After a few sessions, I felt stronger mentally and physically. And by lights out, I was exhausted, which meant fewer sleepless nights staring at the ceiling worrying about my future.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Roman

  The PA system crackled to life. Conversation in the cafeteria stopped while everyone waited for the announcement.

  “Roman Hawkins to the front office.”

  My gaze shot to the door and I groaned.

  A few people made obnoxious “you’re in trouble” noises. But one quick glare from Eraser and they shut up fast.

  “Think it’s your caseworker?” Griff asked.

  “It better be.” I slammed my spork on the tray and stood.

  “Good luck,” Eraser called after me.

  The guard at the door nodded as I dumped my tray. “Go ahead.”

  Behind me, the cafeteria returned to its usual level of noise.

  I shuffled down the long, dim corridor, tucking my freezing fingers up under my sleeves. This place was so damn cold all the time.

  I stopped in front of a set of locked double doors and waited to be buzzed into the office. Ms. Simpson stood when she saw me.

  She flashed a bright smile. “How are you, Roman?”

  Was she for real? Kiddie prison’s a blast, thanks. “Fine.”

  “Let’s talk.”

  I followed her into a smaller office without answering. There wasn’t much to say. She was nothing more than another person, in a long line of people, who’d betrayed me in my lifetime.

  She closed the door and gestured for me to take a seat in the crooked chair across from an empty, beat-up old wooden desk. She took a seat behind it. It didn’t belong to anyone; no family photos, pen cups, or anything personal on the surface. The caseworkers just used this room to meet with us from time to time. It was as dismal as the rest of the place.

  “It’s official. No one’s pressing charges for the stolen items.” She smiled as if I should be grateful.

  “Am I supposed to say thanks? You know damn well I didn’t do it.”

  A slight frown wrinkled her brow and she ducked her head, shuffling through a folder full of forms in front of her. “I found another facility for you. We can work on the transfer papers now. It’s in a different school district…”

  “Of course it is.” The best I could hope for now is that it would be somewhere near a bus line so I could see Juliet.

  She sighed and shuffled through some papers, then opened her briefcase and pulled out another stack of forms. “Do you know a Mrs. Emma Shields?”

  Finally, a spark of hope lit in my chest, but I answered with caution. “Yeah, why?”

  “Her attorney has contacted the agency and inquired about fostering you. What’s your connection to her?”

  “She’s my girlfriend’s neighbor.” I shrugged. “Juliet and I helped her out from time to time.”

  “Well, she’s been very persistent.”

  The weight of the hope building inside me stole my breath.

  “Really?” I choked out. Mrs. Shields was that worried about me? She cared that much?

  “Yes. So, you can either wait here to see if her application is accepted and she passes the home evaluation. Or I can get you transferred to the new facility and if things work out, then you’d move in with her.”

  This was probably the first time I’d been given a choice over anything concerning my life. Stay in this hellhole or move into the unknown?

  Both options sucked.

  “How long will it take for her to get approved?”

  “I’ve asked them to fast-track her application, but it could still be a few more weeks.”

  I was pathetically unprepared to make such a big decision, so I tried weighing the options. Here, was familiar. I knew what I was dealing with. Griff and Eraser had my back. A new facility could be worse. “Whatever. I’ll stay here.”

  We both knew my answer didn’t matter. No matter where I was placed, I was only killing time until I turned eighteen.

  Unless I went to live with Mrs. Shields. Maybe I could salvage something of my former life if I had some stability.

  For the first time in a long time, I had hope.

  The long walk back to my room didn’t seem like a march to death row for once.

  I pushed open the door. Griff was instantly in my face.

  “How’d it go? You getting out?”

  “Not yet.” I motioned for him to back up. “My girlfriend’s neighbor is trying to apply to foster me. So Simpson’s fast-tracking that application.”

  Griff held his hand up high and I clasped it, giving him a quick shoulder-bump. “All right.”

  Eraser gave me a quick thump on the back too. “That’s good news.”

  “I’m trying not to get too excited about it,” I confessed.

