered. This case is adjourned.”

With the pounding of the judge’s gavel, Jordan nudges Liam’s arm on his way out. Liam stands rooted in place, fingers clutching the chair in front of him. Anger crackles through the air between us when I lightly rest my fingertips against his forearm.

“I told Jordan I’m taking you to get more clothes tonight,” I whisper. I grabbed a few more things for both him and Sasha while on my lunch break, giving Jordan proof of our bogus shopping trip. “You can come by my place after dinner. I figured you’d want to spend some time with Sasha.”

Tension melts off his expression when his mouth twists in a small smile and he nods.

When he stops by a little before nine, it’s jarring to see him in my apartment. It’s definitely not because he appears out of place, although being around him is like watching a Hugo Boss ad come to life. My heart races as his one eye takes in every little detail of my scarce belongings before he settles into the battered couch at Sasha’s side. He’s more at home than I’ve felt since moving in a couple years ago. Like it’s where he belongs.

They watch a cheesy sitcom for the next hour, ribbing each other like they’re siblings. Sasha and I haven’t had much time alone since she was still sleeping when I left for work. As soon as I got home after the hearing, she was polite as could be and even volunteered to help make spaghetti. Her sense of humor is dry, but she’s funny all the same, and she has a sweet side. Her brother must take good care of her, because with her manners, I wouldn’t have guessed she’s a kid from the South Side. She must’ve thanked me a dozen times for letting her stay.

By the time she was done picking at her dinner, it became apparent that she’s concerned about her brother’s fate. With every question I wasn’t able to answer about what will happen, her shoulders sunk a little more and her dark eyes filled with worry. Her woes evaporated the moment Liam arrived. Ironically, that’s the same moment mine began to fester.

I’m getting far too involved in his problems. It’s becoming difficult to separate where my duties end as his social worker, and where our forging friendship begins. I’m elated when he’s around, and worried sick when he isn’t. I almost took off from work early to check on him when he didn’t answer the burner phone I gave him before leaving Jordan’s yesterday.

“I’m going to bed,” Sasha announces, rising from the couch and stretching her arms up to the ceiling. “Thanks again for letting me stay here, Brooke.” The sleep shirt I bought her rises, showing off her bellybutton. Liam snaps his eyes back to the TV, lips twitching with a deep scowl.

“You seriously don’t have to keep thanking me,” I tell her, offering a warm smile. “I’m happy to have you here.”

She nudges Liam’s knee on her way out of the room. “Night, loser.”

“Night, loser,” he parrots without looking back at her. With the sound of the spare bedroom door clicking shut, his smile drops with the flick of a switch. “What’d you find out about Trask?”

“My friend met with him late yesterday afternoon.” I rise from the recliner and take Sasha’s place beside him on the couch. The reflex to take his hand is so overwhelming that I ball my hands together in my lap to avoid the temptation. “Liam…it isn’t good.”

“Give it to me straight.” His eye narrows, and the kind of dark, ominous glare he exhibited at our initial meeting returns. “Don’t sugar coat this shit.”

“He’s being charged with first degree murder.”

His uninjured eye blinks several times. “What the fuck?”

“The night before Trask was arrested, a guy by the name of Elvin Halverson was shot three times in the chest. They found a gun in the ditch just a few feet away. With Trask’s fingerprints.”

“That’s bullshit!” Liam shoots to his feet, face flushing dark red. He’s beautifully terrifying in this moment, looking ready to tear someone or something apart. “Trask wouldn’t kill that idiot! Elvin works for King Marty—this has his stench all over it!”

My heart aches, knowing how much Trask means to him. I reach for his hand and pull him back down, hushing him with a finger held to my lips. “I haven’t told Sasha any of this yet.” Against my better judgment, I don’t let go of his hand once he’s sitting back beside me. It somewhat helps to lessen the physical pain I endure whenever seeing his broken face. “I don’t think we need to scare her this early on.”

His fingers link through mine, causing bolts of pleasure to shoot through my core. “He’s all she fuckin’ has in this world.”

