4. Foolproof

4

Foolproof

Deacon

Today is Saturday, which means I don't need to get up early to take Lola to school. But it also means spending the entire day with my niece who hates me. Granted, I'm not the best company, and I don't really know what to do with her, but cut me some slack. I've been an adoptive parent for barely two months, and most of that time was spent putting this bar together. No one gave me a handbook on how to raise a teenager, especially a grieving one.

When I reach the kitchen, she's already seated at the table, hunched over her cereal bowl with her earbuds in. I grunt a "hello," but naturally, she doesn't hear me. My heart clenches as she twirls the end of her brown hair the exact same way my sister used to. She's so much like Amelia, it's hard to look at her sometimes.

I make myself some coffee and pull up a chair next to her. We sit in silence for a few minutes before she takes an earbud out. "Hey, so one of my friends invited me—"

"No, Lola," I growl. "You know the rules. No parties."

"But you haven't even heard what I was going to say!" she whines, her voice way too high-pitched to handle before my morning coffee.

"It's not about a party?"

Every week, there's another damn party at one of her friends' houses in Manhattan. Which is clearly not an appropriate outing for a thirteen-year-old, but apparently, I'm the only "parent" who thinks so. She keeps saying Amelia used to let her go. Unfortunately, I don't know if that's true. My sister and I didn't see each other much these last couple of years. She hated returning to Sycamore Springs, and I despised coming to the city. But my sister was a reasonable person, so I highly doubt she let her young teenage daughter skip off to some rowdy party at night .

She rolls her eyes. "You're so annoying. So, I'm stuck in here again?"

"Don't you have homework to do? Or dance routines to practice?"

This apartment is pretty big, and I've seen her rehearse around the living room a few times already. I'm no dancer, but I thought she was quite good. Handy that almost none of the place is furnished yet. Plenty of space. When we were moving in, I mostly focused on furnishing the bar and getting stuff for her room so she could feel at home.

"I'll do it tomorrow."

"Well, you can get a head start. I have work to do here in the apartment, and we have our appointment with Dr. Stewart in two hours."

She exhales loudly. "I told you I don't want to go. I don't need a shrink."

I want to say that I don't want to go either, but I hold it in. "I know, but it'll help. You'll see."

I'm not entirely sure I believe that, but I really hope it's true. I'm way too messed up, even for Dr. S., but Lola can still be saved.

"Whatever," she mumbles before drinking the milk from her bowl. Then, she stands up and stomps to her room. The door closes with a loud thud, making the walls tremble .

Sighing, I sit down with my coffee, hoping it'll clear away some of the fog.

Unfortunately, it doesn't do the trick, so I shuffle over to the spare room, put some music on, and lift a few weights. I try to focus on the burning in my muscles and the blasting notes of the music, but my thoughts are louder—and stronger. As always, they trap me, reminding me that the people around me all end up dying. That I now have to care for someone when I barely know how to take care of myself. That I need to provide for Lola, so I can't be a screw-up. That I have to make sure everything is safe and secure around her so I don't lose her like I lost my grandmother.

The door to the bedroom flies open, and I find myself face to face with Alice, her cheeks as red as the headband in her hair. I stare back in shock. She's wearing a thin red sweater and black leggings. Today's brooch says "One more chapter" on top of an open book. How many of those does she have? Her collection seems endless.

Putting down my dumbbells, I walk to the stereo and turn it off, my heart racing just a few beats faster.

Immediately, the space fills with her angry tone, and warmth radiates through my body. I wish the comforting sensation could last, but I know that as soon as she leaves, it'll be an icy wasteland again. "What is wrong with you? Don't you have any consideration for others?"

When I cross my arms over my chest, I notice how her eyes trail to my biceps. "How did you get in here, Frenchie? I don't think breaking and entering is a chapter in the good neighbor handbook you're so passionate about."

"Your daughter let me in. And don't change the subject. The only one being unneighborly is you."

"How come no one else on this street complains, then?" I say, pumped by the adrenaline from my workout. "You're the one with a problem. If you have such sensitive ears, maybe you should invest in better headphones."

She takes a step closer, jabbing her finger at me. "Because you and I share a wall!" She taps the wall next to me.

Glancing up, I notice Lola lingering in the doorframe of her room, laughing as she takes in the exchange. That smile on her face makes my heart jolt. So what if it's at my expense? It's a smile . Besides, ever since Alice stepped into the room, not a single dark thought has filtered through. Just like that, I'm no longer a prisoner of my own mind. The only thing I'm worrying about now is conjuring up the perfect retort to push the buttons of this feisty Frenchie.

