Chapter 14
Jo-Leigh
It’s been four days since I’ve seen Swag. Four days of silence.
I know he’s out. Hell, the whole damn city knows.
Local Motorcycle Club Leader Cleared of All Charges was plastered across the news like he was some kind of hero.
They even used a photo of him in a suit, smirking like he owned the courtroom.
I watched the segment twice. Maybe three times.
I told myself I was just curious. That it was for closure.
But that’s a lie. The second they showed his face, my stomach flipped like a traitor.
I’ve been checking my phone more than I want to admit, too.
I even turned my ringer back on like he might magically call.
But he hasn’t called. He hasn’t texted. And I haven’t seen a single damn sign of him.
And maybe I should be glad. Because I know what he is.
I know the things he’s done. The things I let him do. He told me himself he’s not a good man.
But you know what? Neither is Ricky Langston.
The difference is, one of them touched me like I was precious, and the other threatened me with a smile.
I haven’t seen Ricky since that night, but I can feel him. Like the air tightens around me whenever I walk home. Like the shadows outside my building stretch too long. He’s lurking. Waiting. And my luck? It’s not going to hold out forever.
So yeah, maybe I should be glad Swag’s gone.
But every night I double check the locks on my freshly repaired door.
Every night I think about that moment in his office—his hands, his voice, the way he looked at me like I wasn’t broken.
And every night, I wonder if he’s thinking about me too.
Because even though he warned me to stay away he never told me how to stop wanting him.
Sighing, I grab my bag and head to work.
I’m really enjoying my job, even with everything going on.
It’s something solid. Predictable. The kind of good that doesn’t come with strings or whispered threats.
Melanie, my co-worker, is still under the impression that I left the bar before the raid.
And thank god for strong shots and a quick tongue, because the last thing I need is her finding out I was with Swag when everything went sideways. That I was in his office. On his desk.
That I still think about the way he looked at me right before Talon burst in.
I press my fingers to my lips as I step inside the social services center. The familiar scent of weak coffee and citrus cleaner hits me. It’s weird how comforting it is.
Melanie waves from behind her desk. “Morning, sunshine! You’re early!”
I smile and fake a yawn. “Figured I’d beat traffic.”
She snorts. “More like avoid people, huh? Smart girl.”
I slip into the back, stowing my bag and grabbing the client files for the day. As I sit, I realize that this life—the one where I help people, file paperwork, and laugh over coffee—is one I want. And if I’m not careful, it’s one I’ll lose.
Because I don’t think Ricky Langston is done.
And I know Swag isn’t.
The bell above the door jingles and the waiting room fills with quiet tension, pulling me from my thoughts.
Melanie and I exchange a look as we both rise, taking in the sea of faces.
Some tired, some broken, all carrying stories in their eyes.
Today brings everything. A mother fleeing abuse with her teenage son, an older man whose dementia has become a safety concern, and a pair of brothers too used to fending for themselves.
But it’s the girl that stops me cold.
She’s maybe seven. Too small for her oversized hoodie and pink sparkly shoes. She clutches a stuffed bear under one arm and a folded paper in the other. Her eyes are what get me. Hollowed out and haunted. Like she’s trying to disappear into herself.
Melanie murmurs, “That’s the one from the night shift call. Mom overdosed.”
The words slice through me.
I kneel, slowly. “Hey there. I’m Ms. Lewis, but you can call me Jo-Leigh. What’s your name?”
The girl presses her lips together, clutching the bear tighter. She doesn’t answer, but I know her name is Kennedi. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t answer either. In fact, when I was in her shoes, I didn’t answer. Not for weeks.
“It’s okay,” I say gently. “You don’t have to talk. But I want you to know you’re safe here, Kennedi. Okay?”
She nods once. Melanie brings over her file, and I glance at the details. No known father. No emergency contacts. No relatives available for placement.
Just like me.
My throat tightens. I blink quickly, trying to keep it together.
But this job… it’s more than paperwork. More than structure and clean buildings and a locked front door.
It’s seeing a reflection of who you once were in the small face of a stranger and knowing what they’ve lost when others can only imagine.
And what they’ll have to fight for just to stay afloat.
I want to tell her it gets easier. That the pain will fade. That someday the world won’t feel so heavy. But I don’t lie to kids.
