Chapter 16
RYKER
“Are you fostering those kids?” I handed Faith a plate to dry.
The scent of meatballs with spaghetti still lingered in the kitchen as I stacked the last of the dinner plates. Through the archway, I could hear the three teenagers settling into the living room.
“No.” She took the dish, her fingers brushing mine for just a second longer than necessary. The contact sent a rush of heat through me, making me want to pull her to me again. Kiss her again. Do more than just kiss her. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“One I’d love to hear, if you’d be willing to share it with me.”
The prospect of her finally opening up to me, trusting me with something else the way she’d trusted me enough to bring me here, to this place that clearly meant so much to her. Damn. It lit me up like fireworks.
Faith’s dish towel stilled in her hands. From the living room came the soft sound of Todd’s guitar and Jessica and Brooklyn gently arguing over the remote. Any one of them could wander in here at any moment, and I sensed Faith wouldn’t be okay with that.
Any second, this conversation could get interrupted.
“There are wonderful things in the foster care system,” she began, her voice barely audible over the running water.
“Wonderful homes and an ocean of loving, well-intentioned people.” She set down the plate with trembling fingers and gripped the edge of the counter.
“Like anything else in life though, there are also some people who have no business being involved with it. Adults who are in desperate need of help themselves have no business trying to give it to other people. Especially vulnerable children.”
I turned off the faucet and moved closer, finding myself watching her lips, eagerly waiting for every word, while simultaneously feeling an ominous chill settle over me, knowing that I wasn’t going to like what I heard next.
I didn’t like hearing anything that had ever had, could, or would hurt Faith Morrison.
“My whole time in the foster care system, I looked forward to one thing: turning eighteen and saying goodbye to it forever.” Her smile was bitter as she picked up another plate, her movements mechanical.
I turned the faucet back on, letting the hot water cascade over my hands as I picked up a dirty dish.
The lavender-scented soap created soft bubbles that clung to my fingers, and I focused on scrubbing, not because I needed my hands to be busy, but because I sensed she did.
And if that made it easier for her to talk, I’d wash dishes until my hands were raw.
“But I was naive. When I turned eighteen, the family I was living with kicked me out literally that day. The moment their responsibility was over, they put me down by the curb like a used, unwanted sofa.”
Intense rage wound through my chest.
How. Fucking. Dare. They.
My attention wandered to the living room, unable to imagine how heartless someone would have to be to shove these kids out onto the street.
Especially a woman, who I’d learned the hard way through years as a lawyer, was significantly more likely to be violently attacked on the streets.
Not to mention how heartbreaking and terrifying that must have been for Faith.
My respect for her grew a hundredfold in that instant. How many people would be standing here, housing other teens, making them dinner, supporting their friends, still able to crack jokes in life, having gone through that?
And that didn’t even begin to encapsulate what she’d gone through either.
I knew I needed to hear it all. As her lawyer and as someone who cared about her.
But as someone whose heart was running away with her, I also knew hearing everything she’d gone through would be one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do.
Because hearing about anyone who’d mistreated her? Made me scrub this plate so hard, I thought the pattern might come off.
I could feel her studying me, watching my aggressive movements with the sponge, so I took a deep breath. Calmed myself. I didn’t want her to have to spend any energy managing me or my emotions over this. She’d already carried enough burdens alone; I wouldn’t add to them.
Rinsing the plate under the stream of hot water, I handed it to her. “I don’t know the protocol, but that seems really heartless.”
Faith stepped closer to me, probably so she could lower her voice even more, but the move brought her shoulder against mine. Fuck, I had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around her.
“I thought I had all my ducks in a row, but it turned out, the money I’d saved didn’t go as far as I thought it would.
” She shook her head, frustration evident in her voice, like she blamed herself for being just an eighteen-year-old teenager who should’ve somehow known everything our parents were supposed to teach us.
“Like I thought I had enough to start paying rent, but I didn’t know you needed first and last month, plus a security deposit.
I didn’t know about all the other hidden costs. ”
I reached for her hand before I could stop myself, covering her fingers with mine, soap suds and all. “You were just a teenager.”
She didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked up at me, and in the amber kitchen light, I could see unshed tears making her green eyes luminous. “I didn’t have a place to live.”
I froze, the warmth of the water feeling instantly ice cold. “You were homeless.”
Guitar strings suddenly went silent in the living room, and we both stilled, listening. After a moment, the soft melody resumed.
“I’m not fond of that term, but yes. Technically, that’s correct.
” Faith’s voice was barely a whisper now.
“If I thought it was difficult to get on my feet before, not having a permanent address made it even harder. Access to the internet, a phone. It’s not easy to fill out job applications when you can’t put down an address. ”
She was eighteen and homeless? Fucking seriously? “Did Blake know?” I couldn’t imagine he did. Blake adored his sister. He’d have left college to take her in.
“I didn’t want to burden him.” She picked up the dish towel and methodically dried the plate I’d just handed her. “He’s only two years older than me. He deserved to go to college and build his life. He didn’t deserve to suddenly become a father.”
I submerged another plate in the sink, the steam rising between us carrying the clean scent of dish soap. I reached across her to grab the next dirty dish from the stack, and when I did, my chest pressed briefly against her back. She sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, neither of us moved.
It was terrible of me, to savor this touch, this heat when she was in the midst of telling me about her horrible past. It was terrible that it took significant effort for me to force myself to break it.
My mind spun, imagining her circumstances. “Where did you sleep?”
Faith glanced toward the living room again. “It changed all the time. Sometimes, I’d get lucky and get a bed in a shelter. Those were the good nights.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Were you ever outside in the winter?”
