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up a letter from the desk, she handed it to him. “The National Crime Prevention Strategy has denied our application for funding.”

      “Again? I thought we jumped through all the hoops this time. How can they continue to deny the funding? This program is designed to do exactly what they’re hoping to accomplish at a community level—reduce the number of kids in the criminal justice system.”

      Noah took the letter and scanned it quickly for the reason. “Lack of sufficient regulations on the program.” Again.

      He tossed the paper onto the desk and sat in the chair across from Joanne. “I don’t know what else to do. We have the New Jersey parole officers on board making sure these kids get to the programs three times a week to meet with their mentors...you’re on staff now...” He shrugged.

      “I’m a volunteer on loan from Mentor’s partnership program. You need full-time staff. A social worker would be a good start...a real teacher to oversee the tutoring...”

      “These kids’ grades have improved significantly with the help of mentors. And I’ve tried to get real teachers involved. No one has the extra time to give to the program,” he said harshly.

      Noah saw through the excuses: no one saw the value in the program. How was that even possible? He was convinced they were helping the kids who’d enrolled.

      Weren’t they?

      He shook his head in disgust. Now was not the time to start having doubts. He would just have to find a better way to prove that the community center mentorship helped change lives for the better.

      “Hey, I’m not the enemy here,” Joanne chided softly. “I’m just trying to explain why the funding keeps getting denied.”

      He ran a hand over his short hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t get it. Without funding, I can’t hire accredited staff, and without them, I can’t get funding.”

      It had been an uphill battle to even get the nine-month trial approved on the program without regular, accredited staff in place, but he’d assured the city official he’d met with that he was working on it. He was. Joanne had been a good start. Of course, she was correct. She was only on loan and volunteering her time; for how long, he didn’t know.

      Joanne hesitated, twirling a strand of her bright red hair around her finger.

      A nervous habit of hers. Great, there was more she wasn’t saying. He waited.

      “It gets even worse,” she said finally.

      “So much for my theory of it only getting better,” he mumbled.

      “The city sent a letter informing us the Turnaround funding would only be extended until the end of the month...they say the program hasn’t produced enough significant results to warrant their support beyond that.”

      “Not enough significant...” Noah stood with his hands on his hips, fighting to control his anger. Joanne was just the messenger. He wouldn’t take his frustration out on his only real supporter.

      He took a calming breath before saying, “How can they say that taking eight kids off the street isn’t significant enough?” One of the eight had even returned to finish high school at nights.

      “Because last month, twenty kids in New Jersey were incarcerated. Unfortunately it’s a numbers game, Noah. We have to prove the program is working. And now I’m going to say something that will probably make you even more angry, but I’m going to say it anyway.”

      He waited. What he both appreciated and hated about the woman was her blunt candidness. He suspected today he was going to hate it.

      “You need to be here more. If this program has any hope of success, it needs you. The volunteer mentors are trying, but they need direction and guidance.”

      He knew she was right. He’d started the program when he’d met Dominic. The boy had been walking home with a bleeding lip and tears in his eyes. After much prying, the boy had told him that the injury was a result of him refusing to participate in a gang initiation break-and-enter at an abandoned warehouse outside town.

      Noah’s admiration of the boy’s courage and strength to do the right thing had sparked a fire in him to help kids like Dominic find alternatives to a criminal path. Kids who wanted to do the right thing but couldn’t find a way out of the trouble they were involved in.

      Kids like him at sixteen.

      In less than a year he’d grown the after-school mentoring and outreach program to fifteen student volunteers three times a week, each paired with two at-risk youth in the community. The mentors were potential at-risk older teens who’d found purpose and direction in helping younger kids.

      The motto of the program was “We are all on the same journey, just at different points.”

      The common stories shared between mentors and mentees brought them closer and instilled confidence and respect in the younger kids. Noah shared his own story of going down the wrong path with these kids over and over in the hope of being a role model for these children.

      The only real problem was that the program was growing at the same time as his fighting career. Something he hadn’t fully considered.

      As much as he knew how important his direct involvement was to the future success of the program, he couldn’t be in more than one place at once and his training was important, too.

      “I’ll figure something out.”

      Joanne didn’t look convinced as she nodded. “Okay, what do I do in the meantime?”

      “Please keep reapplying for the funding. The worst they can do is keep saying no, right?”

      When she opened her mouth to respond, he shook his head. “Don’t answer that.”

      He knew that wasn’t the worst they could do. In truth, without the proper regulations in place and a permanent on-staff director who could be held responsible for the program, the city could shut it down at any time.

      Opening the office door, he joined Dominic at his table.

      If nothing else, he was going to help this kid get his driver’s license.

      * * *

      LINDSAY ALL BUT ran from one examination room to the other where patients were waiting far too long to see a physician. Some kid had come back from an early summer vacation in France with a bad case of chicken pox and had succeeded in infecting the rest of Brookhollow Elementary with the disease.

      Sixteen confirmed cases and counting already that day. Itchy, irritable children were bad, but they were nothing compared to the group of men who’d come in contact with poison ivy on a hunting trip.

      People scratching themselves every which way she turned would have been almost funny, if she wasn’t so exhausted. Like most medical facilities in small towns, Brookhollow’s clinic provided a wide range of services and ran on a skeleton crew. Which was usually okay, until an outbreak occurred. Then the staff was expected to work double shifts and no one came out of days like this in a good mood.

      She grabbed the next file from the reception desk.

      Great, one of the grumpy men. At least he was the last of that group. “Mike, you can follow me,” she said, noticing Noah waiting near the clinic door. The small space was at standing-room capacity. “You here to pick up your results?”

      “Yeah.” He nodded. “Don’t worry, I can wait.”

      “Thanks. Give me a few minutes,” she said as she led Mike to an exam room. “Dr. McCarthy will be a few minutes. Try not to scratch.”

      She shut the door and headed down the hall toward the file cabinets. Noah’s MRI results had come in that morning. He was all clear to fight, and she wasn’t sure why the positive results annoyed her. Of course, she’d never want anything to be seriously wrong with him...or any of her patients, but if only there was enough reason not to provide

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