Cole showed them both a mug shot: Bastian Reed.
“This kid was caught stealing food last week,” he continued. “McHugh and Morales sensed something was off. He’s supposed to be at home with his parents, but it turns out the parents left him to go score drugs in the city. This kid is homeless, and he was stealing food for two other kids who were living with him in an abandoned house. All three of them are coming here next week. He’ll never have to steal food again.”
Beckett nodded at the picture, recognizing the defiance in Bastian Reed’s eyes. “I got a little fucker named Scottland I have in mind for one of those bedrooms too.” He pointed at the hall.
Blake grabbed Beckett’s shoulder. “Brotherhood.”
Beckett had no words, he just held up his fist. Blake and Cole wrapped their arms around his, tattoos touching.
Once the brothers had given everything their seal of approval—they’d found just a few cosmetic things still in need of fixing before opening day—Blake and Beckett hurried off, but Cole stayed behind. He had one more appointment this afternoon.
Mrs. D was so short that he didn’t see her at first, but when he laid eyes on her, bobbing her way through the parking lot and up the stairs, his whole body relaxed. His time in the Evergreen Home for Children was punctuated with her kindness and insight. She’d refused to see only the angry, disagreeable child he was, insisting on investing her time and praise until he was able to stand proud. The sight of her was a journey back to his awakening as a person of worth.
And once she got close enough for him to see it, her expectant smile let him know that her being that type of talisman for him was not only okay, it was expected.
He stepped up to her and enveloped her in a hug.
“Cole Bridge, what have you gotten yourself into?” she asked.
“We’ve made this place for kids, and it’s going to be like a home and—”
She kissed his cheek and hugged him again. “What did I tell you? All those years ago? Great things, my dear. Great things.”
“Come inside. Let me show you around,” Cole said, opening the door.
“Wonderful. And don’t you have a little one? I heard around town that your family had grown.”
“Yes, it has,” Cole said. “Our son, JB, is seventeen months, and our daughter will arrive any day, so there’s lots happening in our lives right now.” He beamed with pride.
“Another? Won’t you be blessed. They’ll be the best of friends. I had my three boys close together.”
“Three? I was pretty sure you had two,” Cole said. “Was I not paying attention?” He stepped closer to her, her familiar perfume still a scent that meant safety to him.
“I had three sons. My oldest passed away when he was four. Alex even got to name his brother.” It was stated as a fact, but the entire experience was in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Cole put his hand on her shoulder, realizing she’d found the courage to not only love her other sons, whose pictures she’d had decorating her office back in the day, but also find room in what had to be a bruised heart to love him as well. She was stunning.
“Don’t be sorry. Even pain can’t diminish the exquisite love Alex brought into this world, or my soul.” She rubbed Cole’s arm as she spoke.
Maybe because he now taught kids similar to the one he’d been with Mrs. D, he saw her technique for what it was. She was still teaching him, though she was long retired. Mrs. D once again showed him the appropriate response, the love of a mother.
“You are a wonderful mother.” Cole patted her hand.
“And you are a wonderful man. And you were a wonderful boy. Let your heart help when you have choices to make. Of all the things you’ve been through, Cole—and trust me, I saw your pain when you would return from home visits—your heart remained pure, untouched by that woman’s shortcomings.” Mrs. D hugged his middle.
All the sudden he realized, like a light in the dark, that the mother God had given him was right in front of him. He almost gasped when he realized it. This woman, so eager to love him, had a space empty in her life, one for a son.
“Mrs. D?” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded, smiling.
“My children, they only have one set of grandparents. They could use another.” He waited, looking her seriously in her eyes.
A slow smiling of knowing came across her face. “Mr. D and I would love to fill that position.”
Cole hugged her again and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not trying to replace Alex or anything…”
“No one could, sweetheart, but I’ve always had room for four. You’re not a replacement. You’ve been mine since the day we met. Now, come, show me this new building,” she said. “Let’s celebrate. I’ll tell you about my Alex while we walk.” She looped her arm in his and smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Cole.”
