by Bromberg, K.
“Eating her up or you up?” he asks, eyes daring me to lie to him.
Shit. He’s calling me on the carpet and there’s no way I can deny it since he knows my history. Because fuck yes, a part of me wants to give Zander the opportunity I had. Save him like I was saved.
And yet at the same time, I understand Ry’s stance because I couldn’t pick him and not the other boys.
“You told me once, fight or flight. I chose to fight,” I say, thinking of that night a long time ago after Ry lost the baby. Becks had snapped me to attention, and forced me to be the man I feared being and of truths about myself I had to face. The ones that made me realize Ry was worth the goddamn effort and then some. “Well, I’m fighting.”
“For what though, Wood? What exactly is it you’re fighting for now?” He leans forward, puts his hands on his knees, and looks me in the eye.
I shove up out of my chair and walk over to the wall of windows that looks down to the shop below. It’s easier to watch the guys than deal with this shit.
Memories I thought I’d forgotten hit me out of nowhere: The fear with each knock on the front door that my mom was coming to take me away from Dorothea and Andy. Hands that high-fived and didn’t hit. Lights left on in the hallway because horrible things happened in the dark. Superhero posters on the walls I’d stare at when the nightmares hit. Fear turned to hope. Hope gave me life.
That life gave me love: Rylee.
“I’m fighting because like you said, she’s the goddamn alphabet, Becks.” I turn around to face him, hands out to my sides and a shrug of my shoulders. “Those boys are her life, and she’s mine.”
This conversation, this confession, and these feelings, all make me anxious. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable.
Add feelings on top of feelings when I don’t want them to.
My cell phone rings and thank fuck for that because shit’s getting heavy. And the only kind of heavy I like is Ry’s weight on top of me.
“Kelly.”
“I’ve found your father.” I freeze. Mind misfires thoughts. Hand stops midway in the air and then drops.
What the fuck did I do this for? Doubt rears its ugly stepsister of a head to let me know she’s still there. Still waiting for me to fuck all of this up.
I can’t speak. All I can do is clear my throat.
“Confirmation should come within the hour. When it does I’ll shoot you over his address in an email.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I let the phone slip from my hand and land with a thud on my desk. I stare at it for a minute. Deciding. Wondering. Avoiding.
You got what you wanted, Donavan.
What are you going to do about it?
Heading to The House. Zander is meeting with his uncle. Just found out and am speeding to get there in time.
SHANE’S TEXT REPLAYS IN MY head over and over as I search my purse for my car keys before moving to the laundry room that connects to the garage to see if they are hanging on the rack of keys. They’re not. My body vibrates with anguish and my heart lodges into my throat over the need to get to Zander so I can walk him through this.
And to pick apart every one of his uncle’s nuances so I can make the claims I want to make about why he can’t be approved to foster.
I know I’m breaking my promise to Shane about not reacting off the information he feeds me when it comes to Zander, but . . . it’s one of my boys. I need to be there. If it were Shane in distress I’d do the same thing.
“Sammy!” I yell, not sure if he’s in his office off the main floor or outside doing any of the various things he does that continually remain a mystery to me. I’m smart enough to know Colton has conveniently had him staying around the house lately to keep an eye on me. That doesn’t sit well with me. “Sammy. Do you know where my keys are?” I try to keep the panic out of my voice but it’s no use because I need to get to The House ASAP.
“Everything okay?” he asks as he jogs down the hallway toward me, the concern in his tone matching the look on his face. And I realize he thinks I’m in labor, hence the slightly panicked widening of his eyes.
“Yes. I’m looking for my keys.”
“Do you need me to run to the store for you?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“No, thank you. I need to get to The House,” I tell him as I cross my arms over my chest and just stare.
“Sorry. You’re not supposed to be going anywhere. Colton sa—”
“Did he hide my car keys?” I ask, voice becoming shriller with each word. Reality sets in that I’m not being forgetful with pregnancy brain like I thought when I couldn’t find my keys, but Colton actually hid them. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell, throwing my hands up, my misdirected anger aimed at Sammy.
