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 plea
sed.
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!”