Page 19 of Unwrapped

“Darren?”

“Claudia. I need one more thing. Find out how to become a Foster Parent in Chicago. Fill out any forms for me. You know all my personal information.”

“Darren?”

“I didn’t ask for an opinion. Just get it done. It’s Christmas for Christ’s sake and maybe I’m someone’s Santa. Even though, personally, I detest the holiday.”

She snorts. “Yes, your actions yesterday made that quite clear.”

I disconnect with a grin. Freddie’s question suddenly searing across my heart.

Family.

I believe I’ve always wanted one. All the bitterness I feel at being alone for so many years as a child just snapped in me when I saw her standing so forlorn outside that store window. I can’t go back in time, but I can change someone else’s future. I can make hers right. I have the means to provide her with a safe home where she’ll never go hungry or wonder if she’ll get a winter coat. She’ll never have to cower under thing blankets as she grows up wondering if some sick fuck will try to enter her room. Her belly won’t ever hurt from hunger again.

The doorman greets me by name as I enter the revolving glass doors to my building. I nod, walking briskly as I pass.

I have shit to do today. Starting with changing a little girl’s life around.

I’m glad I dumped Isabella. She never cracked my heart. Not once. But that little sprite in the street…all it took was one look and I was a goner.

It doesn’t take long to shower, shave and pack my shit. I throw in my leather cut, bike boots and jeans. A few tight Henley sweaters and even a fuckin’ plaid flannel shirt. Then I remember how cold and drafty the houses can be up there. I add a few expensive wool sweaters and my favorite pair of butter-soft Armani loafers. My Tom Ford suits will get my ass-kicked outta Rog’s bar. The boys in the club will laugh their asses off. But I take one off the hanger and put it on. I can’t wear my cut to the office. I flip off the light switch, lock up and carry my duffel bag over one shoulder. My heart hammers in my chest. It’ll be good to see the boys but more importantly, I need to face my past and put the ghosts of Christmases past to bed—for good.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We are beginning our final descent into Medford. Please stow all electronic devices at this time.”

Through the gray streaks of clouds, tops of tall evergreens break through. I spent the entire flight reading the Foster Parent applications and information Claudia emailed me. I’ll sign electronically when I arrive in Springdale and use Rog, my college professor whom I’m still in touch with, and a few local Chicago politicians as references. Hell, if it comes down to it—I’ll call Roque Salvatore. I’ll owe him a favor, but there will be no doubt I’ll get Freddie. Saving her is important to me. One look in her eyes and I knew I had to do it. Save her the way Rog saved me.

I’ve never been arrested; my records are clean, and I make a shit-ton of money. So, what if I’m a single guy in his thirties? I’m a damn good one. For the most part anyway. I smirk as the stewardess “accidentally” bumps her ass into my shoulder for the fifth time as she checks that everyone’s buckled in. Her eyes linger a little too long on the bulge between my thighs. I’m bigger than most men, even when I’m not ready to go.

Ignoring her, I avert my eyes, gazing down at the tall pines peeking through the low gray clouds.

Home.

The tightness in my chest constricts even more. Choking on old memories isn’t how I want to live anymore. Coming back to see Rog and the boys from Creed will be good for me. They are into that sappy holiday shit. But they always made it their own. I smile faintly remembering Christmases past, where we’d sit around the clubhouse passing a bottle of JD while someone strummed a few chords on the guitar while piles of steaming pancakes coated in thick homemade maple syrup sat in front of me.

After the plane lands, I’m rolling my carry on straight to the rental car area and press the bell on the counter. The airport is practically deserted just like I had predicated so it’s no surprise the rental counter isn’t manned.

I clear my throat loudly.

Nothing.

I slam my fist down on the bell so hard it breaks. Then I scroll through my texts from Claudia concerning Freddie. She found the group home the girl’s in and ordered the doll in the window. But hit a snag regarding the forms for me to become a foster. A flounce of fur catches the corner of my eye but I’m too engrossed in my messages to care. That is until it cuts right in front of me and starts talking the employee who finally saunters to the counter.

“Excuse me. I was here first.”

I’m ignored.

My eyes travel up her floor length ball of hideous fur to her perfectly waved hair hanging down her back. My nose wrinkles at the smell of her designer store bought perfume. A three-thousand-dollar purse hangs from her dainty shoulder.

Annoyance claws at my insides. I’m done playing nice with women like her. Entitled women who think their shit don’t stink. But usually theirs smells the worse.

She’s Isabella’s clone. But worse. I peer at the back of fugly fur boots resembling something you’d wear snowshoeing Iceland or some shit. My mouth opens ready to give this woman a piece of my dirty mind when my cell rings. It’s Claudia. Frowning, I turn my back and take the call.

“Darren. Everything is ready to go…”

“But?” I ask for her.

“…your background. You have nothing to hide? A single man adopting a girl approaching puberty could raise eyebrows.”

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