I nod knowingly. “Pete said the details of the case sound sketchy at best. He thinks there’s a fair chance of getting the charges dropped. Trask said he can round up several witnesses that saw him hanging around Slick Willie’s the night of the murder.” Although my insides are as unsteady as a Jell-O shot, I firmly squeeze his hand, wishing there was more I could do to console him. “Any theories on why King Marty would set him up?”

“No.” He glances down to where his thumb robotically rubs the back of my hand. “But I’m sure as shit going to find out.”

Quivering with his touch, I wet my lips. Everything about this situation is beyond dangerous. “If you go digging around in Trask’s business, King Marty will hear about it. I’ll have Pete delve into their relationship on Friday morning after his omnibus hearing. Trust me, Liam, it’s better this way.”

His beautiful eye darts back to me. “I’m going to that hearing.”

“Of course.” I squeeze his hand again, trying to ignore the fact that his touch turns me on more than shirtless pictures of Charlie Hunnam. “It’s best if you don’t say anything aside from offering words of support. King Marty could have spies everywhere.”

He nods along as I speak. Then he flashes a smile that catapults my heart into my throat. “Will you be there?”

“If you want me to be, yeah.”

Nodding again, his mesmerizing green eye swarms with appreciation. The potency of his stare sends shivers racing through every last inch of my body. “How’d I get so lucky to find you? What you’re doing for me and Sasha…Trask…I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. “You didn’t find me. It’s my job to protect you.”

“A job you could lose for helping us. You’re a better person than I’ll ever be.”

“You don’t know that.” My free hand reaches for the end of my ponytail, smoothing it self-consciously.

A hand clamps around my wrist. “What did I say about doing that?” Teeth clenched, he leans in until the dark smell of teenage boy fills me. It’s a mystical scent that’s so heady my breaths come in short bursts. And I swear I can taste the smoke on his lips. His thumb begins a sensual assault on the inside of my wrist, stroking and kneading. “Do you want to see me lose control?”

Pleasure sticks to my throat like tar, rendering me unable to form a coherent answer. I imagine him touching me in other ways, playing me like the strings of his bass. Eyelids fluttering closed, my face warms with a flush that spreads down my neck and tightens my nipples.

I know I should say no. But my body won’t stay quiet. Yes, it begs, for the love of God and all that’s holy, let him lose control.

The palm of his other hand covers my knee, fingers dangle dangerously close to the hemline of my skirt. “Something tells me you do.” His words come out in a sexier than hell, throaty whisper as his hand creeps up a smidgen further. “I think you wore a skirt two days in a row because you regretted not wearing one the first time we met…when I offered to bend you over the table.”

“Liam, please,” I whimper, peeking back at him through my heavy lids. My labored breaths are loud and brass to my own ears, and my hurried pulse shakes my entire body. Although I know I should tell him to stop, I can’t form the words. He’s made me impossibly wet just by touching my knee. I can’t imagine how divine it would be to experience his hands all over my body.

But I can’t allow it to happen.

“Please what? You want me to take you back in your room and bend you over, babydoll? Fuck you until we both pass out?”

Jesus Lord, yes.

Wait. No!

I shake my head, fighting past my disoriented thoughts. “Stop. This can’t happen. You’re too…young.”

“Bullshit. I’ll be eighteen in days.” His lips move in a fraction of an inch closer the same time his fingers climb farther up my thigh, pausing just inches from my throbbing warmth. “Is that close enough?”

Bolts of lighting electrify my skin with his taunting, feather-light touch until I’m sure I’ll implode. He’s no longer talking about his scandalous age. He’s asking for permission to reach farther up, to stroke the bundle of nerves dancing between my legs, and I can’t muster the willpower to say no.

My eyelids flutter back shut, although I continue to shake my head. “If I were to let this happen while you’re a minor, I could lose my license. They could send me to prison. We need to wait. It can’t be any other way.”

All at once, I sense him drawing back. His hands, his scent, everything is gone, replaced by a sudden chill. His dark, disembodied voice floats through the small space of my living room. “If that’s really what you believe, then I guess I have to respect that.”

By the time I’ve regained my senses and open my eyes again, my apartment door is already closing behind him.

Why did I tell him we have to wait? Why didn’t I slap him for touching me, and make him leave the second he came onto me?

What the hell is wrong with me?