"Now, stop being such an inconsiderate jackass!" she adds, her full lips trembling before she spins on her heel and marches out of the room, exiting my apartment.

Lola's giggles grow louder, and I snap my head to her. "Stop laughing, young lady. You and I are going to have a serious talk about letting strangers into the apartment."

I may be scolding her in my serious parent voice, but I've never felt more relaxed than I do now. Alice Beaumont is a foolproof solution.

"So," Dr. S. begins, crossing his legs. "Now that we've done five individual sessions, I wanted to do this joint one to review the situation between you two."

Lola and I are both seated on the couch across from him. He fixes his eyes on us, expecting us to talk, but what is there to say?

"Lola, let's start with you. Is there anything you want to tell your uncle? Or ask him? Something he can do that would help you or your relationship."

She releases a loud breath and starts twirling her hair. "I want to go to my friend's party tonight."

My body tenses. "Absolutely not."

The doc looks at me. "Deacon . . . "

"It's not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old," I say, crossing my arms and leveling Dr. Stewart with a stare. Surely, he can't think it's a good idea.

"Okay," he says. "Lola, how about another request? Let's start with baby steps."

She turns her glare to me. "I don't need the safety lecture every time you drop me off at school. I know it by heart already. And it's embarrassing."

I keep my arms firmly folded. "Fine." I guess lecturing her every single day for weeks should have been enough to get the message across.

"And I want to go places by myself."

I blow out a breath. This kid is going to kill me. "No way!"

"What about the bookstore next door?" Dr. Stewart says. "Lola, you've been telling me about this place since our first session, and you haven't gone yet, right?"

Really, Dr. S.? Whose side are you on!

"Yes," she exclaims. "But he doesn't want me to go by myself, and he never has time to take me. That's what I'm saying. He treats me like a kid. I can't go to parties. I can't go to school by myself. I can't have a social media account, and I can't even go to the freaking bookstore by myself? Next door ? I'm not a child! "

Of course she's a child. And I won't let her out of my sight if I can help it. I've never been able to protect the people around me. Everyone else died. And I won't let that happen to my sister's daughter. As her last living relative, I've been granted custody, and I'll make sure she lives a long life, even if that means she hates me in the process.

"That's not such an unreasonable request," Dr. Stewart says. "Deacon, what do you think about that?"

I want to smash my hand into a wall, that's what I think about it. So what if it's next door? I won't be there to look after her. Besides, there are a lot of weirdos out there. "I'm just not comfortable letting her go by herself, that's all." I fold my arms tighter and lean against the headrest.

"How about this," Dr. S. says, resting his hands on his knees. "You take some time to go with Lola to the bookstore, and after that, you can decide if she's allowed to go by herself."

Lola glances up at me, and I notice a glint of hope in her eyes.

"Fine. We'll go together first."

What have I just gotten myself into?

"Now, Deacon, is there anything you want to ask Lola that might improve your relationship?"

I shoot a glance at her. "Communication."

The doctor quirks an eyebrow. "Communication? "

Yeah, I know. Ironic, considering it's a skill I've barely mastered myself. But I see the appeal now. "I wish Lola would talk to me and tell me stuff about her life. School, friends."

Now she's the one who crosses her arms. "What else do you want to know? You already control every single aspect of my life!"

"I don't, Lola. I'm just trying to take care of you. It's not easy for me, you know."

"Good," Dr. Stewart says with a little bow of his head. "There you go. That's communicating. Deacon, keep going. Why is this hard for you?"

I draw a hand over my beard, keeping my gaze on Lola. "I have no experience with this. With parenting. So I'm clueless how to act. I want to try and make things better for you, but you're always shutting me down."

She looks at me for a second, then at Dr. S., who encourages her with a nod. "I need air, that's all." She tugs on her sleeves. "You don't know me well, but I kind of like being alone—reading, listening to music, dancing, those kinds of things."

Well, turns out we're a lot more alike than I thought.

I clear my throat. "Right. I get that."

"But," she mumbles, "I'll try to tell you stuff."

"And I'll try to give you space," I say, offering her a smile, and she returns it.

Dr. S. leans back in his armchair with a fatherly smile, and for the first time, I think this therapy thing might not be a total waste of time after all.