Page 13 of Roundabout

Angela knows a lot of people. We all do. Between all of us, we’ve got three businesses—not to mention Paige’s job as a nurse—which have accumulated a lot of contacts over the years. We can’t go anywhere without bumping into someone that recognizes at least one of us, so it could be anyone.

Unfortunately in Angela’s case, they’re mostly men. Women go through her wash, too, but usually it’s just the men who form…attachments. Crushes, whatever. It used to piss me off when I worked there, and that was when I was by her side every day, making my presence known. Nowadays, I’m not around as much. Some people might get it in their heads Angela’s more available than she actually is.

I shake the thought from mine before it can grow a pair of legs to stand on. Motherfuckers can crush all they want. Angela wouldn’t cheat on me. She has no reason to. Like I told Jace, she has everything she could ever want in the life we share together.

“What was it then?”

“Oh, Rebel,” I tell Beck with a lift of my hand in the direction Rebel disappeared. “She bodychecked Hunter’s…friend.”

“Another one?” Beck guffaws. “Dude’s never gettin’ a girlfriend.”

I frown. I knew Rebel didn’t back down from anybody, but I didn’t realize there was any correlation to who she was fighting. Today’s the first time I’ve even seen Hunter with another girl.

Maybe there’s a reason for that.

Maybe Rebel is the reason.

“We thought it’d stop once they went to different schools but this is her third fight this month. All with high schoolers.”

Marc, Beck, and I exchange glances, none of us voicing the thoughts we all gotta be thinking.

Hunter and Rebel have been close since they met, and they share the same adoptive dad, but the two are not related in any sense whatsoever. They didn’t even grow up in the same house, only the same—large—property that Marc owns.

“Christ,” Marc finally mutters. “I gotta tell her mom.” He turns away to call Karina. Since Rebel’s not racing this weekend, Karina went out of town for a couple nights with her girlfriend. They’ve been together for a little over a year now and Karina’s never been happier. She practically glows nowadays. It’s a far stretch from her time at Creekwood. Even when she and Rebel stayed with us for a while, Karina wasn’t as happy as she is now. Now she’s safe. Completely safe. Her mind, her body, her daughter, and her heart…she’s found the right people to trust them with, and that can make all the difference.

It’s something we’ve picked up on from fostering: how much personal safety affects not just mental health but a person’s overall wellbeing. We’ve had kids that were sleep-deprived because they didn’t feel safe in other foster homes they’d just come from. How can a kid function in school if they’re not sleeping? How can they function at all? They can’t. They don’t. I’d guess it’s one of the top reasons for behavioral issues in children, if not the top reason. Their appetites were just as messed up and sometimes it’d take a kid a solid week to finally be able to eat a full meal at our house because their stomachs weren’t used to it.

If it weren’t for state regulations, we’d foster fifty kids at a time. There are so fucking many—too fucking many—that need safety, and my family and I got plenty to share. True strength doesn’t come from self-preservation; it comes from protecting those that can’t protect themselves.

Not having any foster kids in our home right now feels wrong, like we’re wasting time, like we’re missing out on a chance to help someone who needs it. But that’s how it goes. Sometimes we have a houseful, sometimes we don’t.

“How was she?” I ask Angela, going over to stand beside her.

Her eyes fly to mine. “Who?”

“The girl our niece just pummeled.”

“Fine. Embarrassed more than anything.” She gestures around at the thinning-out audience, her own face flushing from having so many eyes on her at once.

“Right… So about the wedding…” Because if there’s one thing Angela’s hated from day one, it’s attention, especially in large doses.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she rushes out, making me smile.

“Glad to hear it. But I think we should talk a little more about the details.”

“Whatever you want.” She waves a hand, glancing around again. “I know this is important to you.”

To me? This should be important to both of us. It’s our fucking wedding. Our only wedding. One shot to get it right, to get it perfect, that’s it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is it not important to you?”

She finally looks at me, really looks at me, her hazel eyes softening as she takes my face in her hands to press a kiss to my lips.

“You’re important to me, but napkins, centerpieces, place cards, seating arrangements, salmon or chicken, napkins…none of that’s important to me.”

I laugh against her mouth. “You said napkins twice.”

“All I need is you, Jace, the rest of our family, and like three kinds of cake.”