with me already, Reagan,” he says grinning. “But for God’s sake, I just met you yesterday. Give me some time to get to know you, will you?” He adjusts his clothing like I’ve undressed him with my eyes. “I’m more than a piece of meat.”
He’s still grinning, and I know he’s joking, but it suddenly hits me how silly I’m being. I’m letting my attraction to this man dictate my actions, and I’m putting up walls, tearing them down, and then building them up stronger. By the time the week is over, I’m going to be a damn fortress. But one thing’s for sure. If anyone can get past my walls and make me want him to be there, it’s Pete. Because I’m already halfway there.
Pete
Mr. Caster meets us at the truck when we get out, and he takes in my wrapped wrist with a solemn expression. But he regards the way Reagan looks at me with an even more solemn expression. “Everything go okay?” he asks, his gaze skittering between the two of us.
“Just a strain,” I say, holding up my arm so I can flex my fingers. I look around. The camp is devoid of kids. “Where is everyone?” he asks.
He jerks a thumb toward the pool. “Half the kids are at the pool. The other half is at the stable.”
“Is Link still cursing?” Reagan asks, wincing inside, I can tell.
“Your mother saved you when she dropped the f-bomb in front of him.” He smiles. He’s not angry at all.
Reagan laughs. “So glad I can count on her to save the day.”
“You can always count on your mother to curse more than you.” He looks at me. “Where are you stationed today? With Gonzo?”
I have no idea where I’m supposed to be. “Wherever you want me.” I hold out my hands waiting for his answer.
He nods his head toward the counselors’ cabins, which is where I’m staying. “Check in with Phil. I think he might be having group with some of the youth, and he might need solid adult presence to help him out.” I nod my head. I have never considered myself a solid adult, but my head swells at the thought that he does.
I look at Reagan and cock my head to the side. I hope I look like an inquisitive puppy. Probably not, though. “Will I see you later?” I ask.
Her dad’s brow arches, and he looks almost…amused?
She nods at me, blushing a little as she looks at her dad from beneath lowered lashes.
I start off toward the ring of chairs in the middle of the counselors’ cabins. Phil stands up and gets a chair for me, putting me across from him on the other side of the ring. “How’s the wrist?” he asks as I settle down and lean forward, dangling my hands between my knees.
“Just strained,” I say. I don’t like that all the attention is suddenly on me.
He grins and winks at me. “Since you just got punched in the face by a girl—” He lets his gaze rake over the group. “— we were just talking about how many of the young men in the program come from homes where domestic violence is the norm.”
“Okay…” I say slowly. I don’t know what he wants me to contribute.
“Would you like to know how many?” he asks. He smiles at me in encouragement.
“I’d love to know,” I reply, because I assume it’s what he wants to hear.
Phil commands the group, “Please raise your hand if you experienced domestic violence in your home.” Six out of ten hands go up. “That might include violence against your mother, your father, your siblings. Or even your grandparents or foster parents.”
Another hand goes up. These boys didn’t have families like mine. Far from it. I was steeped in love and compassion, and they were baked in turmoil and anger. “Wow,” I say. “That’s more than I expected.” I don’t know what Phil wants me to do. So, I just ask questions. “Do your friends know about your situations? Or do you keep them away from your house?”
One of the boys blows out a breath. “I wouldn’t let my friends within a hundred yards of my apartment.”
“Do you go to their houses
He’s still grinning, and I know he’s joking, but it suddenly hits me how silly I’m being. I’m letting my attraction to this man dictate my actions, and I’m putting up walls, tearing them down, and then building them up stronger. By the time the week is over, I’m going to be a damn fortress. But one thing’s for sure. If anyone can get past my walls and make me want him to be there, it’s Pete. Because I’m already halfway there.
Pete
Mr. Caster meets us at the truck when we get out, and he takes in my wrapped wrist with a solemn expression. But he regards the way Reagan looks at me with an even more solemn expression. “Everything go okay?” he asks, his gaze skittering between the two of us.
“Just a strain,” I say, holding up my arm so I can flex my fingers. I look around. The camp is devoid of kids. “Where is everyone?” he asks.
He jerks a thumb toward the pool. “Half the kids are at the pool. The other half is at the stable.”
“Is Link still cursing?” Reagan asks, wincing inside, I can tell.
“Your mother saved you when she dropped the f-bomb in front of him.” He smiles. He’s not angry at all.
Reagan laughs. “So glad I can count on her to save the day.”
“You can always count on your mother to curse more than you.” He looks at me. “Where are you stationed today? With Gonzo?”
I have no idea where I’m supposed to be. “Wherever you want me.” I hold out my hands waiting for his answer.
He nods his head toward the counselors’ cabins, which is where I’m staying. “Check in with Phil. I think he might be having group with some of the youth, and he might need solid adult presence to help him out.” I nod my head. I have never considered myself a solid adult, but my head swells at the thought that he does.
I look at Reagan and cock my head to the side. I hope I look like an inquisitive puppy. Probably not, though. “Will I see you later?” I ask.
Her dad’s brow arches, and he looks almost…amused?
She nods at me, blushing a little as she looks at her dad from beneath lowered lashes.
I start off toward the ring of chairs in the middle of the counselors’ cabins. Phil stands up and gets a chair for me, putting me across from him on the other side of the ring. “How’s the wrist?” he asks as I settle down and lean forward, dangling my hands between my knees.
“Just strained,” I say. I don’t like that all the attention is suddenly on me.
He grins and winks at me. “Since you just got punched in the face by a girl—” He lets his gaze rake over the group. “— we were just talking about how many of the young men in the program come from homes where domestic violence is the norm.”
“Okay…” I say slowly. I don’t know what he wants me to contribute.
“Would you like to know how many?” he asks. He smiles at me in encouragement.
“I’d love to know,” I reply, because I assume it’s what he wants to hear.
Phil commands the group, “Please raise your hand if you experienced domestic violence in your home.” Six out of ten hands go up. “That might include violence against your mother, your father, your siblings. Or even your grandparents or foster parents.”
Another hand goes up. These boys didn’t have families like mine. Far from it. I was steeped in love and compassion, and they were baked in turmoil and anger. “Wow,” I say. “That’s more than I expected.” I don’t know what Phil wants me to do. So, I just ask questions. “Do your friends know about your situations? Or do you keep them away from your house?”
One of the boys blows out a breath. “I wouldn’t let my friends within a hundred yards of my apartment.”
“Do you go to their houses
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