Subject Name: Melissa Carter

Age: Seventeen

Report: Has one-year-old son. Liam Carter. Boy’s biological father has multiple arrests for domestic violence and burglary. Melissa currently homeless after fleeing the residence with child.

A cold chill snaked down my spine as I read the case file. The kind of freezing ice that threatened to rob me of breath and thought, and despite sitting at my desk, I shot back in time.

Elliott wailing in my arms, not even a year old yet.

Cracked drywall in fist-shaped holes.

“Shea?” Grace stood at the edge of my desk, her long, dark hair hanging off her shoulders as she tilted her head at me.

“Hmm?” I blinked away the burning in my eyes, straightening my spine as I looked up at my friend and co-worker.

“You’re three o’clock is here,” she said, but the concern coloring her brown eyes didn’t clear. “You okay?”

Grace knew some of my history, though it took years of working together and endless coffee dates to let her in. Our daughters were instant BFFs, but I had walls around my heart that were hard to breach. Grace had earned my trust after she’d sat with me for nine hours in the emergency room a few years ago when Elliott had to get three stitches in her bottom lip because she’d busted it during a softball game.

“Yes,” I finally said, shaking off the memories that tangled in my chest. “This one,” I said, a bit more quietly, pointing to the computer screen, “reminds me of someone I used to know.” Not a complete lie, but this wasn’t us drinking wine on her couch. We were at work, and I didn’t need or want to let my past dominate my present.

She eyed the opened case file, then me, and pressed her lips together. Gathering enough but never pushing. Grace squeezed my shoulder on the way back to her cubicle. “We need a Taco Tuesday,” she said, settling back into her chair. Her cubicle was only ten feet away from mine.

“I could definitely go for that,” I said, standing and smoothing my shirt. The material was modest but hugged my curves in a way that made me feel both professional and a little sexy. Not that I was dressing up for anyone special—like someone who sporadically showed up to bring me bubble tea.

Heat rushed through my body at the memory of how Porter’s massive frame had filled my cubicle. The way his voice was soft, almost timid, as he’d made his case. I was still reeling from it. Still feeling that slight ache...

But I hadn’t wanted or needed a man in nine years.

“Make the reservation,” I called over my shoulder as I walked toward the waiting area.

“On it,” Grace answered.

And then I was walking through two sets of doors, my ballet flats clicking against the tiled floor. I scanned the faces waiting to be seen, and my heart lurched. It didn’t matter that a cranky one-year-old boy clung to her neck, I would’ve been able to pick her out even if the baby wasn’t with her. Because her face—I’d seen that emotionally drained, haunted look before. I’d felt the crack of pain and heat that came from gaining a bruise like the one spiderwebbed over her left cheek.

“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 handful 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.”

She shook her head. “I mean, how many miles away from here is it?”

“Oh,” I said, tilting my head. “It’s about a fifteen-minute drive.”

Her shoulders sank, her eyes darting between her bag and Liam. She wouldn’t waste money on a cab, I realized, and the bus, while a viable option, was still a nightmare with a toddler in tow.

I grabbed my cell and tapped on an app. “I’ll get you an Uber,” I said.

“No,” she protested. “You’ve already done enough, Ms. Lansing.”

I waved her off. “Done.” I shrugged, glancing at Liam. “He’ll have a car seat and everything.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

I wrote my cell number on the back of my office card. “If you need anything at all or have questions about something, please feel free to call me at this number. Anytime, day or night.”

She took the card.

I didn’t always give out my cell number, but this girl…her situation…

I remembered what it was like, being that alone. Being that lost. Living day to day with worry and fear and hunger.

Elliott didn’t remember those days. Didn’t remember the cheap motels she’d lived in those first few days after we’d run. Until we’d met a miracle of a man, Mr. Barnes, who had seen something in me. Took pity on me. Let me intern as he put me through school, helped me secure a studio apartment. Until I graduated early and finally started making a decent enough living where I could give Elliott her own room.

