Secret Worlds (572 page)

After taking a scalding hot shower, Ari traded the combat boots and low-cut jeans from the night before for more conservative work clothes.

“Hopefully, I scrubbed the skank off my skin,” she said into the mirror, but she still felt the lingering effects of the club. The feeling of his hands on her body.

Exhausted and sleep deprived, she still felt more awake than she had in months. She didn’t know if it was from the thrill of taking risks, or from him. A shiver ran down her arms when she thought about it—him. She suspected she knew the answer.

Too bad she didn’t know his name.

No one at work noticed that her lips were still swollen and chapped from sucking face with a stranger the night before, or if they did, they politely kept it to themselves. That’s all they did. Make out. A little groping and dry humping in the back hallway. There was no tell-tale “slut” sign on her forehead, but she closed herself in her office anyway to avoid questions.

With the noise of the office blocked out, Ari focused on Curtis Wilson’s file. She’d found it in her inbox when she’d arrived. Judge Hatcher wasted no time, that was for sure. She thought she had until Monday. Ari knew she shouldn’t complain. Having a jumpstart on placement and funding made all this easier, but the situation was so unconventional she couldn’t help but question the judge’s motives.

A note stuck to the top of the file included directions to the center and an appointment time. Ari checked her watch.

“Great.”

She had two hours. That didn’t give Ari much time to release Curtis from detention and get him to the program. Or to stop at the coffee shop. That one little sticky note dramatically changed the flow of her day. She rushed to gather her things, stopping by the front desk to sign out.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca asked.

“Down to the Glory Youth Center. I have a placement there for a new client.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Me either,” Ari said. “Judge Hatcher specifically requested this kid go there, so I’m just following directions. It must be a lower-risk level facility or something? Or maybe somewhere new? I’ll find out today.”

“Okay.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes and studied Ari closely. “You look different today. Did you do something to your hair?”

“Um … I washed it?” She hoped her face wasn’t as red as the streak in her hair.

“Smart ass,” she muttered, resuming her typing. “Check in later today. I’ll forward your messages.”

Ari waved and pushed the exterior door open, leaving the office behind.

***

The first group home visit Ari made when she started her job brought her to tears. Not because of the kids or the situations or the home itself, but because the director of the home lectured her for an hour. He rambled on and on about how it was society’s fault, and therefore her fault, that these children had been left behind.

At 23, fresh in her first week of work at her “real” job, Ari had been overwhelmed by the bluntness of the director. On the way out the door, holding back big fat traitorous tears, Ari’s coworker explained that the director had spent the first half of his adult life in the military and suffered the effects from his many years of service. The man loved working with the kids, but he wasn’t that great with adults.

Back then, Ari cried about everything. Her parents’ death made her vulnerable and raw. Over time, those scars were covered by a hard numbness. That first day toughened Ari so that now, as she and Curtis arrived at the Glory Youth Center, she figured she could handle whatever was inside waiting for them.

“You heard of this place?” she asked Curtis.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

He shrugged in reply and Ari bit her tongue. “I don’t know,” meant, “I don’t care.”

She found the building easily and wondered how she’d never noticed it before. Granted, they were in an industrial area. The building was mixed in between older homes and empty buildings. The outside was clean—no, spotless. The parking lot tidy, including the area near the chain-link fence that surrounded the property. Ari opened the car door and said to the boy in the passenger seat, “Grab your stuff.”

The full extent of Curtis’ belongings fit into a manila envelope and the clothing he wore when he’d been arrested. Ari hadn’t had time to go by his home to see if there were any personal items he could have used. That would have been doubtful anyway. Odds were, the minute he got locked up, his clothing spread throughout the rest of the family.

“I’m supposed to live here?” he asked. Curtis was only 15, but carried himself like he was older, like so many of these kids. They were forced to grow up fast. Lean and fit, Curtis was very big for his age. Ari knew before he’d started skipping school he’d been active in sports. The police had documented more than once that he was a skilled runner. He just needed to learn how to use that power for good and not evil.

