Page 3 of Look how well You take this C*ck

I just shrug; there’s no fixing the past. “It just wasn’t pleasant, you know?”

“No, Ellie, I don’t know.” His caring tone brings tears to my eyes.

“When my mom died, it took them a while to find my dad, and then there was a bunch of court and stuff. I don’t remember most of it, but foster care hadn’t been pleasant. The scars are finally fading, and I don’t want any more.” I break down this time. I can’t hold it in, and the captain pulls me into his arms, holding me through the storm of turbulent emotions clawing at my throat as memories creep back in.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” I want to tell him he can’t make that promise, but I keep it to myself. He likely needs the reassurance more than I do.

A few minutes pass before I’m able to drag myself out of his embrace and silently walk away to where Mrs. Peters waits for me in the living room. As we head upstairs and begin packing the essentials, I wonder if I’ll ever be allowed to gather the remainder of my belongings or if they’ll be as lost to me as a future with Captain Wolfe.

“They’re a nice family,” Mrs. Peters reassures me again. I’m doubtful. Some of these families are sociopaths and easily mask it.

I guess that’s what my father did, too.

“Have they found him yet?” I think it’s the fourth time I’ve asked since we left my house yesterday evening.

Mrs. Peters gives me a sympathetic look as she shakes her head and rings the doorbell. Last night was spent in a hotel room with her and two officers since it was so late by the time they finished processing me and settling more paperwork with an emergency judge.

The door opens, and an older couple in their late forties stands there smiling at us as they greet Mrs. Peters first. After inviting us in, they switch their attention to me.

“Oh, Ellie, aren’t you just beautiful,” the mother, Clara, says as she grabs my hand. “Isn’t she, Connor?” I feel the husband’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at him.

“Sure is.” He grabs my lonely suitcase from me as I’m led into the kitchen.

“The kids aren’t home right now. They’ll be here this afternoon, but they’re excited to meet you, Ellie.” Clara smiles while getting a plate of cookies and offering them to me. I shake my head to decline, but she pushes it closer, so I take one. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.

“Why don’t you and Mrs. Peters talk, and I’ll show Ellie her new room,” Connor suggests. He seems friendly enough, but I know better than to let my guard down.

The two women agree, and I’m directed back down the hall we walked through and up a set of stairs. “I know this probably isn’t how you wanted to spend your last few months of school, but I’m sure we can all make it work out well.”

“Sure,” I murmur, wishing I were anywhere else at the moment.

I don’t trust easily, and I’d rather be home alone or with Captain Wolfe. I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since I left.

“Carly and Cory will be excited to see you’re here. They enjoy it when we have fosters for a while.” I smile tightly as he opens the door, hating being referred to as a foster. Guest would have been more welcoming.

Glancing around the room, the walls are white; there is a single bed with a dresser on one side and a night table on the other. A black and grey patterned area rug covers the floor, and there’s a small closet; it’s bare. And boring. Nothing screams welcome to our home.

Setting my suitcase on the bed, Connor points out the bathroom across the hall, citing it’s for guests, so it’ll be all mine since everyone else has their own in their rooms.

“Thank you,” I respond as he leaves.

Opening the curtains of the lone window, I stare out onto the street, hating everyone for going on with their lives while mine is in shambles. Anger like I’ve never felt fuses me like a lit match, and I want to burn everything around me down.

I hate this.

I hate my dad.

I hate what my life has turned into.

I hate that I feel so out of control.

CHAPTER 3

Lars

“Hey, Dad?” Glancing up as my son hesitantly walks into the room, I nod for him to speak. “I have a friend at school; they’re having a rough time. Think they could stay over for the weekend?” I notice his eyes keep moving to the side, and he says they instead of he or she.

“What’s her name?” I tease. Damon’s always been a good kid with a good head on his shoulders, so I know he’s not trying to be sneaky but rather showing concern for a peer.

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