Chapter Sixteen
Darcy
“On Wednesdays, we wear pink. I’ve told you this a thousand times, Mr. Marshall.”
I pull the edges of my pants up to reveal pink socks. “I didn’t forget, Keisha.”
The fourteen-year-old rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, and I think my wife, when she was young, might have resembled this girl.
My wife. How does that phrase sail across my thoughts so smoothly now?
“It needs to be visible at all times. Here, I have a pink scrunchie you can wear around your wrist today.” Keisha yanks my hand and drags me up the steps of the group home and into the common area. She’s a force for a short, scrawny teen. “Wait here.”
I do as I’m told because if I’ve learned one thing during my time volunteering here, it’s that these young adults are always right and you better listen to every word they say and complete every task they ask of you.
Maybe teens should manage campaigns. Or at the very least, be the ones knocking on doors.
Hmm. That wouldn’t be a terrible idea… But would I get slandered for forced child labor?
Probably. If Mr. Loveless had anything to say about it.
He’s slandered my marriage, calling it a political sham and a hoax among the people over the past month.
Some people are listening, but surprisingly, we’ve gained support and he’s been touted as a racist. I don’t condone using that word lightly, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t help my campaign.
It’s when I catch Hayden meandering around our kitchen with puffy eyes, reddened skin, and mumbling over articles she’s read about our interracial marriage that makes me want to go kill the idiot politician with my bare hands.
“Mr. Marshall! You came!” Keegan, Keisha’s twin brother, is like a bear running toward me because of his thick frame. He pummels me to the black and white tiled floor of the group home and puts me in a headlock before I can get a word in.
“You’ve been practicing, huh?”
He grins down at me, his gap tooth showing proudly. “You betcha. I’ve been waiting all week to show you this.”
“Okay, big guy. You’ve shown me, now why don’t you assist this old man off the ground?” I tap the floor three times, and he releases his grip before helping me to my feet. This is why I changed into jeans and a t-shirt before coming here.
Landon, an eleven-year-old boy whose growth spurt seems to keep getting the best of him, bumps Keegan with his shoulder. “Keegan! Move. He’s mine today. He hung out with you last week.”
“Like Mr. Marshall wants to spend time with a kid like you. He wants to hang out with men like me.” Keegan puffs his chest while Landon’s shoulders droop, bringing his height down closer to Keegan’s.
My heart goes out to both kids. Though I’ve always been more of a Landon-type, passive and quiet, I can also understand Keegan, the angry and protective type. “Why don’t we all hang out together today, huh? I may have brought something you’ll both like.”
The boys look at each other and then back at me with wide eyes and a hint of a smile. Keegan nods his head at me. “Whatcha got?”
“Follow me.”
We head through the lobby and out the midnight blue double doors to my Mustang where I have all the supplies tucked away. Maybe I should have gotten permission, but sometimes, the most fun happens when you ask for forgiveness later.
“Mr. Marshall! I told you to wait.” Keisha runs out of the three story building, taking long strides until she’s by our side. She holds out a pink scrunchie. “Wear this on your wrist.”
“Don’t make him wear that,” Keegan swats Keisha’s wrist. “He’s a man.”
I grab his wrist. “And men don’t hit ladies, Keegan.” I receive the scrunchie from her and tell her thank you. “Men can wear pink, too.”
“She’s not a lady,” Keegan mumbles, but goes on about his business opening my trunk. “Whoa…”
“What is it?” Landon rushes to Keegan’s side and peers into the trunk. I watch his face light up. “Are we going shooting?”
Chuckling, I correct him. “There is no way I can take pre-teens and teens shooting, Landon. But I can suit you all up for a thrilling game of paintball.”
The boys whoop and holler, and even Keisha checks out the gear. They call the rest of their friends—their family, basically—over.
While they haul the gear out of the trunk, I try to speak over their excited chatter. “I hope you all don’t mind, but I have a friend coming to join us today. He’s been my buddy since I was around your age. He should be getting here shortly.”
As if right on cue, the decked-out black Toyota Tundra that belongs to Ren powers down the gravel road. The man spends his money on three things: clothes, travel, and his truck. His home? It’s basically a shack that he frequents every now and then.
The kids don’t notice the vehicle approaching because they’re too busy bickering over who gets which paintball gun. Ren pulls up beside me and rolls the window down. I’m about to tell him where to park when I notice a person in the passenger seat.