“He wanted to make sure you stayed safe,” he states quietly, knowing not to cross my temper.
I start to walk away from him, mentally trying to figure out how to get there, when I turn back around. “Drive me then.”
Sammy startles at my directive, considering I have never asked him for anything let alone demanded him to do something since Colton and I have been married. “Let me call Colton,” he says as he goes to step away.
“No.” He stops and turns to look at me like I’ve lost it. The funny part is I have and can’t bother to care that I have. “I’m as much your boss as he is. I’ll take the blame, Sammy, but one of my boys needs me.” I know I’m putting him in a horrible position—piss off the husband or face the wrath of the pregnant wife—but at this point, I don’t care. All I can think about is Zander.
“Rylee,” he says, my name a resigned sigh.
“Never mind,” I say as the idea hits me and I start to walk past him to where Colton keeps his stash of extra keys. “I’ll just take Sex then.” By the way he sucks in his breath I know I’ve just delivered the coup de grace by threatening to take Colton’s baby. My husband may be a generous man, but when it comes to his beloved Ferrari, that’s another story.
My mind flickers back to the last time I asked to get behind the wheel. Nice try, sweetheart, but the only place you’re allowed to drive me is out of breath on the hood. I can still see his telltale smirk and the salacious look in his eyes, before I begrudgingly moved away from the door of the driver’s seat.
That was three years ago. I’m smart enough not to come between a man and his car, but I sure as hell know how to use it as leverage to get what I want.
With the weight of Sammy’s presence at my back, I open the middle drawer of the desk and make a show of rifling through it to prove my point.
“I promised Colton I’d make sure you stayed here.”
“I’ll deal with him if you drive me, Sammy. Not taking me is ten times worse for my health and the baby than taking me. Happy wife, happy life,” I say with false enthusiasm. “And if not, voila!” I turn around with the key dangling between my fingers.
Our eyes meet momentarily before his dart back to the key fob. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath through gritted teeth. That single word can mean so many things, but right now for me it means I’ve won.
Power to the pregnant woman!
I enter The House with my key, not caring if I’m going to be in trouble or not, because judging by the strange cars in the driveway, someone is here already. I feel thankful seeing Jax’s and Kellan’s cars on the street. I know they are more than capable of handling the situation, but it’s Zander. My Zander. The boy I’ve spent endless hours with to heal his broken heart. The boy who soccers me.
When I clear the great room, I hear startled gasps. The boys look up from doing their homework at the table and run over to me with Racer following excitedly on their heels. Auggie sits back with a soft smile on his lips as I’m greeted with desperately missed hugs and a mind-spinning spew of words as they all try to tell me what’s been going on with them at the same time. Tiny hands run over my belly and tell me how much bigger it seems, and ask when is the baby going to come because they can’t wait to meet him. Because in a house full of boys, t
hey know the baby has to be a boy. A girl is not an option. My heart swells and hurts simultaneously because although it’s only been a few weeks, it feels like I’ve missed years of their lives.
I bite back my anger toward Eddie for taking this away from me. The incessant chatter, the sticky hands, and the dirt-smudged smiles. The things that make my world go round and my heart happy. Hell yes, I’m pissed at him, but right now I’m with my boys and don’t want his vindictiveness to tarnish the small amount of time I’ll get with them.
Later I can stew. Later I can I punch my pillow in anger. But right now, I’m going to soak this up and ignore that I’m going to miss every single thing the minute I have to leave again.
“Rylee?” Kellan says as he clears the hallway, eyes wide, and grin welcoming.
“Hey. Sorry I didn’t call but—”
“You’re here for the same reason as Shane, who keeps calling, saying he’s going to be here any second, yeah?” His voice is deceptive in tone—not letting the boys on what his eyes are telling me—but it’s clear he’s concerned about Zander too. At the mention of Shane, the noise starts up around us again from the boys, excitement that their older brother is on his way to roughhouse and tell them stories about how cool college is.
