Page 3 of Needing Your Love
I sat beside Jimmy again and offered the candy to him when I’d rather have taken him home and fed him a proper meal. My son Jamie wouldn’t mind having a younger kid to hang with.
Jimmy’s hands shook as he accepted the gift, struggling to rip the thin wrapper. With dirt under his fingernails, he tore the candy bar in two and handed half to me.
Rather than argue, I took the chocolate, and we ate in silence, once more seeming to share more than food or space. I couldn’t watch as he licked every bit of sweetness from his fingertips.
When was the last time he’d showered?
I expected Rich didn’t care for the kid any better than he did the house.
Running a hand over my face, I told myself I would have to call the Department of Health and Human services in the morning and get someone out here to check on Jimmy.
The world-weary look in his eyes suggested he’d lived a lifetime of pain and suffering in his ten years. I knew all too well the path being paved for his future, and it sickened me.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked, keeping my tone calm and kind when I rather would have raved.
He shrugged. “I’ll be fine,” he answered with words that sounded like a repeated lie if ever I’d heard one.
“I’ve got a question for you, Jimmy, and I need you to tell me the truth, okay?”
“Mmm,” he hummed.
“Your dad—does he ever hurt you when he gets drunk or angry?”
Jimmy swallowed hard and gazed down the dirt road.
“Jimmy,” I prompted when he didn’t answer.
“No.” He whispered what I would have bet money on was another outright lie.
My stomach curdled. “Do you feel safe here?”
He shrugged.
I inhaled deeply, torn over the entire fucked up situation. “I want you to go inside and lock up as soon as I leave.”
Jimmy picked at the scrape on his knee. “Is Dad gonna want coffee and pills in the morning?”
“Probably,” I agreed. But I expected he’d be after more vodka rather than caffeine.
Jimmy nodded, squaring his thin shoulders, and I wondered how much rested on them. “I’ll take care of him,” he stated, chin lifting in either stubbornness or resilience. I expected both.
I pulled a small notebook I kept in my front pocket out and wrote my number. “This is my cell phone number,” I said, handing it over. “If you ever need a grown-up foranything, I want you to call me. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir.” He crumpled the paper in his hand, clutching it tight.
Fathomless blue eyes peered up at me, and the overwhelming urge to wrap him in my arms and promise him that everything would be okay rushed through me again. My fingernails dug into my palms as I stopped myself from reaching for him.
“Head on inside now,” I ordered quietly, standing to my feet. “Dad’s probably going to sleep in tomorrow morning, so you can make that coffee and set out some pills and water if you want, but you get to school on time. Even if he’s still lying there, you take care of yourselffirst, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” he whispered again, pushing upright.
I glanced down, noting how badly the boy needed to bathe. “And make sure you shower tonight. Or sit in the tub and soak for as long as you want—no one is going to tell you to stop wasting water.”
Wetness welled in his eyes again, causing his irises to shine like sapphires in the setting sun. He nodded, making me feel a little bit like the hero he’d said I was.
Never had I been more proud of the uniform I wore.
“Go on,” I murmured with a smile, nodding toward the house.