  “I hear you.” Eraser nodded. “My uncle’s been trying to get me placed with him for months, but they keep jerking him around.”

  From what I’d picked up about how the system operated, I assumed his uncle had a criminal record or major health condition. Otherwise, the state would be thrilled to drop a kid off with a relative. But I didn’t want to pry. We shared a lot of information with each other, but some details were just off-limits.

  “That sucks.”

  He shrugged.

  I tried to shove it out of my head while I lined up with everyone else for the nighttime routine. Marched single-file to the dorm-style bathrooms. Only six of us allowed in at a time. Eyes forward. Use bathroom in front of everyone. Don’t make eye contact. Three-minute shower. Watch my back. Brush teeth. Watch my back. Pretend none of this is happening. Shuffle into the changing area. Slip into my long-sleeved thermal night shirt that scratched my elbows every time I turned over, and another pair of sweatpants. Marched back to my room.

  Fun times.

  Kids yelled. Fights broke out. Guards talked shit.

  I ignored it all, crawled into my bunk, closed my eyes, and waited for lights out.

  Somewhere in his foster care journey Eraser had picked up some esoteric, manifesting, bullshit visualization techniques.

  Since Griff and I had no idea what he was rambling about, Eraser had appointed himself our visualization guide, forcing us to name and visualize the things we wanted for our futures. So, after we were all tucked into our bunks and the guards had stopped by to make sure the lights were off, instead of falling asleep, Eraser expected me to ruminate about all the things I wanted but couldn’t have.

  “Come on, Roman,” Eraser insisted. “I swear this works.”

  “And yet, you somehow haven’t manifested your ass out of here,” I commented.

  “I’m taking the necessary steps to improve my situation.”

  Fuck if this guy didn’t have an answer for everything.

  Surprisingly, Griff went along with this woo-woo crap. “Keep your negative energy on that side of the room, Roman. We’re all peace and light over here.”

  “Peace and light my ass. I saw that vicious jab you gave Egghead in the cafeteria when no one was looking.”

  “That was karmic justice,” Griff said.

  The two idiots across the room laughed and slapped palms.

  “Okay, seriously,” Eraser said. “Get clear on what you want in your life. You listening, Roman?”

  “Zzzz,” I fake snored.

  Something that sounded like the soft rubber sole of a state-issued sneaker bounced off the metal frame of my bed.

  “I’m serious,” Eraser insisted.

  “I’m visualizing you shutting the fuck up.” I stretched my arm down, searching for something to throw back. That was the problem with the top bunk. Not much was within throwing distance.

  “I’m visualizing my Seventies Chevelle,” Griff said.

  “What color?” Eraser prompted.

  “Black. Red and purple pinstripes.”

  “Why red and purple?” I asked.

  “Don’t question,” Eraser scolded.

  I made a face at the ceiling. “Sheesh.”

  “What’s your ride, Eraser?” Griff asked.

  “Mustang for running at the track. F-250 for the winter,” Eraser said. “Harley-Davidson Road King for the summer.”

  “A Harley?” Griff sputtered. “A sport bike will cut corners much better. Faster too.”

  I rolled over and propped my head on my hand. “I thought we weren’t supposed to question?”

  “Shh.” Griff laughed.

  “The Road King is a sweet ride,” Eraser explained. “Better for two.”

  “I think my girlfriend’s uncle has one of those,” I said.

  “You into bikes, Roman?” Eraser asked.

  “Yeah, sure.” I scoffed. “I dabble in motorcycles with all my trust fund money.”

  They snorted with laughter.

  “He’s in an MC and talks about riding all the time,” I explained. “Sounds like fun, I guess.”

  “Whoa.” The bed creaked under Eraser as he turned my way. “Around here? Which MC?”

  “Uh, the Lost Kings? My old boss at the drive-in theater was in a different MC. The Wolf Knights.”

  “Jesus. Don’t go around dropping biker’s names. They get mad pissed about that,” Griff said.

