“Your day’s only a couple of years off, child,” Darcy called out.
“I’m leaving, Mom. I’m going home tonight, so don’t wait dinner on me.” He bussed his mom’s cheek and was quickly out the door. He jogged down the sidewalk and caught the metro seconds before the driver closed the door. Inside, it was standing room only. Naturally. After two transfers and then three blocks on foot, he stood outside Second Chances with three minutes to spare. On a deep breath, he walked in.
The lobby smelled the same as it had fourteen years ago when he’d first walked through the doors to complete his community-service sentence. He’d been convicted of vandalism of public property, but only because the cops hadn’t caught him earlier that night. Had they nicked him then, they’d have charged him with a hell of a lot more.
Relegating dark memories into the small mental compartment he kept just for that purpose, he squared his shoulders and forced himself to breathe slower. He wasn’t that kid anymore and hadn’t been for a long, long while. He’d proven it by taking the counselors’ help in breaking free of his involvement in Deuce-8 as a messed up teen. He’d reinforced it by going to school. And starting now, he’d spend every day doing his best to make a difference in the lives of the kids who passed through the front doors. Second Chances. It was this place, and the people inside these walls, that had made the difference in his life. The biggest reason he was alive instead of a violent crime statistic lay in these halls, under this roof and on these grounds.
“May I help you?”
The feminine voice startled Justin, kicking him out of his Memory Lane waltz and landing him in the now. Years on stage at Beaux Hommes helped him put on his best smile as he faced the voice. “Justin Maxwell here to see Mark Sanders.”
The woman—Mallory according to her name tag—stared for a full ten seconds before catching herself. “Mr. Sanders is expecting you, Dr. Maxwell. His office is down this first hallway, fifth door on the left. I’ll buzz his assistant and let her know you’re on your way.”
Unease skittered along his spine. She’d stared so long he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever been to the club, maybe recognized him as a dancer. He couldn’t indulge his discomfort and worry about it now, though, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask. That part of his life was, for all intents and purposes, nearly over. Trying to control his heart rate, he held out a hand. “Thanks, Mallory. I appreciate it.”
She shook it, her grip limp, palm slightly sweaty. “You’re welcome, Dr. Maxwell.”
“Please, call me Justin.”
She blushed and tucked her long, dark hair behind one ear. “Okay...Justin.”
Nodding toward the director’s office, he gave a small wave to Mallory and started down the hall.
Where was Grace?
The door to the office opened as he got there, and a short, balding man boldly took his measure. “Good to see you again, Dr. Maxwell.”
“Just Justin, sir.” For the second time in as many minutes, he offered his hand.
Sanders’s grip was firm and dry. “A few things have changed since we first talked. Before we get into specifics, I’m going to send you to Human Resources to complete your new-employee paperwork and get your fingerprinting done. Should take about an hour. We don’t have the luxury of putting you through a formal orientation process, so this’ll have to suffice. Any questions, direct them to me.” He gestured down the hall. “HR is the third door down. It’s marked. Ask for Sharon. Have her paged if she’s not in there. She’ll set you to rights and then send you back here.”