She bit her lip. “There are ways to block the windchill.” Her reply was too casual, too practiced.
Jesus fucking Christ. The image of Faith alone, without shelter in the brutal Chicago winters, made something savage and protective roar to life in my chest. If Blake had any idea about this, he would’ve lost his mind.
And if I’d known her then, nothing—not hell itself—would’ve kept me from finding her and bringing her somewhere safe.
“The hardest part wasn’t the harsh temperatures or not having a roof over my head,” she continued, her dish towel working over the same plate for the third time. “The hardest part was the realization on really hard days or dark nights that you don’t matter to anyone.”
I pulled my hands from the water, soap dripping from my fingers, and turned to face her fully. “Faith—”
She held up her hand, but I caught it gently in mine.
“I know it wasn’t accurate. Feelings often aren’t.
Blake cares about me,” she whispered, her eyes locked on our joined hands.
“But I wasn’t going to drag him down with me.
That was a line I would not cross, but …
” She exhaled, the sound shaky. “There were nights when I’d be shivering so violently from the cold that it felt like every heartbeat was a fight to stay alive.
And every once in a while, I thought, Why fight?
It felt like no one would really care if another statistic was found dead on the streets. And that life would never get better.”
The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe. This woman, at her most rock bottom, had refused to be a burden to anyone else. Even when refusing that help could’ve cost her life.
I’d never met anyone more selfless or more deserving of love. More deserving of someone who would fight for her the way she’d fought for everyone else.
The urge to pull her into my arms was overwhelming.
“If I had been in your circumstances, I don’t know that I would’ve had the courage and strength to persevere, Faith.” My thumb traced across her knuckles. “You should be proud of everything you’ve overcome and accomplished.”
Her eyes welled with tears, a lone one escaping down her cheek. I reached up to brush it away, her skin impossibly soft beneath my fingers. Every instinct screamed at me to promise her she’d never face anything alone again, but I knew she wasn’t ready to hear that yet.
“Hey, Faith, do we have any more of that garlic bread?” Todd called from the living room.
We sprang apart like we’d been caught doing something wrong. Faith quickly wiped her eyes and called back, “Check on top of the oven!”
The sound of Todd rummaging in the kitchen behind us made us both busy ourselves with the remaining dishes, my hands finding their way back into the warm water, the slick feel of soap bubbles between my fingers oddly grounding.
“Anyway,” Faith continued quietly once Todd had grabbed the bread and disappeared again, “once I got on my feet and reflected back on that time in my life, I realized that a lot of other kids go through something similar. I would run into them, and I would take them out to lunch so they’d get a meal, and I would listen to their stories. ”
“You wanted to help them too.”
She nodded, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, I saw a look of genuine peace cross her features.
“Once I was back on my feet, I started putting together a plan. I mapped out what it would take financially to help some of these kids as they age out. The ones who have nowhere else to go.” Her smile was radiant.
“My dream was to start with one house. The one I have now has three bedrooms. I wanted each kid to have their own space while I helped them get the tools to start their lives. But mostly, I just wanted to wrap my arms around them and make them feel loved.”
As she spoke, her entire face transformed. This was Faith’s passion, her purpose. And watching her talk about these kids with such fierce love made something click into place in my chest—something that felt dangerously close to adoration.
Because, God, I’d argue 99% of people who’d been through what she had—and by the way, I still hadn’t heard half of it—would focus on themselves. Their lives. She’d earned that right to be selfish. But instead, she gave. Even when she had nothing to give, she found a way.
What a beautiful soul.
“I help them get on their feet, give them resources, like counseling, but mostly, I just want them to have one person in this world who loves them unconditionally.” She was drying the same fork for the fourth time, lost in her explanation.
“Someone who will be there for the rest of their lives. When they feel like talking, I listen. When they’re quiet, I let them be quiet.
I just want them to feel safe. And to know that they matter to someone. ”
I reached over and gently took the fork from her hands. “They’re lucky to have you.” The same way I was starting to feel lucky to have found her.
Her cheeks flushed pink, and once again, her demeanor completely transformed—her light receding behind a wall of apprehension. “If something happens to me, if I’m in prison, who will take care of them?”
The vulnerability in her voice nearly undid me.
Here this woman was, facing the possibility of life in prison, and instead of focusing on what that would mean for her, the hell she’d live, possibly forever, all she cared about was making sure these kids were okay.
I wanted to tell her that if the worst happened, I’d make sure they were taken care of.
That I’d take care of anything she needed me to.
“Then we can’t let that happen,” I declared, draining the sink and drying my hands on a kitchen towel.
She swallowed hard.
“I need you to tell me everything, Faith. I know it’s going to be hard, but you need to start with your time in the foster system and tell me what you know about the dead man.”
“The victim,” she corrected quietly.
“That term is to be determined.” I stepped closer, close enough that I had to resist the urge to cup her face in my hands again.
This woman wasn’t some cold-blooded murderer. When she’d stumbled into the mansion, how could I have wondered that for a moment? Shame on me for even thinking it.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Faith whispered.
“We’ll figure it out together.” The promise felt like so much more than just lawyer to client. It felt like a vow I intended to keep for the rest of my life.
A half hour later, after we’d said goodbye to the kids for the night, we drove in silence back to Faith’s house. I sensed she needed the quiet, that she was exhausted after everything she’d been through, and I needed to give her a reprieve before we started the harder part.
Problem was, I couldn’t give her more than the drive. We needed to dive in—now.
But when we rounded the corner and I pulled into the driveway the GPS had taken me to, I cursed at the unwelcome sight on her front lawn.
“Shit.”