5. Alana
ALANA
T he screen of my laptop stares at me, stubbornly blank. I've been staring at it for the last fifteen minutes, but all I can think about is the Monroes who I'm supposed to be handing Sam over to today.
On one hand, they painted a perfect picture of a stable and caring family. If I hadn't witnessed the mother collapsing, I'd feel reassured about Sam's place there.
After making sure she was okay, I made myself scarce and left the family to their privacy. But it makes me question their ability to handle a six-year-old.
Then there's Sam's uncle. The military man who's overprotective to the point of being an ass. He barreled in demanding a DNA test, which we would have provided, anyway.
Is that really the kind of role model a grief-stricken boy needs growing up?
But then again, what are the other options? He's going to the family unless there is an extremely compelling reason not to place him there.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts by my desk phone ringing. It's Katie, the receptionist.
"There's someone here to see you."
There's something smug about her tone that I can't place.
"I'll be out in a minute."
I pull up my calendar and check to see if I've forgotten a meeting, but there are no missed appointments.
I head out to reception and come to an abrupt stop. Pacing in front of the desk is the over-protective military man, Amos.
Blue jeans hug his perfect ass, and my gaze traces his movements as he paces. He turns around, folding his arms across his chest. His muscles bulge out of a tight white t-shirt, making his tattoos dance.
A weird fluttering disrupts my stomach, and I squash that down real quick. The last thing I need is to be attracted to someone, least of all someone tied to one of my cases.
I drag my gaze from his muscles to his face. I can ignore the fluttering, I can ignore the rippling muscles, but I can't ignore the devastating smile that lights up his face when he sees me.
"Amos," I say, and it comes out as a squeak. I cough and try again. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Is there somewhere we can talk?" he asks.
Our offices are in one corner of the council building, and there are shared meeting rooms by reception. I indicate an empty meeting room, and he follows me inside.
I take a seat, and the plastic chair creaks under me. There are stains on the carpet and coffee rings on the table. All our funds go toward the kids, and I'm not ashamed of our rundown workspace.
Amos sits across from me and leans his elbows on the table.
"I want to apologize for yesterday."
I tilt my head, wondering which part he's apologizing for.
"I came in all guns blazing. I'm sorry if I gave you a bad impression. I was just looking out for my parents."
His blue eyes bore into mine with intensity. He's a straight shooter, and I appreciate that.
"Apology accepted."
"Good."
His foot taps under the table with restless energy. I wait for more, but he just stares at me in an intense way that makes heat creep up my neck.
"How's your mom?" I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair. "She's got multiple sclerosis."
"I didn't know. I'm sorry."
He shakes his head. "Thanks. That's partly why I'm here. I'm sure you've drawn your own conclusions about our family. My parents are good people. But they're getting old. Dad's almost seventy, and with Mom's diagnosis, they've can't handle Jake's child."
I nod slowly, not liking where this is going.
"Avery can't take him either," Amos adds. "It's not my place to say why, but it wouldn't be right."
I sit up straighter and fold my arms across my chest. He's here to tell me the family refuses to take the boy. That he'll go into the system and languish in foster care.
My heart aches for Sam, and that turns to anger.
If I had a kid related to me, I'd move heaven and earth to make sure they stayed with family.
But not everyone thinks the same, I remind myself.
"I see." My tone is clipped. "If that's the final word from the family, we'll wrap up this line of inquiry."
Amos leans forward. "We're taking him. That boy is Jake's. He needs a home."
I stare at him, confused. "You just told me there's no one suitable."
He shakes his head. "I told you my parents and sister aren't suitable. Which is why he'll come and live with me."
I frown at the man in front of me, and he glares back with an intense look that penetrates my entire body. He's serious. The military man who’s abrupt, rude, and over-protective to the point of obnoxiousness thinks he can raise a kid.
I choose my words carefully. "Are you sure you're the best option to take on a six-year-old boy?"
He leans back. "Best option or not--he's Jake's boy. I'm not going to let him go into foster care."
I shake my head slowly. "You don't know what you're taking on."
"You think I can't do it? You think I'm not capable of raising a boy?" Amos leans forward, and his eyes flash dangerously.
"I've known you less than twenty-four hours, Amos. And I can already tell you're a massive grump. Not to mention the fact that you're serving in the military. Judging by your hard muscles, messy hair, and attitude, I'd guess special forces."
Amos breaks into a grin, and it's so unexpected it throws me off.
"You've noticed my muscles?"
I look away and shake my head as heat flushes my cheeks.
Amos throws me off balance, and that may be affecting my judgement. But if he wants to take the boy, there's nothing I can do to prevent it without a very good reason. At least Sam will be with family.
"It's not going to be easy," I say gently. "Especially as a serving member of the military."
"I know," he says. "Which is why I've asked to be discharged."
I gap at him. "You're giving up your military career?"
"If that's what it takes."
I sit back in my chair and look at the man before me. Really look at him. He stares back at me with an expression that's all determination. He wants this. He really wants this.
"Why?"
Amos huffs out a long breath and glances out the window.
"I was three years old when Jake was born, and I was fascinated by my little brother. Mom would bring his bassinet out to the garden while she got on with the weeding or pruning the roses, and I would try to help her.
"One day, she cut her finger on a thorn. She went into the house to clean it up and I heard the phone ring--it must have delayed her. It was one of those still summer afternoons, and the only sounds were birds and crickets.
"I wandered over to my brother and looked into the bassinet. His lips were tinged blue, and he was very still. Something didn't seem right, but I didn't know what. I reached into the bassinet to pick him up, and he didn't move. He was all floppy.
"I screamed and screamed until Mom ran out of the house. When she saw Jake, she scooped him up and whacked him on the back. He started to choke, then started breathing again. It must have only been thirty seconds. But it was the worst, most terrifying thirty seconds of my life.
"From then on, I knew there were things in the world I couldn't control.
And that there were a hundred different ways harm could come to my brother.
I knew Mom couldn't always be everywhere at once.
From that moment on, I knew I would always look out for my brother.
I would do whatever it took to protect him. "
He swallows hard and looks out the window. When he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion.
"In the end, I couldn't protect Jake. He followed me into the Navy. I was meant to be on that mission, the last mission he was on. But I was called out. I have..." He frowns and taps his fingers on the desk. "...special expertise, and sometimes I'm needed elsewhere."
His fist comes down on the table.
"If you see me being angry, Alana, it's because I am angry. When it came down to it, I couldn't protect my brother. I failed him. And now he's dead. But I will not fail his son."
He leans forward, and his gaze bores into me
"Whatever hoops I have to jump through for Jake's son, I'll do it. To honor Jake's memory. And to protect his son the way I couldn't protect him. I just need some time to get my place ready. Give me a week, and I'll be ready."
My heart softens for this man, for the heartache that clings to him.
"It will be hard," I tell him. "But if this is what's best for Sam, then I'll help you make it happen."
Relief floods his expression. He reaches across the table and clasps my hand. Heat courses up my body, and I gasp at the touch.
"Thank you."
He squeezes my hand, and the fluttering in my stomach intensifies.
I'll help Amos. I'll do it for Sam. And I'll make sure this stupid fluttering in my stomach doesn't get in the way.