Built (Saints of Denver #1)(30)
Sayer called right before the weekend and told me that she got the order from the court and that I could see Hyde, but it would have to be supervised and monitored at a court-approved location. My heart lodged in my throat and I couldn’t come up with anything to say to her. All I could do was grunt like a Neanderthal.
She asked if I could get an afternoon off work the following week and told me she would get everything scheduled. Since she was my attorney she was supposed to be present for the visit, but she assured me that this was something she did all the time, so both she and the CASA representative would be as unobtrusive as possible so that my time with Hyde would be uninterrupted.
When I finally found my voice to thank her, it was almost a squeak as I asked if I was allowed to bring Hyde something. I didn’t know much about kids, especially five-year-old little boys, other than when I had been one myself, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to break the ice with some kind of trinket. When I was five anything that had wheels and made noise made me the happiest kid on earth . . . actually those things made me a pretty happy adult, too. Sayer told me she would have to check with the CASA rep and that she would get back to me. We set the date for Wednesday and I spent every day leading up to it in alternating states of elation and soul-deep panic. I was sure I was driving Beryl crazy calling her every five minutes to ask her what should I do, what should I say. I couldn’t believe I was so torn up worrying if a five-year-old would like me or not.
Finally, after call number thirty she put Joss on the phone, and my niece told me to stop worrying because all kids liked me. I laughed and asked her how she knew that and her reasoning was so innocent and simple it put some of my fears to rest.
She told me that because I was so tall and so big I seemed like a superhero. She told me I could pick her up and carry her around no matter how big she got and that I always made her laugh. She said my hugs were the best and that my beard tickled when she kissed me and then she reached her little hand right into my chest and poked my heart when she told me that I had kept her and her mommy safe when her daddy was mean to them. She told me all kids needed someone that made them feel safe, so of course Hyde would like me. When she handed the phone back to Beryl I could tell my sister was crying, and honestly I could feel the burn of tears in the back of my own eyes.
Sayer called the day before I was supposed to meet my little boy and told me she had cleared it with the CASA person and Hyde’s foster mom that I could bring him a little something for our first meeting. She warned me not to go overboard since he was going to have to return to the foster home after our meeting and that meant he was going to be around other kids that would be jealous if he came rolling in with something fancy and expensive.
That was how I found myself in the toy aisle of Target thirty minutes before they closed staring aimlessly at rows and rows of brightly colored boxes. I had no clue what was appropriate or what Hyde was even into and that made me want to pull my hair out. Finally, my gaze hit on a box of Legos and it clicked.
Maybe he liked to build things like I did. There were enough blocks and pieces to the set that even if there were a bunch of other kids at the house he was staying at, they could share and play together. I grabbed a couple different designs and went home knowing good and well I wouldn’t sleep a wink until the meeting tomorrow. Instead, I stared at the ceiling and alternately thought about the little boy and the woman that was the key to making him a permanent part of my life.
I couldn’t think about one without the other invading the thought the next second. They were both so important and intrinsically tied together in my life at the moment that separating them seemed impossible, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. If I did win full custody of Hyde he was going to be part of the deal if Sayer ever decided to let me into her life. She couldn’t have me and not have him and I wondered if that was part of the reason she had reverted to putting up her professional mask every time we talked now.
She was always polite, always reassuring, but none of the playful attraction that floated between us before was present in her tone and she made sure all our conversations were brief and to the point. She was making me crazy, but I couldn’t figure a way around it and frankly had to keep my focus on my kid and not my dick.
When the day of the visit arrived I skipped work in the morning, leaving my foreman, Azzy, in charge of the crew. Azzy was a good kid who survived a really nasty upbringing. He had spent his formative years in juvie and most of his young adulthood behind bars. We had met in Canyon, and when he got out he looked me up. The guy had no construction knowledge and I knew how hard it was for anyone, but especially someone of color with a criminal history, to find a good job and someone willing to give them an honest shot at a future. I hated being judged for my past mistakes but knew I could have it so much worse than I did. Azzy had a fierce resolve to never go back to prison and a noticeable dedication to making something of himself. Since I had hired him on he had also proven to be a quick learner. Over the last few years I had been entrusting more and more responsibility and workload to him. In fact, after I had blueprints drawn up and a bid squared away, I was thinking about handing that entire build over to the young guy. Azzy was ready for something to be all his, and I knew Asa would get it when I explained my reasoning for handing the project over to my protégé.
I dressed in a pair of black Dickies and put on a lightweight plaid shirt that had pearl buttons up and down the front of it along with white piping across the shoulders. I traded my Red Wings for a pair of black Frye boots and tried to tame my typically unruly hair with a handful of goop and a comb. I cleaned up all right but no one was ever going to hand me the key to the city and there was nothing I could really do about the tattoos on either side of my neck or the ones that marked the back of each hand, so I knew I would still get those looks. The ones that stated that no matter how respectable my career was, or how much money I had in the bank, or how nice the car I drove was, I still looked rough and would always be an ex-con.