Chapter Two: Her Name is Riley

Trick

"How is this one going to be different than the rest?"

I kick my long legs out in front of me, trying not to make too much noise as the steel-toes of my boots meet the metal of the desk in front of me. Regardless of what other people think about me, I would prefer to blend into the background. I don't really want to make a spectacle of myself. I've been told the way I carry myself doesn't allow me to blend into the background, but I am who I am and I refuse to let people screw me around.

Matthew, my probation officer, God bless his soul is flipping through some paperwork trying to find me a match. I think he wants to keep me out of jail as much I don't want to go back there. "They swear this woman isn't interested in finding a man, and it seems the little girl needs someone who can help her. The name's Riley."

"What's wrong with her?" I lean forward, keeping my arms tucked tightly across my chest, hands in my armpits. As a kid, I had a bad habit of talking with my hands. My dad didn't like it, so I learned to keep them close to my body.

He's going over the info sheet. "Looks like the dad slash husband walked out on them, and he isn't interested in being a father to Riley anymore. She's withdrawn and the mother is worried. Hadley, the mother, has requested to be there for at least the first few sessions."

Any mother who gave a damn about her kid would, but that makes me nervous. "I can't fault her for wanting to be there, but damn, what if she turns into another one? I can't go to jail. The fucking shop is booked solid for the next three months. I've finally got all my shit figured out."

"I know, and don't think I'm not sympathetic to your plight, Patrick."

"Oh kiss my ass, you know I hate when people call me by my given name."

Matthew glares. "There does need to be some semblance of professionalism here, no matter how much I like you and feel as if you're doing great things."

Fuck me. I roll my neck, already feeling a tension headache starting to form. I've already wasted too much time today. "Just set it up and let me know what time I need to be there."

It's time to pay my debt to society. To try and right the wrongs I caused as an angry young adult who had nobody to shape me into the man I have become. The vandalism charge? That's bullshit and a story for another day. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my well-worn jeans. Shit it's already two pm. I'm gonna be at the shop late tonight.

"Tomorrow, nine am. They want to get this show on the road, and the quicker you start, the quicker your hours will accumulate."

Whatever. "See ya in two weeks," I tell him, referencing my next parole check in.

I have work to do, and it looks like I have a little girl to meet tomorrow. As I step out into the bright sunshine, I put on my aviators and hope like hell traffic isn't bad as I make my way back across the bridge to my side of town. The side where I'm comfortable – where people have rough edges and good hearts. My edges have sometimes been razor sharp and it's time to dull them – anger and resentment have gotten me nowhere but serving almost a thousand hours of community service.

Growing up sucks, especially when you realize all the bad shit you've done to yourself, to spite yourself. I've never shied away from taking responsibility and I'll take this the way I have everything else, but damn if it's not coming at the worst possible time for me personally.

I start my bike and ease into afternoon traffic. Time to get to work.

*****

A loud noise wakes me from a sleep so deep I'm pretty fucking sure I was dead. It's this annoying beep – constant and getting louder by the second. I reach out, slapping my hand against my cell phone, but it keeps going off. Why did I set the alarm? I wrack my brain, trying to figure out why in the hell I had to get up so early today. I was in the shop until almost four in the morning, but I made sure to set my alarm. Why? The reason is right there, on the periphery of my memory, knocking on the door, but it's not clicking. What the fuck did I have to do today?

Suddenly I sit up, knowing exactly where I should be today, what I should be doing. The sinking feeling is already taking up residence in my stomach.

"Son of a fucking bitch," I grab the phone, squinting to see what time it is. Eight fifty-five. "Shit!"

It's inevitable I'm going to be late as hell for my first day. What a way to make a good impression. Quickly I put on the nearest clothes, a jacket, run my hand through my short hair, and head out. Effort counts, right? Because I'm about to put forth the most effort I ever have. This shit has to work.