“Thank you,” she murmured, returning her attention to the boy he assumed was her son, effectively communicating the “I’m not interested in having this conversation” vibe.
He ought to take the hint but he wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Last time I saw you…” he ventured, hoping she’d take up the lead but he was disappointed.
“Yes, I’m aware of how I looked,” she said, ducking his gaze, extreme discomfort radiating from her trim body. “As you can see I’m doing fine. Thank you for your help,” she added stiffly.
“I get it. You don’t want me in your business. That’s coming across loud and clear. Like I said I was just, well, worried. You snuck out before I woke up and I didn’t see that coming. I figured we’d at least exchange names or something in the morning. It’s not every day I save a woman’s life. It was a unique experience and I’m sorry if I don’t know how to act.”
She had the grace to look ashamed but she also looked panicked that her son might overhear their conversation and for that Christian felt like a jerk. She stepped away from the swing set and he followed. He opened his mouth to apologize but she started first. “I’m sorry. It’s not my style to sneak out on someone who’s been so kind to me but I’d never been in a situation like that and I didn’t know how to act, either.” Never? He found it hard to believe that in her line of work she’d never been roughed up before that moment. His mom had been brutalized more times than he could count. Sometimes it’d been a crack across the mouth, other times it’d been broken bones. Maybe that was the difference between a streetwalker and the high-class variety. “Anyway, I’m just here to enjoy the day with my son,” she finished with a glance toward the boy on the swings and Christian’s gut clenched. Didn’t she realize the damage she was doing to her kid by continuing to hook? It didn’t matter that she was high-class, she’d still been beaten like a common prostitute. What if she’d died that night? Where would that put her kid?
“It’s probably none of my business but you really shouldn’t put yourself at risk like you do when you’ve got a kid depending on you,” he said, even though he knew he ought to leave it be.
The wariness returned to her eyes and her mouth firmed as she said coolly, “You’re right…it isn’t any of your business.”
“Fine. But I can tell you that I’ve seen the damage that parents inflict on their kids because of their choices.”
Her mouth twisted. “Speaking from experience?”
“No.” Hell yes. But he wasn’t about to share the deepest, darkest chapters of his life just to make a point. He gestured at Mathias playing on the playground. “See that boy over there?” he asked.
She followed his subtle gesture then returned to him. “Is he your son?”
“No,” he answered, chuckling as Mathias scrambled up the play structure, going up the slide backward instead of using the steps just so he could slide down again. “I’m his designated Buddy.” At her frown, he explained, “Mathias is enrolled in a state program for kids at risk. It’s like the Big Brother mentoring program but different in that Mathias lives in a group home and I have to sign him out for visits. It’s a bit more structured because of the circumstances the kids are in. Circumstances where their parents have put them at risk because of their environment,” he added meaningfully.
He expected her to react defensively because that was the standard operating procedure for people when attention was brought to the things that they shouldn’t be doing but she surprised him when her hazel eyes warmed. “So you take a kid who is a total stranger out for the day?”
“Yep. Just like renting out a DVD.” She drew back and he laughed, saying, “I’m kidding. But yes, I take a kid who is a total stranger out for the day. It helps them to see that not everything is bad out there in the world. Today, I brought Mathias out for Little League tryouts.”
“What happens if he makes the team? Does he go to another Buddy?”
“Nope. I signed on for the full season. If he makes the team, I’ll pick him up for practices and games. I’ll even volunteer on snack day.”
“That’s quite a commitment,” she murmured, but there was a hint of wistful admiration couched in her tone that made him wonder.
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mathias is a good kid.”
“And you do this out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. “You don’t get paid or anything for this?”
“No, I don’t get paid but it’s worth something to me,” he said. Perhaps if he’d had someone to talk to before his mom died, he might’ve felt less alone, less afraid.
“Oh?”
“I get the chance to make a difference,” he answered truthfully. “Not every kid gets an ideal start in life. I’m trying to do what I can to even the score.”
