by Addison Jane
Dean has that look about him too. A pristine white dress shirt and black pinstriped slacks. While his shirt is pulled out and he has on mismatched socks, I can definitely see that during the day, he would look incredibly intimidating.
“What exactly do you do?” I find myself asking, realizing I have no fucking idea what it is that had gotten him this amazing home. Not to mention, I hadn’t missed the brand new red Tesla parked in front of the garage down the side of the house.
Dean fills three glasses with ice, adding water to one from a bottle out of his bar fridge and topping the other two with an almost half empty bottle of Glen Fiddich. My eyes widen because I can tell from the worn and faded label on the bottle it must have been made a long fucking time ago. I also know that bottles like this that were aged forty to fifty years could price anywhere between three thousand dollars and forty thousand dollars. It’s like drinking liquid fucking gold.
He walks over and hands Kace and me our drinks, which I cradle like a newborn baby, not willing to spill a damn drop, before returning for his own and taking a seat in the large leather armchair that matches the sofa we’re on.
“I’m a lawyer,” he answers simply, before taking a sip of his drink and licking the residue off his lips before swallowing.
“What kind of lawyer?” I inquire, narrowing my eyes at the simple answer as I raise my glass to my mouth.
Dean smiles as if he knew the question was coming, he knew I’d be too curious.
The malt liquid is smooth and rich as it travels down my throat, instantly making me feel warmer.
“I’m a public defender.” His response, mixed with the afterburn of the whiskey, has me coughing. I try to cover it, so I don’t look like a fucking pansy, but like when you try to stop a sneeze, it often makes it ten times worse.
Kace chuckles under his breath, and Dean simply grins at me, neither of them speaking, just waiting for me to get my shit together. “You um…” I clear my throat, trying to get my composure back, “… you fight for the criminals, huh?” I struggle to make it sound casual. I’m not accusing him of being the guy who gets rapists off their charges or anything, but I really don’t like it.
Dean shrugs. “I have morals, I have values, and I’m at a place in my life where I get to choose my cases and who I represent. But yeah, there was a time when I had to argue in favor of men who had beaten their wives, woman who had left their children in hot cars in the middle of summer, and just all around fucking assholes.”
My eyes widen slightly at the sound of him cursing. I hardly know the man, but there’s this vibe he carries which makes me think he isn’t the type to often swear and curse, especially given he’s now a single dad.
“This is an awfully nice house for a public defender,” Kace comments, his eyes roaming the room. It’s true. Public defenders aren’t exactly paid millions and they sometimes do the shittiest of jobs. They are like the porta potty cleaners of the courthouse.
“I guess you could say I was lucky to be raised to know the value of a dollar and learned early on about investments and real estate.”
“Why the fuck did you decide to work with criminals then?” I ask.
“I chose to give something back and fight for people who sometimes don’t have a voice. It’s not a glamorous job, but there are times when it can be incredibly rewarding. Like when you meet someone who’s an amazing person, but has just made some mistakes. Or when you represent someone who you know didn’t do the things they’re accused of, and you fight your damn ass off for them.”
The passion in his voice is unmistakable. He really does believe what he’s saying.
“Well… I can respect that.” I’m not sure what else to say. The man really does believe in what he’s doing and who am I to judge someone who feels so strongly about giving people a second chance, or fighting to keep them out of prison when they haven’t done anything wrong. I take another sip of my drink, just as a strange thought crosses my mind. I wondered for a moment after I’d met Dean the first time, and seen how pulled together he was, how he’d met someone like my mom.
“That’s how you met her, wasn’t it,” I say without asking the question itself or explaining who I’m talking about. I can tell he knows, he doesn’t need me to specify. With one simple nod, I get all the answers I need. “Wow…” I’m actually at a loss for words, my mouth is dry, and there are questions I want to ask, but I can’t seem to make sense of them and get them from my brain to my mouth.
Dean finally takes pity on me and starts to speak. “Your mom, she was trying to sort her life out when we met. She had a job, but they only paid minimum wage, it wasn’t enough for her to get her own place or even feed herself every day,” he explains, his shoulders tight and his brow pulled together in a hard frown as if the thought of her working her ass off for nothing still makes him furious. I listen intently, sitting forward in my seat, somewhat I guess surprised to hear that my mom had managed to get a job and was still fighting for that despite having nowhere to live.
“She sometimes had to steal food,” Dean continues, the frown melting away and sadness taking over. “She was living in a public bathroom, stole a loaf of bread and a candy bar from the convenience store, and the clerk called the cops. They found her in the bathroom around the corner and arrested her for theft and trespassing. She was completely clean, no drugs, no alcohol, but had nowhere else to go.”
“Jesus,” Kace mutters under his breath, while I sit there and stare at Dean, wanting so badly to hear more, but frozen and completely lost for words, like a small child hearing a fairy tale for the first time. I want to know more about this part of my mom. The part where she’d fought to keep her job, living out of a public bathroom with not even enough money to feed herself every day, but still staying sober and getting off her ass every day for employment.
