Unsocial Page 3

  Wednesday I wake up after a sleepless night. In high school, I played football all four years. I played in two state championships. At the age of 23, Jax and I started our own business and turned it into an overnight success with no backing, just hard fucking work day in and day out. And today, after being pretty much calm, cool, and collected my entire adult life, I could write a book on nervous.

  At six, I’m awake and turning on the shower. My nerves are getting the best of me. Just as I go to step in, my stomach heaves and I lose whatever the fuck is left in there from what feels like the last week. I sit on the floor leaning back against the tub. I feel like a total pussy. I can’t believe this is getting to me so goddamn much. Of course, I’ve never been responsible for anyone before, and here I am getting ready to fight to take on four very young lives. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. The last few days I know I’ve just been winging it and putting off making any decisions. FUCK! Now I decide I need to get my shit together, just hours before I go to court.

  My father’s voice is in my head telling me I need to grow up, and that fucking lawyer’s voice is playing on repeat, shit about responsibility, maturity, tattoos, and stability. I stand and shake this shit off. I have to. There is no way in hell I’m losing my siblings to the system. I won’t let them go to foster care, possibly being split up. No fucking way.

  I shower, shave, and dress in my new suit, carefully making sure that no ink is visible. After tying a perfect tie and making sure not one hair is out of place, I’m prepared to fight for my family, on the outside that is. On the inside, I’m scared as hell.

  I walk into the kitchen where Jackson is waiting with fresh coffee. “Thanks, man.”

  Jackson doesn’t try to talk. We’ve been friends long enough that he knows right now I don’t need conversation. Neither one of us likes to talk about feelings. He finishes his coffee and rinses the cup in the sink, “Alright, I have to get going. My flight leaves soon.”

  He’s flying to Oklahoma for a few days to take care of our business. “Okay, you know you can stay there.”

  He ignores me, “I’ll see ya in a couple of days. Got to whip those fuckers into shape, and then I’ll be back here.”

  “Alright man, see ya later.”

  A few hours later I walk into court with the kids. Mr. McCullough must have had some fucked up premonition because he doesn’t have a clue what a hardass this judge is. Unfortunately, I do. He was always the judge when I managed to fuck up royally in high school. The best I can hope for is that he doesn’t remember who I am.

  Of-fucking-course, I can’t get so lucky. When my name is called, he looks at me with the same disgust he showed me years ago. He launches right into trying to discredit me in every way he can. Again, my age. Do these fuckers not realize how many people are parents in their 20s? He brings up what he supposes my life is like with women, partying, people I hang out with. He has no proof that what he says is pretty much spot on, but fuck if I agree. I’m not giving him any ammunition. When he questions me about my relationship status, I play it off that I’ve been building my business, and launch into how successful the business is. The longer this shithead drones on, the closer I get to pissed way the fuck off.

  In the end, I’m granted temporary custody instead of the full guardianship we were hoping to get. My family is assigned a social worker who’s going to be on our asses for the next goddamn year. Shit sucks. All I need is some stick-up-the-ass suit monitoring us constantly. However it is the judge’s threat as we’re heading for the door that pisses me off. “Make one mistake and these children will go straight into a foster home equipped to raise children properly.”

  Fucking prick.

  Chapter 2

  Brooke

  I’m standing in front of the Department of Children and Family Services. I’m not nervous, I’m really vibrating with excitement. I did my internship here while I finished my masters in sociology. Now, I’m an employee. This is the day I’ve been waiting for after working myself to death in college. To say I’m excited is an understatement. I’m stoked for this. I’m pumped. I’m ready.

  I know this job isn’t going to be all glamorous. I was witness to some really tough cases that came through the office while I was interning. Some pissed me off while others broke my heart. They just made the anticipation of starting my career here that much more urgent. I was ready to take on the world and fix the injustices of people who came through these offices. Okay, not the world, but my little world; Kansas City, Kansas.

  I enter the building and head to Janice’s office. She looks up from her desk which is covered in files and papers and grins, “Ah, Brooke. Welcome to hell, honey.”

