Out of Nowhere(102)

“Rafe?” I put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes have gone distant, like he doesn’t even see me.

“I want you all the time,” he says. “I would do anything for you. But—” He bites his lip and shakes his head. “—but if I have to worry that every time something is hard, you’ll…. And if I don’t even have…. Oh god. Colin….”

Rafe’s eyes are wild. Desperate. I’ve never seen him like this before, and a kind of panic I’ve never felt before rises in me. It’s huge. And instead of feeling like darkness, like sticky tar, it’s just need—need that I can’t let go. While I’m used to the darkness, I don’t know what to do about needing someone. About a yearning for something beyond myself so strong that it wants to push out through my skin. He’s there on the floor and everything in me is sparking toward him, like a live wire, desperate for a ground.

“Rafe.” I hardly recognize my voice. His eyes snap to mine. “Please. Please, just tell me what happened.” I have this idea that if only I can get him talking, then this won’t be happening. If I can figure out what the problem is, then I can solve it. Like a leaky valve or a cruddy engine. He won’t leave me. He won’t give up on us.

“It’s all over,” he whispers. “I just didn’t expect it all at once.”

“Tell me!”

“I failed all of them. And Javi. He trusted me, but everyone else…. They think I’m trash. Just a fucking criminal. I should’ve known. I can’t… I can’t believe I thought they actually had faith in me.”

“Who? What happened? Please.”

When he doesn’t answer me, I straddle him and put my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. He looks surprised to find me so close.

I lean in and kiss him, just a soft touch of our lips, and his eyes flutter closed. I kiss his cheeks and his chin.

“What happened?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his hands settling on my hips automatically. I’m dead fucking sober now.

“Youth Alliance has a board of directors. They don’t really do much day to day, but they’re in charge of grant writing and the budget for programming and salaries, and writing press releases or providing info to other groups who do similar work. And they’re in charge of keeping records for all of the kids and the staff and volunteers at YA.”

“Okay,” I say, not understanding the problem. Rafe’s shoulders slump.

“Javi hired the original people who worked there. The board came later, once YA grew. After it became a 501(c)(3). A nonprofit,” he explains at my blank look. “Javi hired me long before there was a board or any official process for hiring. I started out volunteering, then just kind of segued into working there part-time. They needed all the help they could get. The board knows me, of course, but I’ve never been involved with them. When Javi died and I started, you know, doing more, we didn’t really talk about it. Things were crazy and I was the one who knew the kids, knew how everything worked because I’d always been with Javi. Nothing was official. We were just trying to… keep it all together.

“But today,” he says, “Carly, the board representative, called me and asked if I’d have a meeting with them. They found out that I’m a… that I have a record.”

“They didn’t know?”

“Javi didn’t put it in my file. They do background checks on everyone now, but since I’d already been there…. In my file Javi’d written that he knew me from church.” Rafe snorts. “And they all trusted Javi, so no one questioned it, I guess. After he died, they were just glad someone knew what needed to be done.”

“So, why did they check up on you now?”

“Anders’ father told them.” The muscle in Rafe’s jaw tightens. “After he found out Anders had been coming to YA, he looked into me. It’s public record.” He shakes his head. “He was angry. Looking for something to discredit YA. Make us look bad. And there I was. A fucking ex-con and an addict working with youth, and the board didn’t even know. Honestly, I’m lucky they didn’t call the cops on me.”

“Oh no.”

“I….” His voice trembles. “I just don’t know what I’ll do without them, and—”

When I pull him against me, he’s shaking.

“And not having you either—I—” He closes his eyes.

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry. I’m—fuck, I’m sorry about all of it. But you can’t—I mean, I—we—it’s—just, please, don’t.”