“My success is all because you believed I could be more.” He felt his own eyes fill with moisture.
“The sky’s the limit, dear. Always has been for you.”
Cole made sure to mind Mrs. D’s step as they went up the stairs and into his impossibly true dream.
Teddy and Mouse were so plump now, at eight months, that people said they should be on a football team—or sumo wrestlers. Beckett had put them in the double stroller, as they were due to meet Eve at Brothers’ Legacy.
Today was the big day, the opening. One month after the walk-through, he checked Mouse and Teddy’s little belts again and pushed the stroller up the sidewalk. It was crowded. There were dignitaries, business owners, social workers, and friends, plus the promise of cookies and lemonade after the grand tour.
Eve trotted up beside him, having come from the bank after closing on another new rental property, and placed a kiss on each of the babies before giving him one as well. After an appraising glance over the crowd, she took over the stroller, and Beckett found Blake and Cole toward the front.
The place looked great. He knew inside there were pristine bedrooms, game areas, and two kitchens. It was a great place to have a fresh start, and the list of those hoping to be admitted was already larger than the rooms they had available.
McHugh waltzed up with Kathy on his arm. “Gentlemen.”
Beckett knew they’d likely never be close, but as long as they could work together, exist in the same space, he could manage. At the party Livia had hosted for the babies’ homecoming a few months ago, John and Bill Langston had gotten on like gangbusters. It had soothed the rift between them a bit. John seemed to like everyone around Beckett, so Beckett held out a small hope that the man would accept him someday. Bill and Cindy were clearly still sad, but they took their job as grandparents seriously and were doing their very best to move on.
Ryan and Midian waved, her left hand sparkling with a recent diamond addition, and Ryan mouthed “cock flicker” in honor of the occasion. Beckett ignored him and nodded to Tashika as well. Recently, after Eve had disclosed her full situation and remaining eggs to the women, Tashika had volunteered to be the surrogate for a baby comprised of Eve from the past and Beckett from the future.
Though he was beyond grateful for this chance, the irony was not lost on him. The means to the eggs had been taken from Eve before she knew she wanted to kill Beckett. And now? Now they were a family with a family life like neither of them had ever dreamed would be possible. They rotated houses with his brothers on Sundays for family dinners, for God’s sake.
And now, with a brother on either side, he faced the cameras to showcase their future. The Poughkeepsie Brothers’ Legacy would be one of hope, one of brotherhood and sisterhood.
Cole, Blake, and Beckett wrapped their arms in a handshake and then together cut the ribbon on a whole new chapter ahead.
The End
Sneak Peek from Poughkeepsie Begins
a prequel to the Poughkeepsie Brotherhood series
by Debra Anastasia
Beckett put his head down and
waited for Rick. Other kids his age would be calling girls to go on dates right now. Maybe playing a video game. Looking at colleges. Under a year left on this sentence a “caring” judge had issued for him, and in his head, he was plotting his first murder.
The fall leaves crackled under the man’s approaching feet, steady. Beckett would never say out loud that he preferred the punch to the anticipation of it. He had to play by these rules, these fucked up rules, to keep the other kids inside his foster home safe. After all, Rick had a great track record with “hard” kids. And that was exactly how Beckett would be described by pretty much anyone except the two guys on either side of him.
Arm’s reach. They were within arm’s reach on either side of him. This Thursday dusk had cloud cover, so Blake Hartt stood tall, protected by the shade, on his right. Cole Bridge was on his left, silent and able to take obscene amounts of pain before buckling. He always went last. Cole was the closer.
But it started with Beckett. Rick’s fist connected with his stomach, and then the wait was over. Sometimes, as he punched, Rick went on diatribes about kids these days, or explained how he was helping the boys to keep to the straight and narrow.
His words were instantly dismissed. His victims had lived too much life in their short years to believe his lies. Rick was a hitter. A beater. A sadist in the purest form.