Her brow lifted ever so slightly as she said, “If only more people were more like you.”
“You don’t believe me. I sense sarcasm.”
“This is Manhattan. Everyone’s got an angle. Yours seems harmless enough, though.”
He tried not to take offense. She was right. Everyone did have an agenda but in this, he didn’t. However, he wasn’t going to waste time justifying himself for it would only make him look guilty. “Believe what you want. Just take me at my word that your actions will affect your son somewhere down the road.”
He must’ve struck a nerve. Her silence felt weighted, filled with something she couldn’t talk about without cost. Then he remembered something from that night. “Listen, if you need help…I might be able to hook you up with some resources. I know a lot of people from my connections to the Buddy program.”
“You can’t help me,” she said quietly, shocking him with her bleak honesty. “No one can.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked. “You mentioned being punished. If you’re being forced…” He’d heard of pimps getting dangerously possessive with their girls. He couldn’t imagine being under someone’s thumb like that. At least with his mother she’d been a free agent. For that small blessing, he’d been grateful. “I could see what I can do.”
She gave him a look from her clear hazel eyes that was at the same time hard and vulnerable and he wondered if she realized how much she gave away with that single glance. “I can’t afford any more attempts.” She drew a halting breath and forced a short smile. “I appreciate your help. I’m sorry I snuck out on you. You deserved better but believe me when I say that I did you a favor.”
He didn’t doubt her honesty at that moment. And he should’ve left it at that. She was giving warnings to steer clear of her and her problems. But there was something about her—and it wasn’t anything about her physically, which would’ve been the easy motivation for anyone else—but rather it was when she looked at her son he saw pure love tempered by desolation. He wanted to know why. And he knew full well his curiosity wasn’t a good thing but he’d been snagged in the mouth pretty hard and there was no shaking it loose no matter how hard he tried.
“At least tell me your name,” he said.
Her groomed brows arched. “What’s in a name? The likelihood of ever seeing each other again is slim.”
“The odds were slim before today and yet here we are.”
“I could give you any name and it wouldn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
She held his stare for a long moment and he wondered what went on beyond that careful facade. He suspected a deep well lurked beneath that seemingly still surface. He half expected her to leave him hanging like she did that morning. But she surprised him with an answer. “My name is Skye D’Lane. Thank you…” She paused in question, waiting with a slight tilt of her lips.
“Christian. Christian Holt.”
“Thank you, Christian, for being there.”
He eyed her speculatively. “Now when you say dancer…do you mean of the classic variety or the exotic?”
She lifted her chin. “Ballet,” she answered with a clip to her tone. She didn’t train her entire life, endure countless bruises, bunions, broken toes and forgo anything and everything with too high a calorie count just to swing around on a pole for a few sweaty dollars shoved into her G-string.
“I was going to guess ballet but you never know these days. I’ve known a few exotic dancers who were pretty talented except your posture gives you away.”
“What do you mean? I have excellent posture.”
“Exactly. It’s too perfect. Ballet dancers have two things in common, seemingly effortless grace and near perfect posture. I knew a girl in high school who dreamed of becoming a ballerina. She practiced endless hours and once told me the way to perfect her form was to pretend she was hanging by a string pulled from the top of her head. I thought it sounded pretty uncomfortable but it must’ve worked because she was an amazing dancer.”
Her cheeks warmed but not in embarrassment, rather with pleasure. To know that was still a part of her, deep down, was a balm to her ragged nerves. “I was good,” she said.
“How good?”
“Good enough to land the prima ballerina spot after a year dancing with the New York Ballet.”
He smiled, popping a dimple that flirted when his grin deepened. “I’d say that’s a fair sight better than just good.”
“Perhaps.” She laughed in spite of herself. This man was dangerous. Dangerous to someone like her. She had no business engaging in such playful banter, which was exactly why she was enjoying it so much. She glanced at her watch and her good mood started to fade. She called out for Nico to come to her and then returned to Christian with the intention of ending their conversation but before she could, he surprised her again with a request for her phone number.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, hesitating.