“I really don’t know how to thank you,” she said, gathering her things.

“You don’t have to,” I said, standing with her to walk her to the door.

She scooped Liam onto her hip and eyed the book that hadn’t left his fingers.

“Oh, that’s his,” I said, and smiled at the relief in her eyes. “Keep me posted,” I said as they walked toward the waiting room.

“I will.” She smiled at me over her shoulder, and the hope in her eyes filled me. Reminded me why I went into this profession. Reminded me that sometimes people needed a break, a helping hand, someone who believed in them. And if I could be even a small part of that, then every stress that came with the job was worth it.

“Two margaritas,” Grace said to our waiter later that night.

“And two lemonades,” Elliott added from her side of the booth where she sat next to Grace’s daughter, Charlie. The two played with the restaurant’s interactive trivia app, giggling and groaning through each successful and not-so-successfully answered question.

I leaned back against the booth slightly, the events of the day uncoiling from my tense muscles at the sound of my happy girl.

Safe.

She’s safe.

The memories had haunted me all day thanks to my most recent case, but there was a warmth in my blood and hope in my heart at the thought of helping that young girl. She could’ve been me—

She was me.

I glanced at Elliott, her lip curled in concentration as she read the answers on the tablet in front of her, her green eyes so pale they almost looked gray in this light. Sometimes I wished they were gray—like mine. Selfish, maybe. She had my nose, my hair, my cheekbones. But her eyes? They were…

Hers.

They are hers.

I nodded to myself, resisting the urge to jerk her into a hug. I wouldn’t dare mess up her game. The girl bordered on insanity when it came to any sort of competition—she craved the win, the success of hard work paid off. But, to my heart’s delight, she was an incredible loser on the rare case she didn’t win at something she tried. Sportsmanship was one of her best and most adorable abilities—beyond being able to dribble a soccer ball with her eyes closed or throw a baseball so hard the catcher’s hand stung. She was the first to say good game or offer a helping, soothing hand to a hurt or distraught player.

Perfect.

She was perfect.

Lemonade sprayed from Elliott’s mouth, dotting the tablet and half the table before her. Laughing at something Charlie had said.

I quickly grabbed some napkins and handed them to her, giving her a small smile but with enough of an eye that she knew what she needed to do.

“Excuse me,” she said, reeling in her giggles as she mopped up the table.

Grace snorted as the girls went back to wholly ignoring us. “Cheers,” she said, holding up her margarita.

“To the end of the work day,” I said, clinking my chilled glass against hers.

The sweet-sour mixture danced on my tongue, the spice of the tequila warm as it slid down my throat. I sighed and licked the salt off my lips.

“It was a long one,” Grace said, taking another drink.

I mimicked her. “Aren’t they all?” I teased as our food arrived.

I loved my job. There was nothing else I wanted to do in the world…but each day brought new challenges, new fears, new anxieties. Like when we had to place biological children in foster care or return children from extended care back to their biological parent. Or when we had to helplessly watch as a parent failed their children so miserably, yet refused to care. Or when the violence from certain cases leaked into our personal lives. I shuddered. It was rare, but not unheard of, and I’d had enough violence in my life to last me two lifetimes.

I’d never hurt Elliott. Or you.

Porter’s voice echoed in the back of my mind and a chill raced across my skin. I wanted to give Elliott everything and yet, I’d denied her a chance at the mentor she’d been looking for. She needed someone strong enough to withstand her spark, and Porter was beyond strong. But how could I let her be around someone who was paid millions of dollars to punch people on the ice?

“Can I get you anything else?” our waiter asked, slicing through my thoughts with a crooked smile on his lips as he glanced down at our half-cleared plates.

“No, thank you,” I said. I never had more than one drink if we were outside the house. At home, sometimes I’d allow myself two, but since I was all Elliott had…since I had no partner to help me if something drastic happened in the middle of the night…I couldn’t get rip-roaring drunk whenever I pleased.

And normally I was fine with that.

