Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Summer
The warm breeze brushed against my skin as I parked the car outside the foster home, tapping the steering wheel lightly before cutting the engine.
Today felt different, like something important was about to happen.
Maybe it was just because I was taking Jake out for the first time, or maybe it was because I had spent the entire night plotting ways to make him laugh.
Mission: Get Jake to Smile was officially underway.
Stepping inside, I weaved through the usual morning chaos—kids shouting, caregivers ushering them toward breakfast, the faint sound of cartoons playing in the background. But when I reached Jake’s room, the liveliness of the home faded into quiet. I knocked twice before pushing the door open.
Jake sat at the edge of his bed, hood up, arms folded across his chest like an impenetrable fortress. His sneakers were loosely tied, scuffed from wear. He looked up briefly when I entered, then immediately looked away, already deciding he wasn’t interested in whatever I had to say.
"Morning, grumpy," I greeted, leaning against the doorframe.
Nothing.
I sighed dramatically. "Alright, so I was thinking… what if we break some rules today?"
That got a small twitch of his fingers.
I lowered my voice like I was letting him in on a top-secret plan. "What if we—and hear me out—sneak out and do something completely reckless?"
Still nothing, but I could feel him listening.
"We could, I don’t know… eat so much ice cream that the ice cream police have to come arrest us."
That did it. A small glance, barely there, but progress.
I took it and ran. "I mean, it’s a bold move. Not everyone can handle a sugar high of that magnitude. But you? You strike me as someone who could handle the consequences of a brain freeze."
He sighed, shaking his head, but not in annoyance. It was amusement-adjacent.
"Fine," he muttered. "But I want vanilla."
I gasped, clutching my chest like he had physically wounded me. "Vanilla? Jake, I thought you were cool."
He rolled his eyes. "Vanilla’s good."
"It’s basic."
"It’s classic."
"It’s a flavor for people who wear mismatched socks and don’t care about it."
He huffed a small breath—not quite a laugh, but close.
"Alright, alright," I conceded, holding my hands up. "One painfully boring vanilla ice cream, coming up."
He shook his head, but he stood up, and that was all I needed.
The park was already buzzing with people when we arrived.
Kids ran across the grass, dogs chased frisbees, and the scent of grilled food drifted from the picnic area.
Jake hesitated as we stepped onto the pathway, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, his eyes scanning the area like he was bracing for something bad to happen.
I nudged him gently with my elbow. "You look like you’re mapping out an escape plan."
He shot me a side glance. "Maybe I am."
"Smart. Always know your exits," I said approvingly. "But I should warn you, if you try to ditch me, I will hunt you down and tickle you into submission."
His eyes widened. "You wouldn’t."
I grinned. "Oh, I would."
He exhaled sharply—half a scoff, half a laugh.
We wandered around for a while, taking in the sights. He didn’t speak much, but I could tell he was observing everything, letting himself exist in the moment without the usual weight pressing down on him.
At the playground, he hovered near the swings, watching another boy push himself higher and higher, his laughter ringing out.
He kicked at the edge of the sandbox, watching little kids mold their tiny kingdoms out of dirt and sticks.
When a soccer ball rolled toward him, he instinctively stopped it with his foot.
The little boy chasing after it paused, looking at Jake expectantly.
Jake hesitated.
I nudged him. "Well, don’t just stand there. Return the ball, or the kid’s gonna think you’re trying to steal it."
Jake shot me a look, but with a sigh, he nudged the ball back.
"Nice pass," I praised.
"That was barely a pass."
"It was an elite pass."
He shook his head, but his lips twitched.
And then, it happened.
As he watched the little boy chase after the ball, he smiled.
Small. Almost unnoticeable.
But real.
I didn’t say anything, didn’t point it out, didn’t ruin the moment by making a big deal of it. Instead, I just stood beside him, letting the warmth in my chest spread.
"Okay, now I’m craving sugar," I announced. "Let’s go ruin our teeth."
Jake didn’t argue. He walked beside me as we made our way to the small ice cream stand near the entrance. His steps were lighter, his body language more at ease.
I felt something uncoil in my chest.
Today was a win.
Then, just as we reached the stand, everything changed.
Jake, still riding on the excitement of ice cream, ran ahead—straight into a man’s path.
A broad-shouldered man with a scowl etched into his face.
Jake stumbled back, and before he could react, the man’s eyes darkened with instant fury.
"Watch where you’re going, kid!" the man snapped, his voice sharp and dripping with irritation.
Jake froze, his breath hitching, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
I stepped in immediately, putting myself between them before the man could take another step.
"He’s just a kid," I said, keeping my voice calm but firm. "It was an accident."
The man scoffed, his gaze flicking between me and Jake. "Maybe he should learn some damn manners."
Jake flinched, and that was it.
I wasn’t having this.
I squared my shoulders. "Or maybe you should learn some patience."
The man’s scowl deepened. "What did you just say?"
Then, before I could react, he lifted his hand—fast, sharp, aimed right at Jake.
Jake didn’t move—but I did.
My body moved before my brain could catch up, instincts screaming at me to protect him, to block him, to do something.
And then—pain.
A sharp, stunning slap collided with my cheek, knocking my head slightly to the side.
Jake gasped loudly, his breathing turning erratic, his entire body trembling beside me.
My vision blurred for a second before I blinked rapidly, straightening, ignoring the sting spreading across my face.
Jake’s small, shaky voice broke the silence.
"S-Summer?"
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself before turning back to the man, my heart pounding, my fingers curling into tight fists.