“Then let me give you mine,” he countered, his guileless gaze melting away all the good reasons why she should decline. He pulled a pen from his back pocket and after gently grasping her hand, he flipped her palm and scribbled a set of numbers. “If you want it, it’s here. If not, just wash it away.”
The skin of her palm tingling from where the pen scrawled, she slowly closed her hand and smiled. “You don’t know what’s good for you, do you?”
He stepped away, that damnable grin returning. “A character flaw I’ve never quite been able to root out. Take care, Skye D’Lane.”
She watched as he collected the boy he was mentoring and an odd flutter chased her thoughts. What if she’d met someone like Christian instead of Belleni five years ago? How different would her life be today? A painful sigh escaped and she straightened against the longing that served no purpose. Her life wasn’t different and there was no place in it for someone like Christian.
And there was no denying how much that sucked.
Mathias shrugged. “Cable takes commitment.”
Christian took a minute to mull that one over. “You’re right. Never thought about it that way. But I’m not sure I’m ready to take that step. I didn’t even get her number.”
“She didn’t like you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, she must’ve liked you at least a little bit because she talked with you a long time.”
“I gave her my number.”
Mathias nodded. “You think she’s gonna call?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “You think she will?”
“Hey, what are you asking me for? I’m just a kid. What do I know about chicks?”
True. “But what does your gut say?” he asked.
Mathias broke into a grin, revealing a jagged front tooth that Christian hadn’t noticed before. “She’ll call. You’re not half-bad-looking for an old dude. If I was a chick I’d give you a ring. If I was old enough. And if I had a phone.”
Christian grinned back but privately he was troubled by that tooth. His thoughts immediately centered on how Mathias had received the injury. Was it related to the visit with his mother? The chill in the air was starting to bite. He hadn’t meant to stay so long at the park after the tryouts but Mathias had been having a good time, and then he’d seen Skye and all thoughts of returning before the sun disappeared flew out the proverbial window. Now he felt bad. “You cold, buddy?” he asked. “I could give you my sweatshirt.”
Mathias waved him away. “Naw, I’m fine. This ain’t nothing. Once my ma passed out and accidentally locked me outside and it was snowing.”
“That’s rough. How’d you get back in your place?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.
“Easy, I just climbed the fire escape and slipped in through the neighbor’s window. Freaked ’em out when they saw me run through their living room, though,” he said, laughing at the memory.
“That happen a lot?”
“What do you think? I’m in a group home. They don’t put kids in places like that ’cause they’re living like Disney.”
“It’s not so bad, is it? Living at the group home with Ms. Hutchins?” he asked.
Mathias kicked at a pebble on the split sidewalk and watched as it clattered down the way until it hit a trash can with a loud clink. “It’s okay, I guess. Better than most. Better than the last that’s for sure,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “But it still sucks to live with a bunch of strangers with no privacy and stuff.”
“Yeah, I remember what that’s like,” he shared, nodding. He’d spent a year bouncing from one foster home to another before he landed with Mama Jo. And some of those homes were downright criminal. There were too many people in the foster care system who were in it purely for the money…or worse. “So, how’d the visit with your mom go? Ms. Hutchins said you won’t talk about it. What happened?”
“Nothing,” Mathias said too quickly and with a short scowl, hunching his shoulders ever so slightly as if trying to make himself disappear. Damn, Christian recognized that posture, too.
“Same kind of nothing that broke your tooth?” he asked, keeping his gaze focused straight ahead, not breaking stride. “Was it your mom?”
“No.”
“A boyfriend?” When Mathias remained silent Christian knew the answer. He bit back a hard curse word. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Mathias answered, his young voice struggling to sound flippant but instead to Christian’s ears sounded thin and small. Someone had kicked this kid around. It was no wonder he split, choosing a group home he hated over home. “It’s no big deal.”
