Chapter 6 #6
True to his word, ten minutes later I look up to see my father's broad frame at the end of the hallway, Ethan at his side. Behind them, Greyson and half a dozen club members form a wall of leather jackets and silent determination. A hush falls over the nurses and aides within sight.
"Room 307," I say, pointing down the hall. "The doctor's still with her."
Dad nods, lines of grim purpose etched across his weathered face. "Ethan knows the head of Child Protective Services. We've made calls already."
A woman in a gray suit steps out from behind the nurses' station, clipboard clutched in one hand. Her eyes widen at the imposing group before her, but her voice remains professional. "I'm looking for Charlotte Harris."
Dad murmurs, "Stay with the girl. We'll handle this." I slip back toward the door marked 307.
Inside, Charlie lies on the bed in a half dream, her breathing uneven. The doctor closes her chart and offers me a sympathetic look. "Physically, she's malnourished, but otherwise healthy," she says softly. "Mentally… that will take time."
I settle onto the edge of the bed and brush a stray lock of hair from Charlie's forehead. "She's been through trauma," I tell the doctor. "But she's strong."
Outside, raised voices draw me to the door. I crack it open and watch from the gap.
"This is highly irregular," the social worker insists, voice clipped. "I have paperwork."
"And I have the personal cell number for Judge Barrett, who oversees your department's family court cases," Ethan interrupts, his tone calm but unyielding.
"He's an old friend. I can call him now and explain how a traumatized child is being denied the stability of the only people she trusts, or you can use the discretion your position allows for in exigent circumstances. "
The social worker's eyes narrow, but the mention of the judge's name shifts the power dynamic. She glances past Ethan to the silent, imposing wall of club members.
My dad steps forward. "We're not trying to obstruct, ma'am. We're trying to protect a little girl who has been through hell. She asked for Morgan. Let's start with what's best for her."
The social worker exhales, her gaze flicking between Ethan's confident stare and the door to Charlie's room. "This would be a temporary emergency placement. There will be conditions. Daily check-ins. A full home study tomorrow."
"Done," I say, stepping into the hallway before I realize I've moved.
She studies me for a long moment. "You understand this is temporary? Until a permanent placement is arranged?"
I nod, even though my chest rebels at the word "temporary." "Whatever it takes."
"I'll need to speak with the child alone."
I hesitate, eyes on Ethan. He gives a slight nod. "I'll be right outside," I tell Charlie after slipping back into the room and gently shaking her awake.
I watch through the window as Charlie sits up and answers the social worker in soft, serious tones. When the woman finally emerges, relief softens her posture. "She's remarkably articulate about what she wants," the social worker admits. "She's asked to stay with you specifically."
Relief floods me. "She can?"
"Temporarily," the woman emphasizes. "As an emergency foster placement. You'll need to complete paperwork and agree to regular check-ins."
"We will," I promise, already picturing rearranging our home to welcome Charlie.
The social worker looks toward Trenton and Matthew. "Your husband and…?"
"They're both my partners," I say firmly. "They'll be Charlie's guardians, too."
Her eyebrows lift, but she merely adds more documents to her clipboard.
While they handle the bureaucracy, I return to Charlie's bedside. She meets my eyes, small face serious. "Did I do good?" she asks.
"You did perfect," I tell her, taking her hand. "You're coming home with us tonight."
Her face brightens, the first real smile I've seen since finding her. "All of us? You and Mr. Trent and Mr. Matt?"
"All of us," I confirm, my heart swelling. "We have a big house with plenty of room."
"With my own bed?" she whispers, hope in her eyes.
"Your own bed," I promise. "Your own room."
That night, as we pile into the truck, Charlie's small hand curled around mine, dozing against Trenton's shoulder, I feel a new sense of purpose.
"We'll need supplies," I say, glancing back at her peaceful face. "Clothes, toys, school things."
"We'll handle it," Matthew assures from the driver's seat. "Greyson's wife is already organizing donations from the club."
I watch as Charlie settles, how naturally she leans into Trenton, how quickly she trusts us. "She needs stability. Routine."
"She'll have it," Trenton murmurs, his voice a low rumble that doesn't stir her as she sleeps. "With us."
As we drive through the night toward home, I realize our carefully planned life has just grown in ways I never anticipated.
The house we built for three will now shelter four, including a wounded child who needs our protection and love.
And somewhere out there, a monster still believes Charlie belongs to him.
But I've made my choice. I'll fight for this little girl with everything I have.