The blows came as predictably as a drumbeat, and Beckett let his body be a target—never running, never even trying to. He had a deal with Rick: all beatings happened here. Never inside. Rick and his wife had ten kids in their clutches at the moment. Their motives were not obvious to those on the outside.
When Beckett was done, when he could take no more, he shifted his hand to hold his forearm instead of his other hand. And Blake, so observant, would step forward. Rick would switch targets then, taking on a new victim with vigor.
Beckett hated himself and loved Blake like a brother in those moments when he heard Rick’s fist, or belt, or switch from a tree rain down on someone other than him.
And Cole never let it last long—sometimes waiting for Blake’s hand to shift to his forearm, sometimes stepping forward before then. Today was one of those days. Cole’s eyes flashed when Beckett glanced over at his face.
Cole stepped forward aggressively. And Beckett had to watch, because Cole would never grab his forearm to indicate he needed a break, or that something hurt particularly bad. Just enough to catch my breath, to buck up, then Beckett would step up again, he promised himself.
After all, before these guys, it had been only him to take the beatings.
Tonight Rick petered out before Beckett had a chance to take another turn. The man looked at the ground as he turned and staggered, probably ready to go back and screw his spineless bride. Nothing got Rick more excited than witnessing pain. Fucker.
They waited, motionless, until he was gone. Beckett listened to Rick’s footsteps retreat until he heard them no more. Next business in order was a “first aid check,” as Blake called it. He’d stashed ice packs in the hollow of one of the trees, and he now dug them out and passed them to Beckett and Cole. The nature-loving Blake somehow always had the packs cold and ready, even in the burning heat of summer. If there were any bleeds, they’d bandage them up, if they had those supplies. Finally they’d critique Rick’s performance in a dark bit of humor that Beckett was pretty sure kept him sane.
Blake iced a spot on his chest while Cole put pressure on a bleeder on his bicep, his shirt pulled up.
Beckett put ice on his jaw, soothing a rare hit to the face from Rick, who knew how to hide marks like a master. “That bitch is getting sloppy,” Beckett commented. “I think he’s hitting menopause.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “As long as menopause doesn’t hit back, I’m sure he’ll take another swing.”
They all moaned as a laugh bubbled up.
Blake passed his ice pack to Beckett, who used it on his throbbing rib. “Got you in the money spot, huh?” Blake observed.
Beckett nodded. “Always finds my rib. Like a homing pigeon. Motherfucker.”
The full dark descended, and all of them had school in the morning. Beckett tried not to be jealous of the kids who came into school in new clothes with a lunch packed by their moms. Their nights had to be as taxing as a fart. Nothing like this. Never like this.
Blake pulled out his cardboard piano, which Cole and Beckett hardly noticed anymore. This quirk was as much a part of Blake as his hair color. Cole continued to move, pacing around the clearing, restless when he usually sat still.
Beckett had seen the scars on the kid. Ol’ Rick was not his first rodeo. Cole had been tortured when he was younger—so much so that the pain of hate almost felt soothing to him. The crack of a fist was likely as close as he got to a lullaby.
“What’s up, brother? You got scabies or some shit like that? You’re shifty like a meth head.” Beckett tossed the extra ice pack to Cole.
“Nothing to worry about.” Cole put the pack near his kidney.
Blake shook his head. “Not what I heard. How come Dunns told me some guys are planning to fight you after school?”
“Dunns has a big mouth.” Cole shook his head slightly, closing down.
“Baby, you know I’m gonna annoy the fuck out of you until you tell me.” Beckett held his hands up like it was obvious he’d get the answer he sought.
“No. No. We’re not letting you go back to Boys’ Village again.” Cole handed Blake the ice packs. “This place is enough of a prison.”
“Tell me.” Beckett stepped in front of him.
“No.” Cole backed away.
“Do it.” Beckett tilted his head to the side.
“No!” Cole half shouted.