  Not sure what to say here, so a little shakily I answer, “Thank you.” I wasn’t going to let that little greeting of hers scare me. Like I said, take on the world, I mean; Kansas. My aspirations can sometimes get the better of me.

  Janice smiles and stands up ready to lead me to my cubicle. Excitement is coursing through every vein in my body ready to get started on my cases. Obviously, Janice feels the same. “Okay, so I would love to take it easy on you and ease you into this, but that’s not the world we live in. Your first family is going to be a doozy, so be prepared. You won’t be just testing the waters with this one. It’s jump all in; sink or swim. I’m hoping with your enthusiasm you’ll kick this case’s ass.”

  She hands me a file with the name “Monroe” on the tab and motions for me to follow her. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Janice. I’m ready to get started. This has been a long time coming with sacrifices and many hours of studying to get to.”

  “Good to hear. This is your cubicle. You know where everything is and who you feel comfortable asking for help and don’t hesitate to ask for it. You might have your fire lit now, but it takes a lot to keep it lit. It won’t be possible with every case, Brooke, but I’m going to tell you now to try to maintain a little bit of detachment or this job will eat you up. Now, that’s my only advice to you. I’ll let you get settled in and acquainted with that file. It’s a custody case for now, but the ultimate goal is full guardianship. You’ve seen a couple of these when you shadowed Marla out in the field, but this one is going to be different. It’s not between parents or grandparents. There’s no divorce or unfit parent to contend with. There are five kids, and the oldest one who’s 26 is trying to obtain guardianship. The rest are minors. The biggest thing is that their parents died in a car accident two weeks ago.” She has actual pity in her voice.

  This is shocking because Janice has been at this job for a long time. She took me under her wing when I was interning. She made sure I got to shadow the best of the social workers on a lot of different cases so I would have the experience when it came time for me to get my own cases. I have a feeling this case is serious and is going to challenge me in ways I’m not prepared for, but I will do a good job. “That’s terrible, Janice. How old are the minor kids?”

  “Like I said, the oldest is 26. He has two brothers and two sisters that are 16, 14, 10, and 6.”

  “That’s not so bad is it? The oldest does have a job doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah. From what I read, he’s a very successful businessman in Oklahoma. The judge has ordered weekly scheduled visits until he sees fit to change to bi-weekly for an entire year.”

  This has me curious, “That seems kind of excessive to me. Who’s the judge?”

  “Judge Adamson.”

  “Oh, no. No wonder it’s excessive.”

  “Well, something about the guy really pissed the judge off. His being 26 seems to be the biggest red flag. But there has to be more for the judge to order this kind of work. He’s only two years older than you are, Brooke. Do you think guys this age would be good guardians for four minors?”

  That thought was a little scary, but again, there are lots of people in their 20s with young kids. Not that I know too many, okay, I don’t know any. However, that’s beside the point. For some reason, this all seems a little off to
me. I think there’s more to the judge’s decision than just being 26 years old. I mean, he is their brother. It’s always the logical choice to place minors with their closest relatives. Of course, I’m thinking of every textbook case I’ve read.

  “Okay. That’s a good point. Anything else?” I’m kind of anxious to start reading this file.

  Finally, she smiles, “I will obviously sprinkle in more clients this week, but this one is your top priority. I know you won’t let me down on this.”

  I really like Janice. She’s blunt and in her own way, she’s pretty encouraging. Minus the ‘welcome to hell’ greeting of course. I can tell she’s one of the good ones who truly cares about the children and the families that come in here. After she leaves me to it, I open the file to familiarize myself with the Monroes. I read every page intently and find myself amazed at the type of information we can get on people in a custody case.

