Page 16 of Smitty

I spent the next hour making myself some dinner and cleaning up the place. I dealt with the dirty dishes and even did a load or two of laundry. My night was far from glamorous, but I welcomed the time to myself. I took a hot shower, and by the time I crawled into bed, I was beat.

I switched off the lamp and stared into the darkness, and it wasn’t long before my mind started wandering. I found myself thinking about a conversation I’d had a few weeks back with Drifter.

He’d asked me about my story. He said everyone had one, and I didn’t disagree. Instead, I told him about Aiden and the day I’d killed him.

It was the day my life split into before and after.

As I lay there staring up at the ceiling, I realized Aiden was only part of my story. He was the biggest one, the most painful one, but not the only one.

There was more. So much more.

There was me leaving home when I was eighteen in my old, beat-up truck and a couple of bags of clothes.

There were the lonely nights on the street, and the days I thought I would die of starvation or I’d freeze to death. Back then, I had no clue what was coming next. It was all about survival. Then, there was Cyrus and the garage, and the life that unfolded after.

Then, there was the day Seven walked into the garage and introduced me to the life of Fury.

Those were all big chapters in a fucked-up story.

But a key part was missing.

Brooke.

She was the kind of girl a man only meets once. The kind who changes everything without even trying. The kind who makes a man down on his luck believe that he might actually deserve something good.

Aiden haunted my past.

She haunted my future.

And I didn’t know which one hurt more.

4

BROOKE

Home visits were never easy, no matter how many times you’ve done them. Most people think they are hard on the families, and they are. Having a social worker show up at your front door, asking about your parenting and the state of your home, feels invasive, even when you have nothing to hide.

Everyone seems to sit a little straighter, and they choose their words a little more carefully, hoping it can make the difference between losing their kids and keeping them.

What people failed to realize was that the visits were hard on us, too.

We weren’t walking into homes looking for reasons to tear families apart. Most of the time, we were hoping to find the opposite, and that the concerns sent to us were wrong. We just needed reassurance that a child was safe, loved, and getting the support they needed.

More often than not, that’s exactly what we found.

There were times when the abuse and neglect were obvious and left no question that a child was in need of protection. There were also times when the abuse and neglect weren’t so clear. Those tended to be the most difficult to maneuver.

All you had was a knot in your stomach and a feeling that something wasn’t right. And that was the very reason why I had scheduled yet another visit with Dylan and his parents.

I was sitting out front of his house, waiting for my police escort, who was already ten minutes late. I checked the time on my phone for what felt like the hundredth time and let out a deep breath, trying to keep my nerves in check.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel and stared at the modest brick house where Dylan lived with his little brother and parents, Marlene and Danny Mercer. I’d been trying to figure out what was going on with him for weeks, but every time I thought I was getting somewhere, I would get shut down.

Every conversation felt like I was trying to solve a puzzle, but I only had half the pieces. It was frustrating, but I couldn’t move forward until I knew what we were dealing with. I looked around, hoping to see some sign of the officer, and that was when I spotted Dylan a few houses down.

He was at the edge of a neighbor’s yard, talking to another kid. Nothing seemed to be unusual, other than the fact that the other kid was much older than Dylan. He looked to be fifteen or sixteen, and the size difference alone was enough to make me pay attention.

I watched for a few seconds, and it seemed like they were just talking. Then, Dylan shifted his backpack and turned away. That’s when the older boy grabbed his arm. Dylan stopped in his tracks, and the teenager stepped closer. When Dylan’s shoulder stiffened, I realized something was off.