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I list off the proof. “Wears leather, rides around on motorbikes, conducts shady business.”
He smirks. “You have some points, but even if we were a biker gang—which I still deny—we’re better than foster care.”
That’s different. He usually denies they’re a biker gang by telling me that biker gangs have money. Do they have money now? If they do, why hasn’t he replaced their damn couch?
“I know you had a bad experience but?—”
“Bad enough to make me start a biker gang.” He raises a cocky brow. “But I guess I have to say you’re right about them not staying with us. What about letting them live here under our watch? We’ll stop in to check on them every week. They’ve been on their own this long anyway, what’s a few months or so until their mom gets on her feet again?”
He doesn’t have a clue about how therapy works. But his idea gives me an idea of my own.
“Charles, get your ass over here.”
He’s up quickly from the chair at the table we fixed. It’s a decent table, just needed a few bits and bolts.
“Do you have any relatives at all you can stay with?”
“None.”
“Are you sure? No uncles, aunts? A gramma?”
“There’s Mom’s brother?—”
“That’s great! Your uncle.”
“Don’t get too excited. We haven’t seen him since we were little. I don’t have a clue where he might be.”
Still, I file that in my head as a lead. “What about your dad?”
“Haven’t seen him seen him in years. He left. Does this mean you’re going to send us to a home or something?” His lip trembles again. It’s gotta stop doing that. My cold heart can’t take it.
I sigh. “Don’t make me regret this, but I’m not calling any officials just yet. We’ll give it some time.”
His face lights up. “Sweet. You’re the best, Sutter.”
“Save your thanks. It comes with conditions.” See, I know this guy called Rhett Elkington. He’ll do things for me no questions asked. All I need is a therapist who’s willing to make some house calls. Who might also be willing to keep this under wraps. Elkingtons know people like that, and I have the money to hire someone like that. “We’re gonna try something. If it doesn’t work, I pull the plug, so you’d better do every damn thing I say.”
“I always do!” He glares.
“So you didn’t make out with Joey behind the Mess Hall building like I told you not to?”
His face flushes pink. “You don’t have someone special, Sutter? C’mon. Tell me you’re gonna resist someone you’re crushing on?”
“Yeah, tell him, Mitch,” stupid Lane says.
“I haven’t called Casey in a week, asshole.”
“Oooh, so his name’s Casey,” Charles says.
It’s my turn for heating cheeks. What the fuck? Alderchuck’s the last person I’m gonna get embarrassed about, but my body doesn’t seem to get the message.
“You’re too young to understand what that’s about,” I tell him, wrapping him in a headlock, and noogie the fuck out of him. He laughs. “But anyway, rules.”
I go through my list of conditions with him, and he doesn’t like some of them but agrees to them anyway. “I’ll get a bank account set up for you for groceries and whatnot. I want receipts. You’re not spending it on booze or gifts for your boyfriend.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll chip in for the booze, kid,” Lane says.
“No, you fucking won’t.” I’m already doubting this terrible plan. “No booze until you’re nineteen.”