  “He asked.” I waved my hand at Eraser even though it was dark and they probably couldn’t see me. “I’m not dropping names. Just stating facts.”

  “He means, outside of here,” Eraser clarified. “Be careful talking about biker business. They’re real secretive and shit.”

  I already knew that from working for Ulfric and tagging along on “jobs” with Dex. “How do you know so much about it?”

  “My uncle used to run with a few clubs back in the day.”

  “That one fighter I told you about is a Lost King,” Griff said. “He’s like a fucking gladiator in the ring.”

  “I haven’t met anyone else besides her uncle,” I said, afraid to even mention Dex’s name now.

  “All right, so what’s your vehicle, then, Roman?” Eraser asked.

  “A magic fucking carpet to get me the hell out of here,” I grumbled.

  “He’s afraid,” Griff said with knowing smugness.

  “I ain’t afraid of shit.”

  “You gotta clear your resistance, Roman,” Eraser said with an eager note that didn’t annoy me as much as usual. “Whatever fear you have around achieving the life you want, remove it.”

  That struck a chord. Resistance came naturally to me. Everything in my life had always been out of my control. Any effort to change things seemed embarrassingly futile.

  “All right,” I sighed. “Go on.”

  “Work on getting a clear picture,” Eraser said. “Feel what it would be like to have what you want.”

  The tiny seed of hope planted by Ms. Simpson’s visit took root. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to picture Mrs. Shields’ house. The warm, inviting kitchen. Her kind smile while she offered us banana bread. Juliet was there too, of course. Under the kitchen table, I slid my hand over Juliet’s and we linked fingers.

  My mind moved to the bedroom upstairs where Juliet and I had lost our virginity to each other.

  Whoops.

  Nope, shouldn’t go there. Thinking about sex when I was supposed to be “manifesting” would probably make my dick fall off or something.

  Flower baskets. The baskets we bought and hung for Mrs. Shields. Pretty flowers dangling over the sides, swinging in the gentle spring breeze. Car. Mrs. Shields’ car. Adding wiper fluid. Changing the oil for her. The lawn. Mrs. Shields wouldn’t have to hire people to do yardwork. I would earn my keep by mowing the lawn and weeding her flowerbeds while I lived there. I could go grocery shopping with her so she’d never have to worry about the clerks packing her bags too heavy again.

  Outside our door, metal scraped against metal. The lock clicked. Light from the hallway grew brighter.

  “Griff?” Ollie whispered. “You awake?”

  None of us moved or breathed.

  “Egghead’s still running his mouth. You wanna fight him tonight?” Ollie asked.

  Still no answer from any of us.

  “What about you, Hawkins?” Footsteps approached my bed. I forced myself to remain blank-faced and my breathing slow and even. “Heard you been working out every day with these two clowns. Gettin’ shredded for a reason, aren’t you?”

  The footsteps stopped. Hot breath warmed the side of my face and I tried not to recoil.

  “Hmm,” Ollie grunted. “Or you just wanna look pretty for your boyfriends? That it? The three of you up to some freaky shit in here when no one’s lookin’?”

  Slam. My whole bed rattled.

  “The fuck?” I mumbled.

  Ollie kicked the metal frame again.

  “All right,” Griff shouted. “I’ll do it. Leave him alone.”

  “Griff, don’t.” I sat up and shook off the pretense of sleep.

  Griff was so close to getting out, I didn’t want to see this go bad and have him thrown in solitary or something.

  “I’ll go.” Eraser sat up and pounded his fist against his palm.

  “All three of you. Come on. We need an audience or it’s no fun.” Ollie jerked his head toward the door.

  I jumped down off my bunk.

  Griff moved in front of me, holding his arms out to the sides. “Roman’s just there to watch.”

  I don’t know why he bothered. Trying to bargain with Ollie was like signing a contract with a minion of the devil. It could be revoked at any time.

  “Yeah, your boyfriend’s safe tonight,” Ollie said.