“You got any other bruises?” When Mathias shook his head, Christian braced himself for the answer to his next question. “Has your mom’s boyfriend hurt you anywhere else?” God, what a shitty thing to have to ask a kid but he had to know.
“He ain’t jacking me if that’s what you’re getting at,” Mathias said but there was a tremor of fear hiding under the anger. What Christian heard was, “maybe.” Or “if not yet, soon.” He wanted to snarl at someone. He’d have to say something to Sally about his suspicion. Mathias looked up at Christian, his tongue snaking out to touch the jagged tooth. “Is it real noticeable?” he asked.
“A bit. That’s why you haven’t been talking to anyone, isn’t it?”
Mathias glanced away. “Yeah.”
“It needs to get fixed. The state will pay for a trip to the dentist.”
“Yeah, but they’ll cover it with that silver stuff or something and I’ll look like a hood rat. I’d rather just leave it the way it is. It’s not as sharp as it was.”
“How about this…let me talk to Ms. Hutchins. I’ll make sure you don’t get that silver amalgam.”
Mathias eyed him with suspicion, plainly not accustomed to someone doing something for him or keeping their word about it. “How?”
“Let me worry about that. Just promise me you’ll talk to Ms. Hutchins about what happened.”
“I don’t know,” Mathias said, unsure.
“Look, I know you’re trying to protect your mom. But you gotta look out for you, too. Your mom—if she was thinking straight—would want you to be safe, right?”
Mathias nodded, then looked away but not before Christian saw the shine in his eyes. Yeah, he remembered how it felt to be sandwiched between loyalty and fear, unsure of who to trust and totally clueless as to how to change the circumstances. What Christian knew now that he didn’t know then was no kid had the power to change their parents, no matter how much they loved them. He had Mama Jo to thank for that revelation.
They came up on the brownstone just as the last of the day’s milky sunlight gave way to darkness. The streetlamps popped on but the light didn’t reach far. Sally opened the door, exasperation pursing her lips as she ushered the boy inside. “Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?” she admonished, prompting a sincere apology on his part. Sally forgave him quickly, though, when she saw a difference in Mathias. “Go upstairs and get cleaned up, Mathias. Dinner is waiting. I’ll just be a few minutes with Christian.”
Sally waited for Mathias to disappear upstairs for a quick scrub and then turned to Christian, her sharp gaze missing nothing. “What did he tell you?” she asked.
“The mom’s boyfriend broke his front tooth,” he began and when Sally gasped, he continued with grim certainty. “And my gut instinct tells me the guy is more than just physically abusive. Mathias said he hasn’t touched him but…I’m not sure. Maybe you could check into it?”
“Absolutely,” Sally said, her mouth softening with concern for her young charge. That’s what Mathias loved about Sally. She cared. She didn’t look at the boys in her care as just another dollar sign. Each line in her face was put there from the countless smiles she gave to each kid. Christian knew people like Sally were a rarity, like Mama Jo. “Thank you, Christian. For being there for Mathias,” she said softly, causing Christian to shift in his shoes.
“I don’t mind. He’s a good kid,” he said, moving to the door.
“Yes, he is. But he’s lucky to have you on his side.”
Christian smiled around his own memories crowding him. “No, I think I’m the lucky one,” he said. Christian knew the difference a positive influence made on a kid teetering on the edge of despair and ruin. “So, listen, Mathias is worried that the dentist will use the silver amalgam for his tooth. I want to pay for the repair myself. Make sure the dentist matches his teeth perfectly. I don’t want the kid to have one more thing to worry about, you know?”
Sally smiled kindly. “You’re a sweetheart. I will find out how much it will cost and then you can make a donation to the home. I will see to it that the money is used for his dentistry. Bless you, Christian.”
Yeah…well, he didn’t know about that but it felt good to do something for the kid. Even if it was just a tooth.