“Yes.” I nod. “He needs me,” I mouth to him above the fray and he motions with his chin toward the back patio that I can’t see through the angled blinds.
“Okay guys, how about you finish your homework,” I say, stepping right back into the role I was born to play, knowing Kellan won’t take offense to me taking over momentarily. “I need to go check on Zander and when I come back in, if your homework is done, I’ll stay for dinner.”
Cheers fill the air around me followed by the scraping of chairs and elbowing of boy against boy as the fight to regain their position at the table begins so they can finish.
Kellan meets my eyes again now that the boys aren’t watching, and I can tell he’s just as upset by all of this as I am. “How long have they been here?” I ask as I reach down to scratch Racer behind the ears.
“Jax is out there with them, watching. The caseworker, the uncle and aunt, and Zander,” he adds, answering the questions I would ask next.
“Thanks.” Our eyes hold momentarily and suddenly it hits me how nervous I was to come face to face with him and Jax. They are the ones feeling the effects of my dismissal—extra shifts, upset boys, curious questions. And yet instead of shaking his head and walking away at the mess I’ve created for all of us, he gives me a gentle but sincere smile. I don’t see the resentment or pity I feared. Rather I see camaraderie, as if he knows I’d move heaven and earth to fix the situation if I could because I’m not oblivious to the toll it’s taken on not only me, but everyone involved.
I smile in return, my thank you for not passing judgment. He nods his head as I slowly slide open the door to the backyard and step out before closing it behind me. I see Zander and my heart breaks instantly. I’m transported back to six years ago when he first came to us, broken and traumatized. His knees are pulled up to his chest as he sits on a chair with his side to me, his arms wrapped around them, his face looking blankly toward the wood panel fence. From what I can see, there is a look of complete detachment on his face. All that’s missing is the stuffed dog he used to tote around for comfort, which now sits up in the closet somewhere.
In a single afternoon, the two people sitting opposite him—his uncle and aunt—have potentially erased the crucial years of work, the countless, grueling hours gaining his trust, helping ease the nightmares that had owned his psyche. Have I lost the hopeful, sweet boy I love so much?
Zander lifts his head and vacant eyes meet mine, crushing my cautious hope about anything positive coming from this situation. It takes everything I have to force a smile on my lips and nod my head in encouragement for him to talk to them. He stares at me, the look of betrayal blatant on his face, but it’s necessary for the caseworker to see I’m trying to help facilitate this connection. When I approach him after the meeting to tell him he can’t let this happen, then I won’t look so unprofessional.
I shift my eyes from Zander to the uncle and aunt. The uncle glances over to me. Fuck. I see recognition in his eyes before they suggestively slide up and down the length of my body in a not-so-subtle show that says he knows exactly what I look like naked.
My skin crawls and stomach churns with revulsion and the little smirk he gives me—just a hint of the curl of his lip—tells me he knows how it’s making me feel and is enjoying it. He tucks his tongue in his cheek before giving me a slight nod of the head and looking back toward his wife.
I watch them try to interact with Zander. They attempt to talk about things he has no interest in. Because he’s a thirteen-year-old boy now, not the seven-year-old they once might have known. SpongeBob isn’t cool and Xbox is no longer the coveted game system I want to scream at them. He loves soccer and building Halo Lego sets and reading Harry Potter and Percy Jackson.
You don’t know a thing about him! All you want is the money that comes with him.
I can see beneath their brushed hair and best clothes. I can see the wolves in sheep’s clothing. I’m certain they have no concern for Zander or his best interest. And it all becomes more than obvious the longer Zander remains silent and unresponsive, because the two of them shift their fidgeting and attention toward each other with raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, silently asking each other what to do now that he’s not answering them.
