Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
She laughs quietly and accepts my hug. I hold her tight, smiling all the while.
I love my job.
She mutters into my shirt, “Thank you. Really. Thank you so much.”
Pulling back, I place her hair behind her ear and admit, “It was my pleasure.”
Releasing her completely, I run her through the plan. “So what happens now is that you’re free to do as you please. That is not an invitation for you to have all-nighters and get wasted, you hear?”
Tahlia rolls her eyes. “Yes, mum.”
I chuckle. I love how blunt the Australian accent is.
Smiling, I place my hand on her forearm and squeeze. “You know you can call anytime. Even if it’s not important.” Shrugging, I tell her, “It could be something silly, like advice about a boy, or even what laundry detergent to use for a particular type of stain.” She laughs at me and my smile softens. “Anything, honey. You’re not on my books anymore, but you’ll always be one of my kids.”
The smile drops off her face; her eyes shine bright. She whispers, “Thanks, Miss Ballentine.”
Shaking my head, I utter in complete seriousness, “Oh, no. You’re an adult now. You get to call me Lexi.”
She wipes at her eye to stop the tear before it falls. “Thanks, Lexi.”
Walking backwards towards Drew’s car, I say, “You’re so welcome.”
Drew waits patiently in the driver’s seat playing around on his phone. As I approach the car, I feel him watching me.
Shivers break out over my entire body. My hair stands on end.
Stopping with a jerk, I try to play it cool. I open my purse and make it look as though I’m searching for something important.
My heart races.
Where is he?
I try to look around discreetly. My gaze drifts across the street to one of the many cafés there. My eyes dart around, looking for the familiar black hoodie. And just as I’m about to give up, I see him.
He watches me from under the hood of his jacket, reclining on a café chair.
I know I should report this.
He’s everywhere. And I mean everywhere. It almost seems like he knows where I’m going to be before I know.
His head lifts, and his eyes watch mine.
He never acknowledges me. He doesn’t ever make a move to meet me.
He just…is. Never bothering me.
In fact, seeing him stirs something in me.
He is lodged in my subconscious. The star of my dreams. Which is ridiculous. I know.
His eyes are fierce. Full of fire. I don’t know what to make of it.
Drew yells out, “Ready to go, Lex?”
And I shake my head, realizing I’ve been standing here for close to five minutes just staring at a strange man across the street. Face burning, I reply, “Yeah. Let’s get back to the office.”
My eyes drift back to him.
Just one more peek.
But he’s gone. Like always.
Stalked by a phantom.
I mentally scoff.
Figures.
Arriving at our workplace, I say goodbye to Drew, and accept his four-hundredth congratulations on winning Tahlia’s freedom.
Smiling all the way to my office, I step inside to see someone sitting in my chair.
Well, swinging on it with his feet up on my desk like a millionaire businessman.
“Michael, feet off the desk. Now.”
Using my mom-voice doesn’t really get me anywhere, seeing as I do it with a huge smile on my face.
But Michael’s different. He’s a good boy.
His feet slip off my desk and he smirks. “Got some news for me?”
Shit.
My face falls. And when he sees it, so does his.
Michael is almost seventeen. He has a foster family, but there lies the issue. His mother got out of jail not six months ago, and he wants to live with her again.
But she…
“She doesn’t want me back.” He glares down at his feet.
Walking forward, I place my bag on my desk and take a seat in the visitor chair with a sigh. “Oh, sweetie. It’s not that. There’s more to it than just wanting you back, which she does, by the way.”
He turns his glare to me. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Leaning forward, I look him right in the eye. “I am on your side. Always. Don’t ever question that.”
Looking properly chastised but still pissed, he asks quietly, “Why?”
Leaning back in the chair, I explain, “There’s a huge process when a person comes out of jail. The housing they’re provided is usually not great, and basic as basic comes. Then there’s finding a job. And sticking to it. In your mom’s case, she needs to go to therapy every week, and she’ll have drug tests done on a monthly basis for a while. And honestly, honey…” He looks up. “…she thinks you deserve better. As do I. Her main concern was getting you back for a few months, you turning eighteen, and then going it on your own. Which you will. Won’t you?”
Michael’s face softens. “Yeah. I just need money first.”