“You brought a frie—” The question cuts short when the person pulls down her sunglasses.
“Hey, husband!” Hayden’s cheerful voice and bright smile send coursing waves of annoyance through me. I attempt a smile in her direction, then glare at the menace in the driver’s seat.
Ren grins ear to ear. “Hayden wanted to know what you really do on Wednesdays, so she tagged along.” Oh, Ren. If looks could kill…
Hayden is already sliding out of the passenger door before I have a chance to tell him to take her home. Instead, I give him directions on where to park and mentally condemn him to solitary confinement for the rest of his life. He’s clearly lost his mind.
Closing my eyes, I begin to count to ten. This guy. If he is going to continue dragging Hayden to places she doesn’t belong, I will—
An arm loops through mine. I smell her—sunshine and lemon—before I see her. “Happy to see me?” Her voice sounds like all things yellow—dandelions, honey, and fire. I open my eyes and examine the woman who has attached herself to my side. If I actually believed in auras, hers would be canary gold.
I hate it.
Because the woman covered head to toe in skin-tight black athletic gear is still golden.
“Of course.” A lie straight through my teeth.
Ren is the only person I’ve brought out here.
I never even brought Stella though she knew about it.
It’s my special place to shed my walls, give back in a small capacity.
Being here, around these lively kids, reminds me of my sister.
I guess I show up every week for these kids because I can’t show up for Ophelia. I failed her.
I don’t exactly understand why I’m having an adverse reaction to Hayden stepping into this sphere of my life.
I trust her. We are married. But I don’t want her to start asking questions about Ophelia.
I would rather take that secret to my grave than confess what I did all those years ago, putting my sister in harm's way, just to get away from my father.
“Who are you?” Keisha asks, her arms once again crossed as she eyes Hayden up and down. I put the harrowing phantoms in my mind to bed, tucking them in and commanding them to go to sleep. Forever, preferably.
With one hand lazily resting on my forearm, Hayden extends her other out to Keisha. “I’m Hayden Bennett Marshall, Darcy’s campaign manager and—” she pauses, side-eying me, “his wife.”
Keisha’s jaw drops before she shakes her head and adjusts her expression back to one of suspicion and disdain. She cuts her brown eyes to me. “Since when are you married? And why didn’t you tell us?”
“In a few days, we'll have been married for one month,” Hayden says with a smile that looks genuine. She’s a great actress. She’s proven that for sure over the past weeks with her loving, doting, enamored wife bit for the media hounds.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Keisha bites. She glares at Hayden one last time before walking away. The kids stop fighting over the paintball guns and train their eyes on me and Hayden.
Hayden’s smile doesn’t falter. Instead, she stands on her tiptoes and whispers, “What’s her name?”
I tell her, then Hayden nods and hurries after her.
Doesn’t she understand that Keisha will rip her head off? But then again… I have no doubt that Hayden can match wits with the teen. While Hayden disappears into the group home, I join the kids in picking out gear while they taunt me about the “beautiful woman” I’m with.
Hayden is beautiful.
Once upon a time, I was a man who never had physical-touch desires. Fast-forward nearly one month into marriage, and any contact she initiates feels like giving a drop of water to a man stranded in a desert.
I don’t know who I’ve become, but I don’t like him much.
But it’s still not enough to want to consum—
How in the world did my thoughts end up here? I place the back of my hand onto my cheek, angry at the evidence of my thoughts painting my face.
Thankfully, at that moment, Ren jumps into the group, loudly proclaiming he will win because he is a real-life Japanese ninja, making him an instant hit with the kids. Most are suspicious, demanding he prove it, while a few of the younger kids stare up at him with rounded eyes and jaws agape.
Clapping my hands together, I shout, “All right! Time to pick teams.”
“But I want to do a free-for-all,” complains Martin, the oldest of the kids. “One last moment to shake these kids up before I age out.”
“Then I expect you to lead your team well, captain,” I respond. “You’ll always work better with a team. Remember that when you leave this place.”
Beside me, Ren snorts. “Take your own advice every now and then.”
Martin high-fives Ren and says, “Ninja’s my first pick.” Ren claps him on the back with a grin.
“That’s fine with me.” I point to Ren. “I’m coming for you.”