I glance over to the caseworker sitting on the other side of the yard with his legs crossed, ankle resting on opposite knee, and a clipboard balanced on his leg. And while he may have a pen in hand and paper he’s supposed to be taking notes on, his phone sits atop the paper. He’s so busy texting someone he hasn’t once looked up to watch the interaction—or rather lack thereof—nor notice the ever-disappearing presence of Zander losing himself to the safe world he created in his mind so very long ago. That same world I spent months pulling him out of, showing him not everyone is bad and evil—out to hurt those they love—and that it was safe to step outside.
My body vibrates with anger, my teeth bites into my tongue because all I want to do is go to him, pull him into my arms, and reiterate the promise I made him all those years ago: I’m never going to let anything bad happen to him ever again.
Lost in my observation, I forget Jax is there until he motions with his hands to silently get my attention. And when I look at him, his eyes express the same thing as Kellan’s, indicating he feels the same disbelief.
No way in hell are they taking Zander from us.
Now I just have to figure out how to prevent that.
“Zander?” I call as I enter his room. The shades are pulled closed and the light remains off, but through the light of the open doorway I can see him curled up on his side in his bed.
When he doesn’t respond, the sense of dread that has been tickling the back of my neck and making my stomach churn exacerbates. I glance over to Shane opposite me in the hallway and the concern in his eyes mirrors how I feel.
We move into the room together. Shane lived here long enough to know the drill, so he stands against the wall to observe while I step forward to engage Zander. And my immediate worry is that Zander has closed off even more. Jax and I spent five minutes with the caseworker, providing valid reasons why the uncle is not a good fit to foster Zander. I feel like our arguments fell on deaf ears. Now, looking at Zander rocking on his bed with his beloved stuffed dog held tight to his chest, I’m more worried than ever. I can’t remember the last time he climbed up to the top shelf of his closet and pulled the sacred dog from its box. The only tangible reminder of his old life.
I sit on the chair next to the bed and feel a whisper of hope when he scoots back as if to make room for me. “May I?” I ask, as I reach out to touch him, hating feeling like we are back to square one. When he nods his head, I breathe a little sigh of relief. He isn’t closing himself off from me completely. Silence w
eighs heavily around us. The smell of his fear almost palpable, and unfortunately one I know all too well when it comes to my boys.
God, how I’ve missed them.
I use my touch to soothe because I know words won’t do anything for him right now. And then the idea comes to me.
“I have an idea.” I scoot off the chair and very slowly lower to my knees. I rest my arms on the comforter with my chin atop my hands so we are face to face. I take in his downturned mouth and wait for him to look up to me so he can see I’m here and not going anywhere.
“I think we should play the ‘I’m’ game,” I say, hoping he goes along with it, as it would afford me a glimpse into how far he has relapsed.
His eyes flash up to meet mine, and I see something flicker in them but wait him out, knowing that patience is so very important right now. I reach out and put his hand in mine, needing to ease some of the loneliness I can feel emanating from him.
He opens his mouth and then closes it a few times before finally speaking, his voice a whisper. “I’m scared.”
Two words. I’m scared. They’re all it takes to make me close my eyes and take a deep breath, because in that moment, I’m reminded of Colton’s confessions a few nights ago. I realize that no matter how old they are, the fear will always be there. It will morph and change over time, but the invisible scars of their youth have left an indelible mark and will always have a profound effect on how they process emotion and deal with changes.
“I’m scared too,” I tell him, causing his eyes to widen and prompt me to explain further. “I’m scared you’re going to pull away and not realize how much I’ll fight to keep you safe and sound.”
“I’m worried that it won’t matter to them, because I’m just a number in a broken system and they’re going to want to tick me off as done,” he confesses, and it amazes me how very intuitive he is with regard to the systematic process we have worked so very hard to shield him from.
“I’m positive you’re so much more than just a number, and in fact are a smart, funny, compassionate teenager as well as an incredible soccer player,” I say, hoping the positive might break through and help the negative. A ghost of a smile plays at the corners of his lips as his eyes hold mine, tears glistening in them that he blinks away.
