21. Chapter 21 #2
It’s a quick job, and less than half an hour later I’m standing outside Riverfront, clipboard in hand, as guardians sign kids out and load them up for the ride to their temporary homes.
The gym slowly empties behind me, the shrieks and squeaking sneakers fading away. Maybe if I’m lucky, my ears will stop ringing by dinner. The front doors swing open behind me.
I glance over my shoulder just as Boston steps outside carrying two bulging black trash bags, one in each hand. Cassie and Bronx trail behind him like ducklings, still bickering over the race.
“I’m just saying,” Bronx argues, “if she can carry Cassie, you could’ve carried me.”
Boston shakes his head. “Yeah, but unlike some people—” he throws me a meaningful look—“I don’t cheat.”
I laugh, collect yet another signature, then watch as the corresponding child clambers into the waiting car.
“Go wait with Skye,” Boston tells his siblings while he drops the bags in the dumpster. He joins us just as a beige minivan pulls into the pickup line.
Cassie immediately straightens. “That’s Ms. Mindy.”
It’s subtle, but Boston’s expression dims, the laughter and lightheartedness gone from his gray eyes. I frown, momentarily confused.
The van barely stops before Bronx yanks the side door open.
“Seatbelts,” Boston calls automatically.
“We know,” Cassie says with the long-suffering exhaustion of a child who has definitely been told that a thousand times plus-minus three.
A woman with kind eyes and frizzy brown hair leans across the front seat. “Hey, Boston.”
“Hi, Mrs. Reed,” he greets her. “Is there anything you still need for Cassie’s birthday party?”
She waves him off. “No, no, we should be all set. You sure you won’t be able to join us?”
Boston shakes his head. “I have to work, but I promised Cassie a fancy ice cream cake when I see her here next week.”
And it hits me. Mindy Reed is Cassie and Bronx’s…
guardian? Foster mom? They don’t live with Boston.
They were probably taken when their mom was arrested, and even though Boston has been back in Stillwater since March, they’re not with him.
Just like that, all the lightheartedness drains from me, too.
“I want cookies and cream,” Cassie announces, and hugs Boston. Hard.
Her little arms lock around his waist with enough force that Boston actually rocks back half a step. His hand cradles the back of her head automatically.
“Okay,” he says with a chuckle. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
“You better.”
Then Bronx hugs him too, quick and rough and boyish. “Later, Boss.”
“Later, New York City Borough.”
Boston shuts the van door once they’re buckled in, stepping back onto the curb while Mrs. Reed gives him a small wave before pulling away.
He watches the minivan until it disappears from the lot. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.
I step beside him quietly, my clipboard tucked against my stomach.
“You really love them,” I say softly. It’s not a question. He’s always been absolutely in love with his little brother and sister. Maybe they offered him something he lost when his dad died. Or maybe that’s just how siblings love each other. I wouldn’t know.
Boston huffs out a small laugh through his nose, eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “Yeah.”
There’s so much packed into that one word it makes my chest ache.
I glance at him carefully. “Can I ask something?”
He finally looks over at me. “Sure.”
“Why can’t they stay with you?”
Boston’s expression shifts again, this time into something more guarded.
“Sorry, you obviously don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business, really,” I say quickly. I don’t want to interrogate him.
“No, it’s okay.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “I’m working on it. There’s just… a lot of stuff I gotta figure out first. And… paperwork.”
I just nod. I know nothing about what it takes to have kids live with me that aren’t my own, but I imagine it’s quite the process.
We start walking toward our cars side-by-side. The parking lot’s mostly empty now, the air heavy with late-afternoon heat.
“How often do you get to see them?” I ask.
“Every Sunday.” He nods back toward Riverfront. “And here.”
That makes me pause.
I look at him. “Wait. Do you work here because of them?”
He nods once. “They were coming here after school, and then their last foster told me she had signed them up for the summer program.”
Boston’s mention of Cassie and Bronx’s “last foster” doesn’t go unnoticed. Their mom got arrested three months ago and already they’re getting shuffled through the system.
He shrugs. “So when I got back to Stillwater, I applied to work here part-time. Gets me access to them.”
My heart hurts. Because suddenly I understand why he’s here of all places. Why Bronx shadows him and Cassie watches him like he hung the moon. It’s not just a job for him. It’s his way of making sure Cassie and Bronx are okay.
“Oh, Boss, this—” Before I can finish my sentence, my phone starts ringing.
Boston’s eyes flick to my jeans. “Is… is that a storm siren?”
I smile sheepishly. “It’s Archer’s ring tone.”
“I bet you don’t miss any of his calls with that sound.”
“I try not to,” I say quickly, then answer the call. “Hey Arch.”
“Hey baby. You’re not on your way home yet?” Archer’s voice comes through.
“About to get in my car.”
“What was the hold-up? I thought you were going to be on the road like fifteen minutes ago,” he says, not quite accusatory, but not quite relaxed, either.
“No hold-up. I just had to wait until all the kids were signed out.”
“Are you there all by yourself?”
I glance at Boston who’s staring at the cracked asphalt, probably pretending not to listen. “No. Boss is still here. About to head out, too.”
Silence. Then, “Right. Well, we’re still on for dinner, right?”
I nod to myself. “Just need to stop by the office and drop off the clipboard, then I’ll be on my way. Would love to hop in your pool really quick.”
A low chuckle echoes through the phone. “No problem. Clothing optional.”
“Your mom would so not appreciate that.”
“My mom’s been wine-drunk since one o’clock. She wouldn’t care,” Archer says. “Hell, she might join you.”
Now that’s an image I do not need. “And on that note, I’ll end this call and get on the road.”
He laughs. “Alright. See you in twenty?”
“Something like that.”
“Don’t make me wait, Skye.”
I slide my phone back into my pocket. “I’m sorry, Boss, I gotta—”
“No worries,” he says, giving me a genuine, if tired, smile. “I’ll see you next week. Have fun in the pool.”
I smile back even though, for some reason, it feels too soon to say goodbye.