Instead, I grab her a juice box and a gummy fruit snack from the stash behind my desk and sit with her while Melanie makes some calls.
She leans against me eventually, bear between us like a fragile shield.
For a second, I forget all about Swag, about Ricky Langston, and about who I’ve been and what I’ve done. For a second, I just breathe.
We spend the better part of the afternoon together—me, Kennedi, and her silent bear.
I make small talk, telling her in age-appropriate words what I’m working on, but I don’t ask her anything.
I let her exist exactly how she needs to: quietly, cautiously, protected behind a wall she probably didn’t even know she’d built.
By the time placement arrives, I’ve reviewed three possible homes, made two calls to check-in references, and found a match I actually feel good about.
That’s something that doesn’t happen often.
The Rodríguezes are an older couple. No children of their own but fostered six over the years.
Their house is five minutes from the school district Kennedi’s already in.
They have a golden retriever named Toast, a backyard swing, and a guest room painted soft yellow.
As they step inside, she sits straighter on the couch. Not eager. Not scared. Just waiting, like she somehow knows this is the moment her life changes.
Mrs. Rodriguez kneels slowly in front of her, offering a small smile. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Angie. This is my husband, Tom. Toast’s in the car, but he’s very excited to meet you.”
Kennedi clutches her bear tighter.
Angie doesn’t push. “We brought snacks. Do you like goldfish crackers?”
A pause. Then, the tiniest nod. Angie pulls out a baggie like it’s treasure, setting it gently on the coffee table. Kennedi’s fingers twitch, like they want to move but need permission.
I reach over and whisper, “It’s okay.”
She grabs a few crackers and nibbles, her eyes flicking to Angie, then Tom, then back to me.
“I don’t have to stay forever?” she whispers.
This is one of the things I hate about my job. There’s not a good answer to this question. Not really. If this little girl is lucky, she’ll get adopted and stay with them. If she’s not, she may end up like me. It’s a coin toss and no one knows how the coin will land.
I say, “Just until things feel safer.”
She looks at Angie again. “Will you read to me?”
I feel something crack in my chest.
Angie blinks fast, her smile trembling. “I would love to, Kennedi.”
Tom’s already pulled out a small book from their tote. “We brought a few, just in case.”
“Okay.”
We pack her belongings—the bear, her paper, a few clothes from the donations room—and I walk them out. Angie reaches for Kennedi’s hand, and this time, she lets her take it.
She pauses before getting in the car, looking back at me.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
It’s the first full sentence I’ve heard from her all day.
I nod, fighting tears. “Be good, okay?”
She gives me a solemn look. “I’ll try.”
Then she’s gone, nestled in the backseat next to a dog who immediately lays his head in her lap.
I stand there until the car disappears. Only then do I go inside, sit at my desk, and let myself cry.
When I get home, I drop my keys in the bowl by the door and lock up tight behind me. For the first time in what feels like forever, the silence is comforting.
I toss my bag on the counter, kick off my shoes, and microwave some scrambled eggs because I’m too damn tired to do anything else. I eat standing up, watching my reflection in the dark TV screen. I look like a ghost that’s hollow-eyed and unsure.
Part of me keeps expecting a text. A call. Some message. But my phone stays stubbornly still on the table. Swag might be a big deal around here. But not to me. Not anymore.
I drag myself to bed and sleep harder than I have in days dreaming of a little girl who looked like me.
The next morning with coffee in hand, I make it to the office early and power on my ancient computer. As I sip from my mug, an email from Angie catches my eye.
Subject: Kennedi
Hi Jo-Leigh,
I just wanted to thank you again for trusting us with Kennedi. She’s doing incredibly well. Toast follows her everywhere, and she hasn’t let go of that bear—not once. Last night, she asked Tom to help her brush the bear’s teeth.
And get this… She talked. Full sentences. She asked if she could bring Toast to school with her. Thank you for placing this angel in our life. I think she’s going to be okay.
– Angie
I have to blink fast to stop the tears. I reread it three times before moving it into a new folder I label Good Days.
By the time lunch rolls around I’ve had more good cases than bad. I’m halfway through a turkey sandwich in the breakroom when the door swings open. Ricky Langston. The sight of him makes my skin crawl.
“Hey there, stranger,” he says, all charm and teeth.