But after a day like today? I wouldn’t have minded slinging enough drinks back to keep the nightmares of my past at bay. Usually, I kept them locked behind the brick walls I’d constructed in my mind, but after today’s case, the haunting memories were seeping through the cracks.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I could bring out a dessert menu. I bet you love strawberries and sugar.”

I adjusted my glasses where they had slipped a fraction down my nose, my eyes flitting from him to Grace and back again. “I’m fine, thank you, though.” I glanced at Elliott, who was still digging through her meal, her process slow due to the concentration on the game.

Also, I was more of a chocolate-dessert girl.

“I’m fine, too,” Grace said, a little abashedly as she bit back a laugh.

The waiter continued to look at me. “You just let me know if there is anything else I can get you,” he said, clearing our empty bowl of tortilla chips before sauntering off.

Grace burst out laughing.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you serious, Shea?”

I tilted my head, chuckling despite myself. “What are we laughing at?” I asked, wiping at my lips. “Do I have salsa on my face or something?” The waiter had been staring.

“He was totally”—she lowered her voice—“flirting with you.”

I furrowed my brow and waved her off. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Girl, yes he was. And he’s cute, too.” She leaned further over the table, making sure the girls weren’t paying us any attention. “You should write your number on the receipt. I bet he’d call you before you got home.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not going to happen.”

“Why?” she pushed. “He was cute!”

I shrugged. Sure, he had soft brown eyes, dark well-kept hair, and a kind smile. I had noticed he was nice to look at, but that was it.

No desire churned in my core.

Nothing begged me to be bold and reach out and connect.

Because nothing and no one had been enough to melt the wall of ice I had around my heart. Not in the way Grace implied—waggling her eyebrows across the table. Fear had been a cold, tangible thing in my life since I gave birth to Elliott. And I couldn’t risk placing her in harm’s way again because I might, on occasion, crave more physical contact from the opposite sex.

It wasn’t worth it.

“It wouldn’t kill you, you know,” she said, a sadness in her eyes. We’d been friends long enough for her to know why I didn’t date or pursue or even really notice when men hit on me. “It could be good for you. More stress relief than these things,” she said, lifting her near-empty margarita.

I chuckled softly, taking another drink of mine.

She wasn’t wrong. It could be fun to get wild and be with a man. Let him take care of me in that sense rather than me using my trusty vibrator. But my vibrator wasn’t going to turn the tables on me—wouldn’t shout and punch holes in walls and put the fear of God in me. Wouldn’t ignore me when I said stop. Wouldn’t back me into a corner until I transformed into a vicious, raging mama bear.

“One day,” Grace said, eyeing me. “One day you’re going to meet someone who you can’t resist, and then all this pent-up-energy is going to consume you when he’s around.”

The warning rang clear and hot in my mind.

Porter’s face flashed behind my eyes, his bulging chest and biceps. The way he’d been soft and kind to Elliott. How he’d made her laugh. Such a contrast. But the only reason I’d felt a flicker of anything when I saw him when he brought me my favorite drink was because I was surprised to see him there. That was all.

“That’ll never happen,” I said to Grace. “The man I need doesn’t exist.” I laughed, raising my drink as we emptied them.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “There are good men out there, Shea.”

“I know,” I said. I wasn’t dumb enough to believe all men were assholes. I’d just had enough experience with one that I hadn’t wanted to find out for sure. “But,” I continued. “I’d need someone who is strong enough to protect us, but also understanding enough to put up with my”—I glanced at Elliott, who was still engrossed in her game—“darkness, and be gentle enough to know when and how to react to a ten-year-old’s demands.”

Grace pressed her lips together, nodding. “Plus,” she whispered, “he needs to be a god in the sack.”

I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

“What?” Grace said, shrugging. “For how long it’s been for you?” She practically gaped at me like I should be a side-show act. “You need someone who is beyond the norm in that department.”

The laugh left my lips, something else spinning in my blood. I had been the only one I allowed myself to get intimate with—God knows Elliott’s father hadn’t been generous or skilled. But the idea of a man taking me there…it was terrifying and exciting at the same time.

