“Yes.” I nod. “He needs me,” I mouth to him above the fray and he motions with his chin toward the back patio that I can’t see through the angled blinds.

“Okay guys, how about you finish your homework,” I say, stepping right back into the role I was born to play, knowing Kellan won’t take offense to me taking over momentarily. “I need to go check on Zander and when I come back in, if your homework is done, I’ll stay for dinner.”

Cheers fill the air around me followed by the scraping of chairs and elbowing of boy against boy as the fight to regain their position at the table begins so they can finish.

Kellan meets my eyes again now the boys aren’t watching, and I can tell he’s just as upset by all of this as I am. “How long have they been here?” I ask as I reach down to scratch Racer behind the ears.

“Jax is out there with them, watching. The caseworker, the uncle and aunt, and Zander,” he adds, answering the questions I would ask next.

“Thanks.” Our eyes hold momentarily and suddenly it hits me how nervous I was to come face to face with him and Jax. They are the ones feeling the effects of my dismissal—extra shifts, upset boys, curious questions. And yet instead of shaking his head and walking away at the mess I’ve created for all of us, he gives me a gentle but sincere smile. I don’t see the resentment or pity I feared. Rather I see camaraderie, as if he knows I’d move heaven and earth to fix the situation if I could because I’m not oblivious to the toll it’s taken on not only me, but everyone involved.

I smile in return, my thank you for not passing judgment. He nods his head as I slowly slide open the door to the backyard and step out before closing it behind me. I see Zander and my heart breaks instantly. I’m transported back to six years ago when he first came to us, broken and traumatized. His knees are pulled up to his chest as he sits on a chair with his side to me, his arms wrapped around them, his face looking blankly toward the wood panel fence. From what I can see, there is a look of complete detachment on his face. All that’s missing is the stuffed dog he used to tote around for comfort, which now sits up in the closet somewhere.

In a single afternoon, the two people sitting opposite him—his uncle and aunt—have potentially erased the crucial years of work, the countless, grueling hours gaining his trust, helping ease the nightmares that had owned his psyche. Have I lost the hopeful, sweet boy I love so much?

Zander lifts his head and vacant eyes meet mine, crushing my cautious hope about anything positive coming from this situation. It takes everything I have to force a smile on my lips and nod my head in encouragement for him to talk to them. He stares at me, the look of betrayal blatant on his face, but it’s necessary for the caseworker to see I’m trying to help facilitate this connection. When I approach him after the meeting to tell him he can’t let this happen, then I won’t look so unprofessional.

I shift my eyes from Zander to the uncle and aunt. The uncle glances over to me. Fuck. I see recognition in his eyes before they suggestively slide up and down the length of my body in a not-so-subtle show that says he knows exactly what I look like naked.

My skin crawls and stomach churns with revulsion and the little smirk he gives me—just a hint of the curl of his lip—tells me he knows how it’s making me feel and is enjoying it. He tucks his tongue in his cheek before giving me a slight nod of the head and looking back toward his wife.

I watch them try to interact with Zander. They attempt to talk about things he has no interest in. Because he’s a thirteen-year-old boy now, not the seven-year-old they once might have known. SpongeBob isn’t cool and Xbox is no longer the coveted game system I want to scream at them. He loves soccer and building Halo Lego sets and reading Harry Potter and Percy Jackson.

You don’t know a thing about him! All you want is the money that comes with him.

I can see beneath their brushed hair and best clothes. I can see the wolves in sheep’s clothing. I’m certain they have no concern for Zander or his best interest. And it all becomes more than obvious the longer Zander remains silent and unresponsive, because the two of them shift their fidgeting and attention toward each other with raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, silently asking each other what to do now that he’s not answering them.

I glance over to the caseworker sitting on the other side of the yard with his legs crossed, ankle resting on opposite knee, and a clipboard balanced on his leg. And while he may have a pen in hand and paper he’s supposed to be taking notes on, his phone sits atop the paper. He’s so busy texting someone he hasn’t once looked up to watch the interaction—or rather lack thereof—nor notice the ever-disappearing presence of Zander losing himself to the safe world he created in his mind so very long ago. That same world I spent months pulling him out of, showing him not everyone is bad and evil—out to hurt those they love—and that it was safe to step outside.

My body vibrates with anger, my teeth bites into my tongue because all I want to do is go to him, pull him into my arms, and reiterate the promise I made him all those years ago: I’m never going to let anything bad happen to him ever again.

Lost in my observation, I forget Jax is there until he motions with his hands to silently get my attention. And when I look at him, his eyes express the same thing as Kellan’s, indicating he feels the same disbelief.

No way in hell are they taking Zander from us.

Now I just have to figure out how to prevent that.


“Zander?” I call as I enter his room. The shades are pulled closed and the light remains off, but through the light of the open doorway I can see him curled up on his side in his bed.

When he doesn’t respond, the sense of dread that has been tickling the back of my neck and making my stomach churn exacerbates. I glance over to Shane opposite me in the hallway and the concern in his eyes mirrors how I feel.

We move into the room together. Shane lived here long enough to know the drill, so he stands against the wall to observe while I step forward to engage Zander. And my immediate worry is that Zander has closed off even more. Jax and I spent five minutes with the caseworker, providing valid reasons why the uncle is not a good fit to foster Zander. I feel like our arguments fell on deaf ears. Now, looking at Zander rocking on his bed with his beloved stuffed dog held tight to his chest, I’m more worried than ever. I can’t remember the last time he climbed up to the top shelf of his closet and pulled the sacred dog from its box. The only tangible reminder of his old life.