“You know I’ll find out. And I’ll start with Dunns tomorrow.” Beckett folded his arms over his chest.
“I can handle it.” Cole pushed past him.
Beckett and Blake watched as Cole stormed off, then abruptly turned on his heel and returned.
This was what they did. Eventually they told each other the shit they usually kept hidden inside. They were comrades, friends—in the same military unit, in their heads.
“It’s the guys from over in Westlake—the fancy neighborhood. They’re sure Blake’s going to snap—saying he’s a serial killer and stuff. After PE they want to meet him in the locker room. They say tomorrow they’re hitting him until he fights back.” Cole put his hands in his jeans.
“You got PE fourth period, right?” Beckett spoke to Blake but put his hand on Cole’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to fix it, but he would.
“I can fight my own battles.” Blake look supremely embarrassed.
“Yeah, but there’s ten of them. Too many. Even for you.” Cole shook his head. “I won’t let Blake go into the locker room.”
“Can you ditch class tomorrow? I need you to not be there.” Beckett looked at Blake who shook his head.
“Not alone. No way,” he told Beckett. “All three of us or none.” Blake looked like he might beg if he had to.
“We can’t get caught,” Cole reminded them. “If we do, the kids here get what we don’t take for them.” He motioned toward the house with his thumb.
“I got this, baby,” Beckett assured him. “I think I was born for it. I already have a plan.” He pounded fists with Blake and Cole.
Beckett smiled as he walked into the locker room. The Westlake kids had picked their day well: there was a substitute PE teacher, currently handling an injury to one of the smaller Westlake kids, who was pretending to have a concussion. By covering their tracks, they’d given Beckett his opportunity.
Blake entered the locker room after class, as they’d discussed. Cole showed up right behind Beckett, a bathroom pass in his hand. The attackers had followed Blake in, just a few feet behind, slapping lockers on their way. The Westlake kids were on the football team, and their testosterone was new and flooded their systems when they were in groups. Like now.
Blake walked pa
st his locker and came to stand next to Beckett and Cole. The numbers were off, but if Beckett had money, he’d still bet it on his side of things.
“Oh, you think those two are gonna help?” one of the Westlakers taunted. “We don’t want your kind here. Fucking foster kids. Parents hate you so they dump you in here, and we have to deal with you in your hand-me-down clothes.”
“Shit, my parents probably pay the taxes that buy your goddamn food every night,” offered another.
The insults came fast and free.
Beckett was about to start, to intimidate them, threaten them, but Cole was quicker, and he kept his courage at the end of his fist. He jumped and hit the nearest kid with a punch that nailed the top of his skull.
Beckett watched the kid’s eyes roll up in his head.
“Shit.” Beckett came in hard. This wasn’t his first fight, and it wouldn’t be his last. Blake, who the Westlake guys had wrongly assumed was an easy mark, came back swinging as well. Beckett picked off the guys closet to him, but became distracted when he saw Blake falter. As a result, two of the meatheads got him in a restraint, a third landing a punch in his fucking rib.
Meanwhile, Cole wasn’t Cole anymore. There were no rules to how he fought, no line he wouldn’t cross. Like a bull with a laser focus, he got to the guys by Blake and took them down. Now standing, Blake came in with Cole, stopping Beckett’s assailant from getting in another shot. All the aggression, all the punches they were never allowed to return to Rick came to the surface now. This was a battlefield, and while the kids from Westlake had wanted to bully someone, Cole, Beckett and Blake knew how to fight to survive.
Together they worked, and even with the crappy odds of three against ten, they dominated.
The substitute teacher ran into the locker room, hollering, “What’s going on? You shouldn’t be in here. You didn’t have to change out.”
There were bruises and blood everywhere. No one spoke. The Westlake kids knew better. They all just waited the teacher out. Finally one of the smartasses piped up, “Didn’t want our clothes getting sweaty. We’ll get dressed. We’re cool.”
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 38