“I’ve never been here,” Ari told him in a stern voice. “But this is a last-chance stop. Whatever it is, it’s better than detention, which is where you’re headed next.”

Curtis slipped behind his case manager as she walked into the building.

“Oh, wow,” she said, knocked in the face by the overpowering smell. Soon though, even the rank stench was eclipsed by the sounds.

The boy stepped in front of Ari with his eyes wide and said, “No fucking way.”

Ari’s head snapped in his direction, but she didn’t scold him as she normally would have. She felt just as stunned. Her senses were assaulted by sweat and rubber, combined with a muggy, damp heat. And the sounds. Well, it sounded like someone was getting beaten to death.

“What the hell is this?” Curtis said, pushing Ari’s limit on foul language.

“Cut the cussing, Curtis,” she said. “A gym, I suppose?” But it was more than a gym. There were four boxing rings in the center of the building and rows of weights and cardio machines along each side. Near the front door, a huge trophy case held dozens of gold trophies, each with a tiny boxer or fighter on the top. Ari saw a dozen or so guys of various ages working out around the gym.

A long countertop ran along the barrier between the gym and the entry area. Hanging on the wall was a large sign with the letters GYC, and the name: Glory Youth Center. Ari spotted a young man folding towels and placing them in a stack.

“Come on,” she said to Curtis. They approached the counter and she introduced herself to the kid.

“I’m Ari Grant. I’m here to meet a—” she pulled the note out of her pocket. “Mr. Davis. We have an appointment at 11.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied. “Let me tell him you’re here.” He looked a little older than Curtis, maybe 17 or so. Broad shouldered and muscular. He had a bandage over his eye and quickly disappeared around the corner, away from the gym floor.

Curtis studied a row of photographs behind the counter. He glanced at Ari. “So, you want me to come work out or something? I thought this was a home.”

Before Ari could answer, or not answer since she had no idea, the boy came back followed by a handsome man. His dark hair was shaved close to his head and when his eyes met Ari’s everything went from normal to very, very awkward.

“Ms. Grant, thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” she said, waiting for the moment of recognition.

It never came.

Okay. So only awkward for Ari. Did he not recognize her? She recognized him. And, she realized, squinting a little, she also recognized that hickey under his ear.

His eyes remained friendly but held steady on the boy, ignoring Ari altogether. “I’m Davis,” he said, offering his hand, throwing Curtis off a little. “Welcome to the Glory Youth Center.”

Curtis tentatively took his hand and shook it. Mr. Davis gripped Curtis’ hand so tightly she saw the long muscle flex in his forearm.

This man didn’t play. Ari liked him immediately. Well, obviously.

“Mr. Davis, can you tell us a little more about your facility? This is the first time I’ve had a client accepted into your program,” Ari said. If he could act nonchalant, so could she. She looked around the gym. “It’s definitely different.”

“How about a tour?” he asked.

“Sounds great,” she said, thankful to have the buffer of Curtis in this increasingly awkward situation. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis surprised her when he called to the boy by the front counter and waved him over.

“This is Keith,” he said. “I’m going to let him walk Curtis around and give him the resident tour so you and I can talk about his placement. Is that okay?”

Ari gave Curtis a long look. She thought she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t try to make a run for it or make other trouble, but she didn’t want to risk it. Mr. Davis must have noticed her hesitation.

He said, “Curtis will be in good hands with Keith. There are staff members all over the facility and there are no unalarmed exits.” He turned his attention to Curtis and said, “I can trust that there will be no problems?”

Curtis shifted on his feet. “No.”

“No, sir,” Mr. Davis prompted.

The man and boy held a long stare. Curtis broke first.

“No, sir,” he replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Mr. Davis bent his head a little to make sure they saw eye-to-eye.

“Meet you two back here in 30 minutes,” he said, nodding to Keith. The two boys started the tour in the gym and again, Ari noted how impressed she was with Mr. Davis’ calm but authoritative demeanor. Did he present that last night? Was that why she was drawn to him? In this business, demanding respect from these kids was the first step toward success. Based on that alone, she understood why his program created results.

