Protect Me (The Protector Series Book 1)

  Protect Me

  Written by Melissa Townsend

  Edited by: Caitlin Nelson- C. Marie Editing

  Proofread by: Ann Field- AJ Editing

  Cover Design and Photography: Kaysie Bishop

  Nat

  I don’t know what time it is, only that it’s dark outside. I’m not sure how long I’ve been walking or when it started raining. It feels cool, but not cold enough to make me want to turn back. No. I will never go back to that house. I know I’m not technically free from the system until I turn eighteen, but I also know I can’t take living with my foster parents for another eight months. I can’t take it for another eight hours.

  I’m not sure when I became so unlucky. I’ve been placed in temporary homes since my grandfather died six years ago. I didn’t have any other family who wanted to look after a soon-to-be teenager who had also been given up by her own mother, so I’ve spent the last year and a half living with Chelsea and Rick.

  It started out okay. Honestly, I thought I was going to be happy there. I thought they were going to love me. After the first three months went by, I started realizing I was wrong. They didn’t even love each other, so I knew there was no chance of them loving me. The counselor at the high school I rarely attended told me I was one of the lucky ones. I remember cringing as she said the word “lucky.” According to her, I was “lucky” because Chelsea didn’t hit me and Rick didn’t try to take advantage of me. She said I was ungrateful.

  Apparently I should consider myself lucky to live in a rundown apartment that rarely has water and electricity with two people who hate every single thing about their miserable lives. Chelsea and Rick hardly speak to each other and they speak to me even less. I’ve missed the majority of my senior year because I haven’t been able to shower and I refuse to go to school without bathing at least every few days—I don’t need another reason to be more of an outcast. Obviously, I have umpteen reasons to be grateful. Right?

  I feel like I’ve been walking for hours. My clothes are soaked through to my skin and my feet are aching. I know I’m getting close to the park; I’ve got to be. I haven’t been to the park on the south side of Puyallup, Washington, since my grandpa was alive. Still, I think I recognize a few things. I sigh a breath of relief when I finally see the park entrance. I walk through the fallen leaves and dead grass to the red bench positioned under a pecan tree. There are hardly any leaves on it this time of year and I feel sorry for the tree. It gets to be beautiful for a few months out of the year and then it’s stripped down to almost nothingness. The more I consider it, the more I realize I’m also jealous…jealous of a silly tree. I’ve never had the chance to be beautiful, not even for one day.

  Even if I were pretty—which I’m not—my name would make me ugly. I often catch myself wondering what kind of person my mother was before she left me. I can’t imagine she was a very decent woman when I consider the fact that she named her brand new baby girl Toby Nathaniel Adams. I’ve always gone by Nat at school, but Grandpa used to call me Tobes. I hated it, but he thought it was disrespectful not to use the name my mother gave me. I couldn’t care less about disrespecting my mother, but I wouldn’t dare disrespect Grandpa. A tear rolls down my cheek as I let myself miss him. My tears mix with the raindrops landing softly on my face. I lie down on my side and pull my knees to my chest, trying to get as warm as possible.

  I’m not scared, not even a little. I fully intend on sleeping on this park bench, in the rain, all alone. I’m pretending the rain is warm, like a shower. I needed a shower days ago and there is no way I would have been able to take one at Chelsea and Rick’s house, at least not any time soon, considering they rarely paid the water bill— or any bill for that matter.

  ***

  The sunlight in my eyes is what wakes me. I don’t even open my eyes before I start regretting my decision to sleep on the bench; I’m certain I’ll be sore for at least a week. I pick myself up into a sitting position, my back cracking in several different places as I stretch my arms over my head. My clothes are still damp from the rain, and the morning air is even cooler than the night before.

  It isn’t until I finish rubbing the sleep from my eyes that I notice the humming. I open my eyes slowly, trying not to flinch against the bright light. When I’m able to focus, I see someone sitting on the ground next to the bench. The person’s knees are pulled up so they can rest their elbows on them. The black hood from their jacket is ruining any chance of me seeing their face without them knowing. I think the humming sounds like a guy, but I’m not sure.

