Chapter 22
Colsen
I’m not the least bit convinced that Andi should be spending her time at Rita’s today, but I’m also smart enough to keep my mouth shut when I sense I’m on the losing end of a stubborn streak.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to warn her about what she might see or hear, but some things have to be experienced firsthand in order to fully understand what you’ve gotten yourself into.
Based on her current level of detachment, I have no doubt my warnings would fall on deaf ears if I attempted to voice them.
Our drive to the other side of the city is spent in silence.
Andi’s gaze is fixated on the window, watching the world go by in a blur.
I want to reach for her, or at the very least, offer a comforting show of support through words, but I keep my thoughts to myself.
For her to grasp the full range of my understanding, I’d need to divulge some pretty sordid details of my past, and I’m not quite ready to have her look at me with sympathy–or worse, disgust. I see the way Andi continues to dig her feet in, determined to pull Seth from the depths of his despair.
If sheer will and grit could save him, she’d have him rehabbed in no time.
I recognize her unwillingness to give up, even when all signs point to the effort being a lost cause.
It’s the same fight I used to see in myself, back when hope was still a possibility I clung to.
I was convinced my mother would eventually come to her senses, that her love for me would outweigh her love for him.
But that day never came. She sold her body to every Tom, Dick, and Harry within a two-hundred-mile radius in exchange for a sliver of his attention.
He conditioned her to believe that giving up her autonomy was the only way to gain his affection, and she ate up the crumbs he so rarely graced her with like a fiend.
High school was hard enough without the added taunts and ridicule of being the poor kid, but hearing the details of your mom’s prostitution exploits was next-level foul.
It didn’t matter that the assholes relaying the information only knew about it because someone in their own family had paid for a few hours to do what they pleased with her body; all they cared about was mocking the woman on her back, spreading her legs for anyone who could cough up the right amount of cash.
I’d never shame a person for being involved in sex work.
It’s a lucrative industry. But my mother went down that path for all the wrong reasons.
She didn’t do it because she enjoyed it or to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.
She did it for a man. And he took damn near every cent of what she made, leaving her scraps to get by on.
I begged her to leave, but she’d just look at me sadly, reciting that same tired-ass excuse that I was too young to understand.
Well, newsflash, Mom. I’m all grown up, and it still doesn’t make sense.
She came home beaten and bloody too many times to count, but I always nursed her back to health.
Me, not the asshole she was throwing it all away for.
Conveniently, he seemed to vanish every time one of his customers got a little too handsy.
So suffice it to say, I know a thing or two about wanting to save someone who’d much rather drown.
And sadly, history’s repeating itself with Briggs and my inability to walk away.
A sigh of relief parts my lips when we make it to Rita’s and the parking lot is empty.
I’d like to give Andi a brief tour before we’re inundated with people stopping by.
You never know what one day to the next is going to look like around here, and I don’t want to overwhelm her right off the bat.
A quick glance in Andi’s direction reveals how curious she is, her wide eyes surveying our new surroundings.
As if I’m seeing it for the first time, my gaze flits across the property, taking stock of the impressive, multi-purpose facility that Royce and Rita have grown this place into.
“Ready?” I ask, my hand resting on the door handle as I wait for Andi’s response. She gives me a terse nod and hops out, depriving me of the opportunity to be a gentleman.
I hasten my steps to catch up with her, gaining a few paces at the last second so I can pull the door open before she gets to it.
She flashes me a grateful smile and ducks beneath my arm, her stride slowing as the main room of The Village comes into view.
I can only imagine what’s going through her head, but I’m certain any preconceived ideas she had are being wiped away with every new detail she catalogs.
There’s an array of couches that frame the right side of the open-plan space, and to the left are a billiards table and foosball table.
“I think I’m a little lost…” Andi whispers, her confusion growing as she notices the gaming consoles mounted to the wall beneath a large flat-screen TV.