I stiffen and glance at the door behind him. Still open. Good.
“What are you doing here,” I ask flatly, not even bothering to hide my annoyance.
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “I missed you. Thought I’d swing by.”
“This isn’t your beat.”
“It is when I want it to be,” he replies smoothly, stepping closer. “Never know what might pop off around here. Gotta protect my favorite caseworker.”
My stomach twists, but I don’t let it show.
“Thanks, but I don’t need protection. Especially not from you.”
He leans down just enough for his breath to hit my cheek. “You sure about that?”
I swallow hard and say nothing. Just glare. His smirk widens like he’s won something.
“See you around, sweetie,” he drawls, turning and strolling out like he owns the damn place.
The second the door shuts, I lock it. And then I stand there with my back to it, waiting for my heart to slow down.
The next day at lunch it starts the same way it always does. Me, minding my business, trying to get through a sandwich in peace. And then the door opens.
Ricky.
“Hey again, gorgeous,” he says with a grin like he’s got a right to be here. “You eat alone every day or just when I show up?”
I sigh. “What do you want, Officer?”
He struts inside, hands on his duty belt like he’s posing for a calendar. “A date. Nothing major. Just you, me, and a burger. Come on, Jo-Leigh. You owe me that much for brushing me off last time and all those years ago.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
His smile thins. “You gonna keep playing hard to get? ’Cause it’s starting to feel a little personal.”
I glance at the clock. Five minutes left of lunch. Just enough time to say yes and plan my exit later. Maybe if I go out with him once, he’ll finally back off.
“Fine. One date,” I say, my voice tight. “One.”
His face lights up like he won something and grabs a piece of paper from my desk and jots down an address.
“You won’t regret it. See you there at seven.
But as the afternoon drags on, I already do.
It’s after seven when I finally make it to the restaurant parking lot, dressed casually and running late. Ricky is leaning against his cruiser, arms crossed, like he's been waiting forever.
“Damn, Jo-Leigh,” he says, whistling low. “I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up.”
“Just had to finish some reports.”
We eat. It’s fine. He talks too much. Laughs at his own jokes. Keeps reaching across the table like he’s trying to touch my hand even though I keep pulling away. I count the minutes until it’s over.
Outside, he walks with me toward the parking lot, and that’s when things shift.
“Had a good time,” he says, stepping too close. “Been thinking about this since high school.”
Before I can process it, his hand grazes my waist.
“Don’t,” I snap, trying to move away.
“Come on, I’ve seen how you look at me. You don’t have to play coy?—”
“I said don’t.”
He grabs my wrist, twisting it painfully behind my back.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Then maybe you should stop playing coy!”
I try to get away which only cause more pain as he tightens his grip. Panic claws its way up my throat. What was I thinking coming here tonight? I try harder to get away, which makes him twist my arm to the point I think it’s going to break.
And then I hear the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle pulling in and my stomach flips. The headlight cuts across the lot, then the engine shuts off.
Swag.
He stalks toward us like he’s ready to tear the asphalt apart. His leather cut is unzipped, revealing the black shirt underneath, and his eyes? Murderous.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Langston?” His voice is cold steel wrapped in fury.
Ricky lets go, holding up his hands. “Relax. We’re just talking.”
“Didn’t look like talking.”
Swag doesn’t wait. He grabs Ricky by the collar and slams him against the cruiser.
“Touch her again and I’ll make sure your hands don’t work.”
Ricky laughs. “You threatening a cop, Boseman?”
“Not a threat. A guarantee.”
I rush between them, pushing against Swag’s chest. “Stop. Just stop.”
He looks down at me, breathing hard, jaw clenched.
Ricky straightens his uniform, glares at Swag, and mutters, “This isn’t over.”
He gets in his cruiser and drives off without another word.
Swag turns back to me. “Why the fuck did you agree to a date with that prick?”
“I thought maybe if I said yes once, he’d leave me alone.”
“You think Ricky Langston understands no when he hears it once? You could’ve been—” He cuts himself off, raking a hand through his hair.
I wrap my arms around myself. “I didn’t think he’d?—”
“Well, he did.” His voice softens. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
I hesitate.
“Please, bee,” he adds. “Let me take you home.”
I nod.
Because even though Swag scares me sometimes, Ricky terrifies me.