  I clear my throat, quietly at first. When the humming person doesn’t turn around, I attempt my “ahem” a little louder. This causes me to get a tickle in my throat and I start coughing. Honestly, I sound like a barking dog—a very sick, possibly near death or at least needing a lung transplant, barking dog.

  Of course, the humming GUY chooses that moment to turn around and remove the earbuds from his ears. After several sharp intakes of breath, I’m able to regain my composure and speak. “Did I steal your bench?” I rasp. He looks behind him as if he isn’t sure whom I’m speaking to. Pointing his finger at his chest, he mouths, “Me?” and I nod.

  He laughs quietly to himself. It’s obvious that he thinks I’m joking. I glare at him until he realizes I’m serious, and he looks away. He leans back, putting his weight on his palms and looking me up and down. I feel a little uncomfortable but take advantage of the opportunity and do the same to him. He’s tall and lean. He isn’t buff, but he’s definitely in shape. His eyes are dark just like his hair, which I can tell he didn’t bother fixing this morning. He’s got day old stubble along his well-defined jaw, and his smile shows off his perfect teeth. Wait, why is he smiling?

  “Do I look like I spend my nights sleeping on a park bench?” he smirks. He stands and wipes his hands off on his jeans—his designer jeans. I know they cost more than my entire outfit combined. I look down at my worn out Nikes. I’ve had them for the last three years, and they’re the only shoes I own aside from the occasional pair of flip-flops I’ve been able to get at the dollar store. I tuck my wet hair behind my ear and continue to look down in an attempt to hide my embarrassment.

  “I’m Shiloh Smith. Want to get some breakfast? The Waffle House is only a couple blocks away,” he says as he holds his hand out to me.

  I stand up from the bench without grabbing his hand and sidestep around him. “No, I don’t want breakfast. Forgive me for not telling you my name or walking anywhere with you; I was taught to not speak to strangers.”

  I start walking away before he can respond. I have no idea where I’m going and my stomach is hating me for turning down The Waffle House. I hold my head high in case he is watching me leave. My life is falling apart with every step I take, but I refuse to let him see that.

  “So, if I were a guy that slept on park benches you would have sat there and had a conversation with me?”

  I jump at the sound of his voice; I hadn’t realized he was walking behind me. “No. I would have apologized for stealing your bench and walked away. Now, stop following me.”

  He chuckles as he takes two long steps to get beside me. It only takes him a second to match his steps with mine and when he does, he looks up at me and grins. I stop walking and his smile disappears as he turns to face me.

  “Look, every friend starts out as a stranger. I’m taking a wild guess you don’t have anywhere to be at the moment, and judging from the way you licked your lips when I mentioned breakfast, I’d be willing to bet you’re hungry. Come with me, eat breakfast, and stop being so stubborn.”

  I cross my arms over my chest as I consider going. If Grandpa were here ri
ght now he would be infuriated that I’m even thinking about going anywhere with a guy I just met. Come to think of it, he would be infuriated by just about everything I’ve done in the last twenty-four hours.

  “No, thank you,” I say, shaking my head.

  Shiloh doesn’t follow me when I walk away, but I can feel him watching me until I’m out of sight. I push the weird encounter out of my head as I walk to the closest thrift store.

  I stand in the parking lot of the used clothing store and dig the small wad of cash out of my jeans pocket. I know it was wrong, but I’d had no choice: I had emptied both Chelsea’s and Rick’s wallets before leaving the house last night. Sixty-seven dollars may not get me much, but all I really need is a clean outfit to go job searching in.

  After pushing all feelings of guilt aside, I make my way into the thrift store. The older woman standing behind the counter greets me without looking up from her magazine. I mutter a “hello” as I make my way to the back of the store where my size would be. I try on a pair of black skinny jeans first. They aren’t my favorite, but there are no holes in them and they don’t sag in the back like so many of my other jeans do. I pick out a yellow, long-sleeved top to wear with the black pants. I look too skinny in the tight-fitting clothes, but I looked even skinnier in the baggy clothes I slept in last night. I leave the new outfit on and tear the tags off to give to the woman at the counter.