I’m sure it’s only confounded by the plexiglass covering them, the edges flush with the wall making it appear seamless. “I thought Rita ran a food pantry?”
“She does, but The Village encompasses much more than that,” I answer, my palm resting against the base of her spine as I steer us forward.
“This is the common room, which is really just a place to relax and unwind. To find comfort in the mundane things that most of us take for granted. Nine times out of ten, the people who frequent The Village are treated like a subspecies of humans. They’re looked down on, society criticizing them for their station in life and laying blame at their feet alone for whatever circumstances have led them to need a helping hand.
But most people fail to realize that they too are only one minor inconvenience from a setback they can’t recover from. ”
“So when they come here, those barriers separating the haves and the have-nots don’t exist anymore,” Andi surmises, trailing her finger along a pool cue as she makes her way around the room.
“That’s the goal. Granted, it’s on a much smaller scale, but to some degree, they’re able to enjoy the same luxuries as anyone else.” She’s quiet for several minutes, likely processing the information I’ve thrown at her, but her feet keep moving.
“And these?” She points to the plexiglass boxes. “Aren’t they a bit counterproductive if the goal is to make the people who visit The Village feel welcome?” It’s a fair question, delivered without an ounce of judgment in her tone.
“Perhaps, but there’s no point in turning a blind eye to the obvious.
For the vast majority who walk through that door, they’ve come here with good intentions and only wish to escape reality for a while.
But there are always a few stragglers who are looking to take advantage of the situation.
After several break-ins that resulted in costly replacement trips to the local electronics store, we had to get creative with our security measures.
It’s frustrating for sure, but we can’t allow the actions of some to dictate the outcome for all. ”
“Makes sense,” Andi agrees. “I take it the name is coined from the phrase it takes a village?” Her smile is sweet as she looks to me in question. I nod, tracking the way her attention is drawn to the hallway that branches off the back of the room. “What does this lead to?”
“Let’s find out.” I grin, enjoying the way her cheeks flush under my appraisal.
I link her hand with mine, ignoring the way she stutter-steps from the unexpected contact.
Her skin is soft and delicate in comparison to the rough calluses blemishing my own.
A near decade of manual labor isn’t very kind to the body.
Andi glances at the four doors we pass on our trek down the corridor, two on each side, staggered several yards apart, so I quickly explain their purpose.
“These rooms are loaned out on a case-by-case basis. Usually for emergencies, such as domestic violence situations or a teen that’s been kicked out of their home unexpectedly.
Once we’ve secured a permanent arrangement, whether it be a tiny home in one of Royce’s communities or a shelter for battered women and youth, we transition them as fast as we can so they aren’t displaced for too long. ”
“That’s amazing. I had no idea there were so many resources available to those in need.” Her wistful tone makes me wonder if she’s remembering a time in her life when she wished the same means of support were at her disposal.
“Oh, there isn’t,” I scoff in disgust, unable to keep my frustration from bleeding through.
“Believe me, The Village is the exception, not the rule. It’s taken Royce and Rita years to figure out the best approach to make this place run smoothly.
They’ve pulled insight from everyone that’s ever walked through their door, hoping to make the next person’s experience that much better.
It’s been a lot of trial and error, but I’ve yet to see a more dedicated pairing than the two of them.
I honestly question if the word impossible is a part of Royce’s vocabulary, because I swear on a stack of vintage Playboys that anytime someone utters the word, he takes it as a challenge to prove the naysayers wrong.
” I laugh lightly, recalling all the times Royce has been told that something isn’t feasible.
They’d be better off issuing a declaration of war, since there’s no way in hell that man will ever accept defeat.
“Vintage, huh?” Andi jokes, her gaze focused straight ahead as she bites back a smile.
“Your prioritization of swear-worthy material is quite interesting, Mr. Wilder. Most people would opt for a life, such as their mother or child.” The teasing lilt of her voice is hypnotizing, making me plot a million different scenarios in which this side of her is something I can become a lot more familiar with.