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“I don’t care,” she cried, reaching for him. “I’m old enough! This is what I want.”
He put out an arm to hold her off. “That’s the problem. You always get what you want, even if it’s not good for you. You’re spoiled and selfish, and you never think about anyone but yourself. But not this time. I’m not going to let you ruin my life.” He looked around the room, finally scooping up a bathrobe from the floor beside the bed. He thrust it toward her. “Get dressed. Go back to your room, and forget this ever happened. It was a mistake.”
Caroline hugged the robe against her breasts, and her breath hitched with a suppressed sob. She couldn’t believe he was being so cruel. Maybe her father did spoil her, but that wasn’t her fault. But selfish? Nobody had ever accused her of that before. “Please,” she begged. “If you’d just give us a chance... I love you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, Caroline saw his resolve.
“Well, I don’t love you. Trust me—you’ll thank me one day,” he said. He strode to the window and braced his hands on the sill, not looking at her. “Now get out of here.”
She stood looking at his bowed shoulders, her tears blurring his image. He had wanted her. She hadn’t been mistaken about that. But his rejection felt as if he’d just ripped her beating heart out of her chest. She’d never known such agonizing pain. And as much as she loved him, she wanted to hurt him, too. To make him feel just a little bit of what she was feeling right now.
“I won’t be sixteen forever,” she finally managed, hating how her voice shook. “Someday I’ll be a woman. But it will be too late for you. By the time your conscience decides I’m old enough, I’ll have had a dozen other guys. You only get one chance to be someone’s first, Jason.”
He spun around, and whatever triumph she might have felt dissolved beneath the stark bleakness of his expression.
“I’m doing this for your own good. And because I have too much respect for your father to take advantage of you. I owe him more than that.”
Caroline pulled her robe on with jerky movements and yanked the belt tight around her waist with trembling fingers. If she stayed another second, she would begin to cry, and there was no way she wanted him to witness that. She raised her chin, taking refuge in lashing out at him. “Whatever. I guess the other guys were right about you, after all. Do you know what my father’s law students say about you?”
He remained silent.
“They say you’re gutter trash,” she continued in a rush, even though she didn’t believe that about him for a second. “They say a leopard can’t change its spots, and I guess it’s true. Is that why you hide your tattoos? Because you know, deep down, that if people see them, they’ll know the truth about you? About what you really are?”
When he didn’t answer, Caroline felt small and mean. Being cruel wasn’t in her nature. People always said she was like her mother—sweet and kind. But right now, a part of her wanted to wound Jason. Another part of her wanted to fling herself against his chest and tell him she didn’t mean any of what she’d just said. But she wouldn’t risk him rejecting her yet again.
“I won’t wait for you, just so you know.”
Caroline stood uncertainly for a moment, hoping against hope that he might say something to stop her from leaving.
“No,” he finally said, and his voice sounded weary. “I wouldn’t expect you to wait and I don’t want you to. Just leave.”
With a muffled sob, she fled.
2
Present Day
CAROLINE STUFFED HER files into her leather carry case, snapped it shut and glanced at her watch. It was nearly ten o’clock, and she’d told the social services caseworker, Patrick Dougherty, that she would stop by the child welfare office as soon as possible to discuss Devon Lawton’s case. The boy had run away from home—again. The police had caught him breaking into a convenience store early that morning and had arrested him. Devon had borne the evidence of a vicious beating, and although he’d refused to name the person responsible, Caroline suspected it was his father.
Now the police wanted to put Devon into juvenile detention, while Caroline knew what he really needed was a safe, stable home environment. But at fourteen, he already had a growing rap sheet, and she seriously doubted that they’d be able to find a suitable foster family willing to take him in. He was a smart kid, and she believed with the right support, he could turn his life around. Both of his parents were alcoholics, and she suspected they did drugs, as well. Each time he got into trouble, the courts returned him to his family. There had never been any evidence of physical abuse...until now. Caroline hadn’t seen Devon yet, but Patrick had told her the boy was a mess.