  Not feeling reassured, I grabbed a hoodie and slipped it over my head. It didn’t have drawstrings—just in case one of us tried to hang ourselves to escape this miserable place—so the hood flapped around my face, but at least it was warm.

  Eraser shook his head but motioned for me to follow them.

  Ollie stopped at another room and dragged two more kids out of bed. We all silently nodded to each other.

  The five of us followed Ollie to the basement.

  On the stairs, I caught Eraser’s eye and I swear the two of us shared the same thought. Five against one. We could push Ollie down the stairs and make a run for it. Most likely the cameras were shut off to keep the other guards from finding out about the underground fights.

  Where the fuck would we go, though?

  This place was way the fuck out in the middle of nowhere. Five fugitives would stick out among the fields of grass and cows. It was getting colder. PJs and a hoodie wouldn’t offer much protection.

  Ollie unlocked a heavy metal door and pushed us through.

  The room was a wide, concrete nightmare of flickering lights, dirty corners, and leaking overhead pipes. In the center, someone had painted a wide red circle. Several rusty splotches stained the inside of the circle.

  My heart jumped in my throat. I didn’t want to be here.

  “Watch him,” Griff said to Eraser in a low voice, his gaze shifting to me. “And stay out of it.”

  Eraser clenched his jaw but nodded.

  “If things get out of control, find a corner and sit with your back to the wall. When the guards get here, lay down on your belly, hands on your head,” Griff instructed. “Got it?”

  If he thought I was going to sit and watch while these animals ganged up on him, he was out of his mind, but I nodded to reassure him. He needed to go into the fight with a clear head.

  A guard I recognized from one of the other units walked in with three of his inmates. He and Ollie argued briefly, then shook hands. More guards and kids came down until the room was somewhat crowded. I even recognized off-duty guards in their street clothes among the people placing bets. So many people seemed to be taking part in this savagery that I started to wonder if I was the crazy one.

  “All two-faced pieces of shit,” Eraser whispered to me, as if he knew what was bubbling in my brain.

  No one made any official announcements or anything like that. The guards huddled together. Someone walked around and collected money. Kids got called into the ring. The bloodshed began. No time to waste.

  Griff had stripped down to his shorts by the time he got called into the ring. Most of the kids did. Easier to fight without worrying about being strangled by your sweatshirt.

  He jumped in place to pump himself up and scanned the crowd. I lifted my hand quickly and he nodded.

  Egghead really did have a head shaped like an egg. He was a mean bastard too. Always talking shit and lashing out at the other kids. At least I wouldn’t feel bad when Griff kicked his ass.

  “Go!” one of the guards shouted.

  A hush fell over the room. Griff and Egghead circled each other slowly. Egghead was strong—I’d watched him throw a weight bench into the wall one afternoon and flip over a cafeteria table another time—but he was slow. Griff was strong and quick on his feet. In another life, he’d probably be training to be an MMA fighter or something.

  Egghead rushed Griff, diving for his middle. Griff grabbed Egghead and shoved his face straight into his knee. Blood gushed from Egghead’s nose and Griff shoved him away.

  “Ooo!” The crowd erupted.

  Lurching to his feet, Egghead came at Griff again. This time Griff threw two punches to the kid’s face, turned, and threw an elbow to his jaw.

  Egghead hit the ground and didn’t get back up.

  “Too short!” a guard yelled.

  There was a commotion by the side of the ring. Ollie took Griff aside. At first Griff shook his head, then he nodded.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Probably going to have him go another round.”

  I zeroed in on the side of the ring where someone had dragged an unconscious Egghead. “How? He’s out.”

  “Someone else.”

  “Jesus.” I rammed my fingers through my hair.

  “Goodyear.” Eraser elbowed me. “He’s not as slow as Egghead but Griff can take him easy.” He snorted. “Got that nickname because of the spare tire he’s carrying around his middle.”

  “Genius,” I muttered.

  The second fight started right away.

  Goodyear approached Griff with caution. He threw a fast fist, but Griff dodged it and rammed his shoulder into Goodyear’s chest, pushing him back a few feet.