Now that the boys were gone, she was alone with this guy. More alone than they had even been the night before. Whatever. If he could pretend, then so could she. Ari surveyed the gym until Mr. Davis held out a hand in the direction of the hallway he’d come from.

“Ready for the tour?”

Ari followed him down the hall, keeping her eyes off his broad shoulders. He pointed out various points of interest along the way. “These are the offices. Besides myself, we have a full-time staff of eight. All men. We take different shifts in the building every two weeks. Four guys are on the gym floor at all times, two back in the dormitory area, and two in the counseling offices.”

“Wow,” Ari said, passing by the well-kept offices. Leather chairs and wood desks. It was a far cry from her state-funded office. “Seems like you have it all together.”

Mr. Davis opened a door at the end of the hallway and they climbed a set of stairs to the second floor. “This is the dormitory. Each boy shares a room with a roommate. No bunks. Individual beds. We assess each child and try to place them with someone who will be a positive influence, although in general, we don’t really have behavior problems here.”

Ari peeked into one of the rooms. Clean and tidy, yet personalized. In her experience, many of the residential facilities prefer the kids to not have their own belongings in the room because it causes problems. This looked more like a college dorm room than a standard group home. “Nice. How do you get them to keep it so clean?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s part of the rules, and we take our rules and discipline seriously.” He walked down the hall toward a lounge area between two wings. He gestured for her to sit in a chair and he took the one opposite Ari. “At any time, we house 12 to 15 boys. Our goal is to teach them respect, accountability and how to uncover their talents. Once we discover their natural gifts, we help cultivate them to become better members of society. The average stay is until age 18. Some end up working for us when they complete their time. Most go to college.”

“So, Curtis could be here for the next three years?” Ari wasn’t sure how he would feel about that when he found out.

Mr. Davis nodded. “This is a long-term program. We look for a specific type of offender and commit ourselves to changing their lives.” He turned his eyes on Ari. Her neck itched under the intensity. “You’ve seen the system fail these kids. You know how hard it can be for them, shuffled back and forth between programs. Pawns in political agendas. That’s not what we do here. We are here to make successes out of these young men and make them productive members of society. Between counseling, education, physical activity, and a close bond with the other residents, the GYC has a very high success rate. ”

“How high?”

“About 95 percent. We have the occasional kid who isn’t a right fit for us.”

“Ninety-five percent?” Ari tried to keep her jaw off the ground. In her job, 25 percent was successful. “And you think Curtis is the right fit?”

Mr. Davis smiled. “I do. Judge Hatcher thinks so, and I’ve reviewed his file. According to our pre-assessment, I think he’ll do very well here.” He stood up. “Let me show you the rest of the building, and we’ll meet back up with the boys and sign contracts and work out any other information we need.”

Ari followed Mr. Davis through the rest of the facility, more impressed with each passing moment. Even so, there was a tiny knot in her stomach with the odd situation between them. Did he truly not recognize her? Maybe it was the conservative work clothes or the well-lit building? She would have thought she’d made up the whole encounter except she could see the small bruise on his neck created from her over-eager mouth. She also hesitated over the theme here; teaching the kids to fight. She wasn’t sure that was the correct way to go about making more peaceful youth. As they walked back down the stairs to meet in Mr. Davis’ office, Ari couldn’t shake the feeling, but realized it wasn’t her place to judge. This was work and another assignment. She should just be happy to have another kid off the street and safe.

***

Leaving the day behind her, Ari pushed open the door to the restaurant and searched for Oliver. He’d sent her a text around noon suggesting, no—demanding, they meet for drinks and food. Not looking forward to eating a microwaved dinner anyway, Ari eagerly texted back YES! and bolted from the office the second the clock hit six.

Oliver was nowhere to be seen, but Nick Sanders waved at her from a booth in the corner. Her phone buzzed in her hand. Stopping in the middle of the restaurant, Ari checked the message.