  I begin my reading with Dylan Christopher Monroe. Ah, the oldest brother. He’s 26 with an address in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. I have a feeling after my year of home visits he’s going to pack his family up and move them to Oklahoma. He is co-owner of Tricked, a custom car and motorcycle shop. That’s cool. As I read further, I notice that he’s a millionaire. I look at all the zeroes on the page. It’s not something I can comprehend. My bank account runs dangerously low right after my half of rent is paid each month. He’s also unmarried. He owns a house in Oklahoma.

  Moving on I begin reading about the four younger Monroe children. They’re all from Overland Park. They don’t live too far from the Kansas City location of our offices. I notice the address is in a nice but older neighborhood. It’s also obvious his parents weren’t millionaires. Guess Dylan didn’t share the wealth with his family in Kansas. Curious…

  Before I get the chance to continue Marla, another veteran of social services, walks into my new space. She’s in her early thirties, and I know she’s been married for three years. I spent a lot of time with Marla in the field for my internship. She seems to enjoy her job but has said on several occasions that it takes a toll on her family life when she has to stay late for paperwork, to meet new clients, or late field visits.

  Luckily these aren’t an issue for me. I’m taking a long break from men to concentrate on getting started in my career. And I’m just going to throw in here why; men suck. Every damn thing is about them. Up until about a year ago I had been in a long three-year relationship, but the whiny piss ant couldn’t take my school and study schedule, and when I got my internship on top of it all, it pretty much sealed the deal.

  Now he’s doing whoever the hell he wants, that can be there to kiss his ass. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bitter. I’m just kind of pissed that I wasted three years of my precious time on him. It wasn’t until he dumped me, which I admit stung, only because I had never been dumped before, to realize that I really never loved him. About a week after the “scene” I was grateful he was a wimp because I could finally do what I needed to do without his endless guilt trips weighing me down, but I digress.

  “Hi, Marla. Did you forget my welcome plant?” I’m smiling because Marla has that kind of crazy sense of humor around the office that can keep things light.

  “Brookey, Brookey, Brookey. First day in the dog pile. No more looking in from the puppy pen.” She’s grinning and I laugh.

  “Yep, I was just getting started with my first case,” I nod.

  She looks down at the file in my hand. “Yeah, I heard you got the Monroe case. That’s such a shame for those children. But, I know you and how excited you are to be a social worker. Somehow I know this is the right case for you. You haven’t been jaded like the rest of us.” Finally some encouragement around here.

  We both turn our heads when a tall, pretty woman who looks to be around Marla’s age walks in to join us. Damn, these things can get small with three adults in them. “Ah, the newbie, Brooke. Hi, I’m Paige.”

  She seems friendly enough so I smile back, “Yeah, I’m Brooke. It’s nice to meet you. Are you new here as well?”

  “Nope, I’ve been here about six years. I just took some time off to combine maternity leave and my honeymoon.”

  “That’s cool. Congratulations,” I tell her.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to drop in to meet you and welcome you to hell.”

  I have no clue why everyone keeps saying that. I know being a social worker isn’t going to be easy. I just can’t understand why they refer it to “hell.” She says her goodbyes and heads to her own cubicle. “Am I missing something, Marla?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she’s the second person who has “welcomed me to hell” this morning. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

  She laughs so I figure it’s an inside joke or a hazing for the new worker, then confirms my suspicions by adding, “It’s just a joke around here. You’ll see you don’t have anything to worry about. And if you need anything just let me know.”

  “Thanks, Marla.” She waves goodbye, and heads the same direction Paige disappeared.

  After the welcome committee leaves, I have several food stamp cases that require some paperwork. Really nothing with these cases is too difficult. I actually had helped with these when I was interning. When the last one leaves I decide to find some lunch I can eat at my desk with the intention of finishing reading the Monroe file. I look at the clock and notice I have about 45 minutes before my 1:00 appointment.

  Unfortunately, the break room is really busy so I head back to my desk. I unwrap my sandwich and reach for the Monroe file. I only get a couple of lines in before I am hit with the sexiest smelling men’s cologne to ever hit my olfactory system. Damn, that smell needs to be packaged and sold with vibrators. I look up, up, up at the most gorgeous male specimen to cross my path. Maybe he’s here to whisk me away from hell. At this point, I don’t care that it’s my first day. I want this sexy ass man to be my knight…..