  I find a pair of knockoff Ugg boots in the shoe section and slip them on. My worn out Nikes don’t look good with the skinnies, and I know the boots will keep my feet warm tonight at the park.

  I cringe when the woman tells me everything costs forty-three dollars. That leaves me with enough to get a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter and jelly. Hopefully I can make that last me until I get a job.

  The woman gives me a bag to put my wet clothes in, and I thank her and walk to the nearest convenience store. I use the hand dryer in the bathroom to blow my hair dry and tuck it behind my ears. I buy a toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste along with the sandwich items. I hastily brush my teeth and rinse my mouth before leaving the store.

  It’s almost noon and the warmth from the sun feels nice on my cheeks. I tilt my head up toward the sky as I walk along the sidewalk. I take my time walking toward Main Street, where the majority of Puyallup’s locally owned businesses are located. I start at the east end of the street, filling out applications as fast as my hand can write. I try my hardest not to feel ashamed as I check the box saying I’m not a high school graduate. I just need a job to save up enough money for the GED classes and for the test. I know I can’t go back to my high school—not that I want to. I’m almost positive Chelsea and Rick won’t bother looking for me or filing a missing person’s report—that would involve too much effort on their part—but still, I don’t want to risk being at the most obvious places. My old high school and the youth shelter are at the top of my obvious places list.

  I start getting discouraged around the fifth time I hear someone say, “We aren’t hiring, but here’s an application.” By the time I’ve filled out my tenth application and haven’t received any sort of gesture meant to give me hope, I start making my way back to the park, back to the bench. My bench. I blink back the tears, refusing to let myself look as defeated as I feel. The sun is setting as I make myself comfortable. I eat a piece of bread as I watch the sky fade from shades of orange to almost black then use the clothes I’ve stuffed in my bag as a pillow. Before closing my eyes, I pray. I pray to whomever it is who listens to prayers. I don’t pray about finding a job or about having food to last me the rest of the week; I just pray that nobody will look for me. I can’t afford to disappear, and I pray like hell nobody from my past will ever want to find me.

  I feel like I’ve just barely dozed off when I wake up. It’s still dark so I can’t have slept long. It takes me a moment to sit up and clear my head, then I hear that damn humming. I turn around and look over the back of the bench: Shiloh is lying on his back in the grass with his eyes closed as he hums along to whatever song is coming through his earbuds.

  “What are you doing here?” I hiss. He doesn’t move.

  I stand up slowly and walk around the bench so I’m standing at his feet. I wait for a beat to see if he will realize I’m awake and staring at him, but he never flinches. I kick the bottom of his shoe lightly and finally get his attention. He sits up and looks around quickly; when his eyes focus on me he seems to calm down some. He plucks the earbuds from his ears before cocking his head to the side.

  “Why are you awake?” he asks nonchalantly, as if it is completely normal for him to be lying there humming while I sleep. Who is this guy?

  “I don’t know what woke me up—it doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?” I ask, irritated.

  “Well, I was protec—er, I mean, I was just checking on you,” he answers while staring at my feet.

  I squat down so he will look at me instead. “Who told you to check on me?”

  He shakes his head. “Nobody.”

  “I don’t need you to check on me. I can take care of myself. Please, just leave.”

  Again, he shakes his head.

  “What do you mean, no? I don’t need you to stay here. I don’t even know you.”

  “I told you this morning, my name is Shiloh. And this is a city park. You can’t just kick people out of it whenever you’re in a bad mood,” he says with a smirk.

  I throw my hands up and roll my eyes at him before going back to sit on my bench. I lean my head back and look up at the sky. I’m too busy counting the stars to notice when Shiloh sits down beside me. “What’s your name?” he asks quietly, startling me.

