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Partway through the meal, I notice Gavin watching me.
“What?” I ask. “Do I have gravy on my face?”
He shakes his head. “I was just thinking your dad and I have something else in common.”
“And what might that be?”
He rests his large hand on my belly. “I also wake up smiling every day.”
In spite of the fact that we’ve been together for four years and I’m carrying his children, I still get butterflies whenever my husband touches me.
Read an excerpt fromRun Baby Run
Daddy loves you, baby...
Growing up in foster care, I never dreamed I’d feel at home with an ex-cop twice my age. But Jonah’s need to protect me goes beyond a warm bed.
With him, I feel sweet. Soft. Precious. Like nothing bad can hurt me.
Too bad the monsters lurking in my past have other plans.
Chapter One
Teagan
Mary, my social worker, slides her palm across her desk’s faux-wood finish. “It’s okay to be nervous, Teagan. This is going to be a big change for you.”
I’m used to Mary worrying about me. She’s been my case worker for the past three years, so technically, it’s her job to worry. But today her concern is dialed up to eleven because it’s my birthday. I’m eighteen years old, which means I can legally discharge myself from the foster care system.
“You can stay on until you’re twenty-one,” Mary says for the hundredth time.
If my hands were resting on the desk instead of clasped tightly in my lap, I'm sure she would try to hold one of them. But they aren’t, so she can’t, and I’m not about to give her the chance to try.
“We could see if there are any beds available in the transitional homes. Somewhere with a bit less supervision, if that’s what you’re after.” She’s more than earned her paycheck laying out all the resources I qualify for. But the thought of being passed around from one living situation to another for the next three years is enough to make me want to jump off a cliff. I can couch surf on my own, thank you very much.
“Teagan?” Mary says. “Are you sure you have somewhere to go?”
What Mary doesn't know—what I haven’t told anyone—is that I’ve managed to reconnect with a satellite member of my family. My dad took off when I was four years old, two years before my mom died from an overdose. Before she died, my dad’s brother, my Uncle Craig, used to come around every couple of months, always with a coloring book or a stuffed bear for me, and a carton of cigarettes for my mom.
"Let me make some calls," Mary offers. "I can at least find you a bed for tonight."
I don't need Mary’s help now, not that I ever needed it. I can take care of myself. Besides, I have zero interest in sticking around Knoxville. Craig’s invited me to tag along with him to Los Angeles. He has friends there who can hook us up with jobs and a place to live. Once we’re settled, he says he’ll see about getting in touch with my dad.
All I have to do is come up with my share of the funds.
I've managed to pull together over two thousand dollars designing tattoos for co-workers and stocking groceries at Trader Joe’s. I swear, I was never so happy as when I gave my two-week’s notice. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have quit so soon, but I’m itching to leave. And with the money I’ve saved, I bet we’ll be on the road by next week.
In the meantime, I’ll crash at Craig’s place. He hasn’t officially offered, but considering the cash I’ve already given him—six hundred toward a used car, plus all the free food from Trader Joe’s—I’ve practically made a down payment.
Mary slides her hand back to her side of the desk, looking disappointed, yet resigned. I know she just wants to reassure me, and judging by the family photos all over her office, I bet she’s the sort of mom who hugs her kids all the time. But Mary’s not my mom, and as of today, I’m no longer her problem. Even if I was, there’s no way in hell I’d let her hug me.
I’m no stranger to the kind of shit that can happen when you let your guard down.
My last case worker, Chester, ascribed my aversion to physical contact to being neglected as a child. He said we all crave touch from the time we're born to the day we die, and that denying ourselves this natural impulse is bad for our mental and physical health.
Naturally, when Chester laid his sweaty hand on my thigh, I responded by indulging in the natural impulse to stab him with his favorite pen.
As far as I can tell, Mary’s not a creep, but she’s annoying in her own way. She believes that if she can just get me talking, she’ll somehow crack the code to transforming me into a normal, functioning member of society.