  “Ms. Porter?”

  My eyes, brain, and every erogenous body part, plus some, are taking in his tall, muscular frame. I swear his muscles have muscles if that’s possible anyway. He has broad shoulders with a trim waist. I know he’s got a six pack, or more, under that shirt. Damn, I want to be that shirt. His thighs are thick and strong, kind of like tree trunks. It’s quite apparent that he’s no stranger to a gym or any physical activity for that matter. His faded jeans and gray button-up shirt cling to him in ways that leave little to the imagination and really should be outlawed.

  Wait, did he just say Ms. Porter? That’s me. Somewhere in my brain, I register this, but when I look at his face, all thought flees. I swear I’ve lost control of professionalism, social graces, brain activity other than what controls lust.

  Vaguely I remember catching sight of ink peeking out from under his shirt sleeves and on the right side of his neck coming out of his collar, but when I reach his perfect, fucking face I’m lost. He’s got a hard jaw with a day’s worth of manly scruff. I really like that look. His nose looks like it’s been broken at least once. Mmm, everything is adding up to bad boy. His hair is thick and dark brown. It’s cut short on the sides and longer on top. I can tell there’s plenty grab a hold of while we’re…..shut it down, Brooke. It’s his eyes, though, that grab my interest. They are so deep and dark that I swear I can see into his soul, and he’s looking at me like he….. Oh, shit. He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say something.

  I’ve been caught staring at this man like a total moron. Please don’t let me be drooling. It’s bad enough that he’s caught me trying to decide where I want to start looking first, I really don’t want him to see over-produced saliva dripping from my chin.

  “Ms. Porter?” Uh, oh. He sounds impatient. I look over his shoulder and catch sight of Marla and Paige who are getting the full effect of his backside. And I have no doubt by the looks on their faces that it’s equally as good as the side I’m getting acquainted with. And again, “Are you Ms. Porter?”

  I’m still sit
ting in my desk chair deciding how to answer his question, but his lips have me distracted. They are simply mesmerizing. Maybe I’m really horny. I tear my eyes away and look back to Marla and Paige who are still standing there with tongues hanging out. Yes, two happily married women. I note that Marla mouths, “Holy shit” at me right before, “If everyone is finished staring at me, I’m here to see a Ms. Porter. Is that you or not? I’m looking for my family’s case worker.”

  Okay, I need to get my shit together and form words. It’s obvious the star of all of my future fantasies is getting a lot more than impatient. It’s time I form words. I stand and hold out my hand out with anticipation for his touch….just stop, Brooke, he’s a client. “Yes, I apologize. You’ve just caught me on my lunch. But I’m Brooke Porter. Can I help you?” I really need to get a hold of myself before I look any more needy or horny. I’m really not sure what look is on my face.

  He takes my hand firmly and gives it a brief shake, but not before I notice how utterly huge and strong his is wrapped around mine. More totally inappropriate thoughts come to mind. I need to stop. I really need to stop this. I cannot be having this kind of reaction around every hot male that walks through these doors. “I’m Dylan Monroe. They told me coming in that I need to speak with you about home visits and shit. I don’t get this.”

  Dylan Monroe? From the “Monroe” file. Holy shit. “Well, the judge ordered…..”

  He cuts me off abruptly, “I know what that prick ordered. I just don’t get it. They’re my family. It’s simple, I should get them. How can you guys justify splitting up a family, especially at a time like this? We just lost our parents.”

  Okay, he’s not so happy, obviously. I need to diffuse this. I offer him what I hope is my warmest and friendliest smile. I need to make him feel comfortable. I’m grasping for every professional anecdote I know of to set him at ease. I offer him the chair beside mine. “I know your family should be with you, and I’m going to do everything I can to make that happen. It’s just that the judge is concerned regarding your age and the fact that you’ll be in custody of four minor children all of a sudden.”