Page 42 of Unleashed

“But you take care of her like she’s your child.” Again, not a question. Maybe I didn’t actually have any after all.

“I take care of her the way kids should be taken care of.” Maren steps into the galley style kitchen across from the entry door. She scoops some ice into a glass and fills it with water from the tap, swallowing down a few long gulps.

I bite my tongue, narrowly managing to resist the urge to point out she’s doing exactly what I told her to do. But I want to continue talking to her more than I want to point out my own victory. Especially with the sudden influx of new information.

“Why?” There’s finally something I don’t already know the answer to. “Where’s your mother?”

Maren shrugs, letting out a quiet, but bitter, laugh. “Who knows? Probably either dead or strung out somewhere.”

My eyes drift to the doorway of Zara’s bedroom. “Is that why she has a wheelchair? Because your mother used when she was pregnant?”

“That’s the general consensus.” Maren stares down into the remainder of her water, tipping the glass from side to side. “She also didn’t have any prenatal care, which I’m sure didn’t help.”

The need to know more about the situation is unbearable. I need more information so I know what I can do to help. “What exactly is wrong with your sister?”

Maren’s eyes flash as they snap to my face. “Nothing is wrong with her. She’s more perfect than you will ever be.”

I stepped right into that. “I’m sorry. I should be more careful in how I phrase things.” I clear my throat, before trying again. “What is her diagnosis?”

Maren glares at me a few more seconds, forcing me to hold my breath, wondering if my apology will be enough. It’s all I have right now, so hopefully it can carry me through.

Her expression is still displeased, but she does offer me the information I’m seeking. “She has cerebral palsy.”

I don’t know a lot about cerebral palsy. Yet. I fully intend to rectify that lack at the earliest possible time, but for now it limits the questions I’m educated enough to ask, so I switch gears.

“How long has she been with you?”

Looking around the trailer, it seems Zara’s life dominates the space. There are toys in every available nook. A bright pink and purple backpack with tiny stuffed animals dangling from the zipper pulls is parked close to the front door. Artwork stuck to the refrigerator and cabinets. Tiny leotards and tights draped over a drying rack in the dining room area.

“Since she was a few days old.” Maren slumps back against the counter. “My mom showed up at the hospital in labor, delivered her, and then pretty much snuck out the back door, leaving a note that they should call me to come get the baby.”

That has my jaw dropping open. “And they just let you have her?”

“No, they didn’t just let me have her. I had to pay to legally adopt her, which took forever since we couldn’t actually find my mother to sign off on anything.” The hard line of her mouth finally seems to soften a little bit. “But they did just let me take her home. The hospital isn’t in the babysitting business, and children’s services would prefer to keep kids with family members if possible. So she was able to be with me from day one.”

I try to imagine what Maren’s life was like. How difficult it would have been for her to suddenly be caring for an infant with additional needs all on her own. How much she’s likely had to sacrifice.

I don’t fucking like it.

I need to know how long she’s been struggling to be a parent she didn’t sign up to be. “How old is she?”

“Zara’s five.” Maren’s lips seem to almost curve into a hint of a smile. “She starts kindergarten in the fall.”

“You named her.”

I’m back to making statements instead of asking questions. But this is another fact I don’t need to ask about. Because Zara is exactly the kind of name Maren would pick out. It’s unique. Pretty. Easy to pronounce and simple to spell. She puts thought into everything she does.

That’s why she was so great at the job that initially brought her to McKinley Security Systems. Our supplies were never handled as well as when she was the one in charge of them. And now she’s running Brooke’s days in exactly the same way.

At some point, she’s going to ask why I tried to ensure no one hired her permanently. Why I attempted to stand in the way of her becoming a constant fixture in my life. And I don’t know what in the hell I’m going to tell her.

I can’t imagine any good will come from attempting to lie about my reasons, but I’m absolutely positive admitting the truth will be even worse.

Because there is no way Maren will love hearing I tried to screw her over for my own benefit. That I attempted to keep her sister from having fantastic insurance because I’m a coward. That I didn’t want her to be on the payroll because, ultimately, I knew I would be standing here, in her home, invading her life. Attempting to control her days. Paying for the opportunity to spend time with her on my own terms.

Because that’s all I have to offer.

Thankfully, Maren doesn’t ask me anything else. She doesn’t even confirm choosing Zara’s name herself. I can almost see the second she shuts down, realizing she’s accidentally opened up to me.