Page 110 of Exposed

Rafe is, understandably, troubled. He’s gotten in fights at school, and both foster families who have had him so far gave him back.

We asked the social worker if we can bring him a gift when we meet him, but apparently he’s quiet and wouldn’t share what he’s interested in.

“I hope he likes it.” I nervously hold the gift bag while Matt holds Simon’s hand.

“If not, we can take it back and let him pick out something different,” Matt says.

“In?” Simon points to the door. He loves opening doors.

“Yeah, little man. Let’s go,” Matt squeezes my shoulder, then holds Simon’s hand as Rafe’s social worker opens the door for us.

Rafe sits in a red plastic chair farthest away from us at a wooden table, his eyes studying the worn wooden floor. He’s wearing scuffed up tennis shoes, a worn white tee, and light blue jeans. Everything looks second hand.

His shaggy brown hair curls around his ears. I wonder if he likes it that long or if he’d like a trim. I’ve gotten good at trimming Simon’s hair. I bet I could do Rafe’s.

“Hey, Rafe. Your foster parents are here,” the social worker announces.

Rafe says nothing. His hands are balled into fists in his lap like he’s ready for a fight. He barely acknowledges our presence, eyeing our feet warily with his head ducked down.

“What’s up, Rafe? I’m Matt, and this is my wife Jasmine. This is our son, Simon.”

“Hi. We brought you a gift.” I set the gift bag at his feet.

“Go, go,” Simon pulls his hand free from Matt’s grip and walks to Rafe.

I don’t want Simon to spook Rafe. I’m about to scoop Simon up, but Matt stops me with a hand in front of my stomach. I look up at him, and he grins, then nods to the boys. When Simon reaches Rafe, he pats Rafe’s knees.

“Baba. Baba,” Simon chants until Rafe looks up at him.

“Hey,” Rafe says quietly.

Rafe finally looks up, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s got a black eye, and it’s almost swollen shut.His soulful brown eye I can see looks too mature to be an eight-year-old’s.

Rafe must notice my shock, because he looks down again immediately. “A bully was picking on a younger kid at my school.”

I bet the bully was way bigger than him, because that black eye is severe.

I whisper to the social worker. “Has his eye been checked out?”

“Yes. No broken bones, and no damage to his eye. It happened yesterday, and the doctor said the swelling will go down in a couple of days,” she answers discreetly.

Instantly, I want to get him home to put ice on it. It probably hurts like heck.

“You jumped in to help when a kid was being bullied, Rafe?” Matt asks.

“I hate bullies,” he mutters, his eyes downcast. Simon bounces on his feet, patting Rafe’s knees again.

“Same here,” I agree, sitting in the chair next to him.

“I like that you stood up for someone who couldn’t stand up for themselves,” Matt adds, and Rafe looks up, surprised.

Seems like Rafe is a natural protector, just like Matt. They’re a great fit for each other.

“Why do you guys want me? The kids in here say all the parents want babies. You already have a baby.”

“Exactly,” Matt interjects. “We already have a baby. Simon needs a big brother.”

“He doesn’tneeda big brother.” Rafe eyes us cautiously. “You guys are just saying that.”

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