“It’s a tall order,” I said, coming back to earth. One I knew had a slim chance of being filled. It would be hard enough finding a man who would put up with my past, let alone sign up to be an instant dad. And that role is where I’d be the most strict when it came to judgment. There was nothing more important to me than Elliott. I knew she needed that father-type figure in her life though, which is why I’d enrolled her at the—

“Who’s tall?” Elliott asked, drawing into our conversation so quickly I jumped.

“No one,” I said, a slight flush on my cheeks as I grinned at Grace.

“Mr. Porter is tall,” she said, flashing those puppy eyes at me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. We’d already had this discussion yesterday and the day before.

“Please, Mom,” she said. “He’s so cool. And he could teach me how to play hockey.”

I eyed her.

Grace tilted her head, and I quickly filled her in on the events a few days ago.

She pursed her lips. “He’s friends with Connor, right?” she asked. “The case you had recently?”

I nodded, trying not to remember how easily Porter had scooped me off my feet when the paparazzi surrounding Connor’s house had nearly trampled me. The massive bear of a man hadn’t even asked. He’d simply acted. Sure, his instincts may have led him to protect me first and ask questions later, but I knew all too well what reacting before thinking got you.

“Easy street or hard street, Shea?” His voice echoed through the mental cage I’d locked him in.

“Easy,” I cried. “Easy.”

A harsh crack across my cheek.

Thumbprint bruises on my forearms.

Purple and red on my skin.

Broken glass on the stained carpet.

I blinked away the images, looking down at Elliott, who had that determined look in her eye.

Stubborn girl.

“Mom,” she said, her tone so much older than her ten years. “Why did you even bother to let me into the Club then?”

I raised my brows.

“You wanted me to get assigned someone. You wanted me to have this…experience,” she said, laying her hand flat on the table.

God, she was already a teenager.

“So why not with him?” she asked. “He plays for the NHL,” she said, her eyes wide. “He’s athletic and could help me up any of my games. Plus, he’s huge. He’ll scare off bad guys.”

My eyes immediately switched from stern to wary. “What bad guys?”

Elliott was too young to remember her father. To remember the seedy motels he’d kept us in the first year of her life. But my years of protecting her, being cautious of who I let into her life…that had made her cautious by default.

“You know, them.” She shrugged. “The universal them that is out to get us. No one would come around if Porter was my Big.”

I smoothed some hair back that had fallen out of her ponytail. “Are you scared, baby?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Mom,” she groaned. “I’m just listing the perks of Porter, and there are tons.”

Something cracked in my chest. Something that screamed I should let go. Screamed that Porter really was the perfect match for her because they both loved sports and competition and pushing themselves to earn the win.

But…he was…God, what was he? What had I wanted from this program? A CEO? Or a minister or a sales manager? What had I wanted?

For Elliott to experience what it was like to have another parental figure—someone separate from me. For her to have space and independence.

And now she was asking me, no begging me for this one.

I sighed, my shoulders dropping a fraction.

“Yes!” Elliott clapped her hands together before squeezing me in a side hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Grace stared at the two of us. “What just happened?”

I chuckled. “I just gave in to my daughter.”

“You’re the best!” Elliott continued, releasing me. “When do I start? When do I get to hang out with him?”

“I’ll call him tomorrow and check the official Club schedule.”

She clapped again, fist-bumping the air. “Yes,” she said. “I’m so going to be unstoppable.”

She didn’t specify a sport, and she didn’t need to. The girl could play anything she put her mind to, do anything. I admired her determination and her natural ability when it came to all things sports. And that was the one department where I was lacking. Because while I could show up to games and cheer her on and Google everything about each new sport she took up, I couldn’t play with her. Not really. Not in a way that challenged her. Not in the way she needed.

Hudson Porter was definitely not lacking in that ability.

And I had to wonder if the giant could be what she needed, or if I was making a huge mistake.