  “I don’t want to tell you,” I answer without looking at him.

  “Fine, I’ll ask you again tomorrow.”

  This gets my attention. “What do you mean tomorrow?” I ask as I give him my best glare.

  He shrugs and looks away from me before answering. “If you’re sleeping on this park bench again tomorrow night, I’ll be here.”

  I’m a little caught off guard when there is nothing but seriousness in his voice. Really, who is this guy?

  I try convincing Shiloh to leave by promising I’ll go back to sleep and not complain when he comes back tomorrow, but he refuses. He swears he will leave after I fall asleep, but not a second sooner. I give fake sleeping my best shot, but of course, he doesn’t fall for it.

  He’s gone when I wake up the next morning. If I thought my back and neck were hurting after the first night of sleeping on the bench, I was wrong. The way my body is aching right now is what hurting feels like. I would go back to feeling how I did yesterday morning in a heartbeat if it were possible. I slowly stand up and attempt to stretch my limbs out, trying not to flinch from the pain.

  When I feel as close to normal as I think I can, I sit in the grass and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I don’t even like peanut butter. In fact, I hate peanut butter. I’m hating it more with every second I spend trying to chew this damn sandwich without having anything to drink.

  Shiloh

  “Long night, bubba?”

  I nod at my twelve-year-old sister, Macie, as I take my coat off and hang it in the closet.

  “How was your night? Did you sleep okay?” I ask her. She gives me an enthusiastic nod and mumbles something through a mouthful of pancake. I’m too tired to ask her to repeat herself, so I quickly kiss her head before walking to the bathroom for a shower.

  Lacey, the nanny I hired three years ago, is coming out of Macie’s room with her school bag in tow. “Oh, hi, Shiloh. I didn’t hear you come in,” she mumbles while tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “I’m assuming she slept better last night since she doesn’t look near as tired today.”

  “She didn’t wake up once,” Lacey says with a smile. I nod as I hand her the check for the week.

  I don’t wait for her to say anything, nor do I give her time to flirt with me. I wave goodbye to Macie and take the fastest
shower of my life before falling face first onto my bed.

  “SHI! I’M HOME! SHI?! WAKE UP!!”

  I jerk my pillow over my head and force myself to take three deep breaths before removing it. Once I’m as calm as I’m going to be, I chunk the pillow as hard as I can against my bedroom door—you know, calmly.

  Macie is on the other side of that door tapping her little fingers away while simultaneously shouting as loudly as her little lungs will let her. I throw some clothes on before opening the door. Macie is lying on her stomach with her Nintendo in her hands. “SHI—oh, you’re up.”

  “I’m up, Macie. What have I told you about waking me up like that? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  She shrugs before standing up and wrapping her arms around my waist. She can barely get them all the way around me because she’s so small for her age; she looks more like a seven-year-old than the twelve years old she actually is. The doctors swear there isn’t anything wrong with her, that she’s just tiny for her age. When we go out in public together, most people assume she’s my daughter. They don’t believe I’m really only seven years older than her.

  “How was school?” I ask her, even though I know I’m setting myself up for at least twenty minutes worth of stories along with several hand gestures and funny faces.

  “School was all right, I guess. I did make a new friend at the coffee shop while I was waiting on Lacey to pick me up, though.” Her answer surprises me because she usually goes on and on about school, but I’m more concerned about the fact that she had to wait on Lacey.

  “Why was Lacey late picking you up?” I ask, trying to hide the irritation in my voice.

  “She’s always late,” she says while rolling her eyes. “I usually just wait at the corner, but there was a girl sitting on the bench outside Aunt J’s today. She was filling out a job application and she bought me a smoothie while I waited. It was strawberry banana.”

  I make a mental note to ask Lacey to pick Macie up earlier. Her school bus drops her off near a coffee shop on Main Street and Lacey is supposed to be there waiting for her. “Strawberry banana, huh? I bet it was delicious, Mace. Tell me about your new friend. What’s her name?”