“I knew someone at the local shelter. They have permanent residences there for a handful of people, the ones like your mom who can get work but need help saving up to get a house or apartment, so I managed to get the charges dropped, and they found her a space with them,” Dean tells us, his emotions changing once again, and a smile breaking out. “She came to my office with a bunch of flowers about a month later, the same day she put down the deposit to rent a small studio apartment.”
A picture sitting proudly on the wall above the fireplace catches my eye. My mom, Dean, Carter, and Zoe, my little brother and sister, all grouped together on the grass in some amazing rose garden, grinning from ear to ear. I can’t help but smile at how their faces seem to be beaming. My mom, she looks older, but healthy, unlike the bony frame I always remembered her having. Her face is fuller—it actually suits her.
I point to the picture. “So, how did this happen?” I ask, moving my finger from the photo and gesturing to the rest of the room, and house.
Dean chuckles, tossing back the contents of his glass before climbing to his feet and heading back over to the bar. I look down at my own glass, it’s still three-quarters full.
Fuck, I’m turning into a pansy.
“When she bought me the flowers, she asked if she could take me out to lunch to thank me for fighting for her. It wasn’t an easy case, she had priors, and the judge was cautious about whether she was actually turning her life around.” His gaze drifts down to the bar, watching the liquid swirling around his glass, filling it almost to the brim. It abruptly occurs to me that here I am, asking about my mom who I hadn’t seen since I was ten, eager to know more and more about how she changed her life. And here is this man, answering everything I’m asking of him, not even thinking about how much it must be hurting him to talk about the woman he loved, who was now gone.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely. His eyes flick over to me as he places the whiskey bottle back on the shelf. “I won’t ask any more questions after this. But there is just one more…” I wait for him to nod before continuing, “Did you really love her?” I’m not even sure why that’s the one question which comes to mind. I could
have asked him to tell me anything. Was she honestly sober? Did she really put her time and effort into Carter and Zoe? Do you think she ever regretted leaving me at the hospital that day?
I didn’t ask any of those questions, I asked whether he loved her. Because somewhere in my head, that will be the one thing which will tell me whether she really had changed her life around and whether she’d become a woman I could have been proud to call my mom.
And right at this moment, it feels like that’s one thing that really matters.
Dean is a good man, I can tell that without a shadow of a doubt, and I’m really fucking good at reading people. He wouldn’t have ever chosen to be with someone like the mom that I knew, he wouldn’t let someone like that hurt his kids.
“I loved her with everything I had, and I still do,” he replies after a long pause, his voice raspy with emotion. He looks back into his glass like it holds the answers to all life’s mysteries, and I can tell that while he put on a good front since I walked through the door, that losing his wife has been one of the hardest things he’s ever had to endure.
He eventually clears his throat and brushes across his nose with the back of his hand. “I get that she shit on you,” he offers, looking up again. “And trust me when I tell you she never let herself forget it. She never attempted to make excuses for her past, and she never tried to pretend like it didn’t happen. But what she did do, was fight to be better every single day. She fought for me, for our kids, and I know she would have fought for you if you’d come back into her life.”
“Unfortunately, it’s a little too late,” I mutter, somewhat disappointed that I didn’t get to meet this new person she’d become, and even somewhat proud to hear that my mom never tried to pretend like she was perfect, even though by looking at this house, and Dean and the kids, it seems she had it pretty damn good.
Dean shakes his head. “It’s not too late. I’ve got two kids upstairs who both carry so many of their mom’s traits it’s almost uncanny. You can see her in them. You can get to know her through them.” He sounds suddenly excited and optimistic. “They really want to see you again. I know last time was kind of a shock, but they’ve been asking about you.”
I know that the kids are here, I’ve seen and heard them this whole time at the top of the stairs through a small gap in the banister that I can see from where I’m sitting. They’ve been whispering and tip-toeing around—and by tip-toeing, I mean pounding around like a herd of elephants. I rub my lips together nervously.
Am I at a place where I can see these kids and not break down?
If they’re really like my mom, will I notice?
Will I see her in them, or will I have to learn about her to see what traits of hers that they carry?
“Okay, yeah. I mean… bring them in.”
Dean’s seemingly more relaxed now, and he grins at how fucking awkward I’m being but still steps just out of the room to the large mahogany staircase that disappears up to the second story. A flurry of footsteps hurries across the landing as they scurry away, thinking that their father won’t notice that they’ve been eavesdropping.
“Carter! Zoe! Come down here and see our guests,” he calls, tapping his foot as he waits for them to barrel down the stairs less than three seconds later.
Carter seems a lot more open to me this time around, as Dean herds them into the sitting room. Instead of glaring at me like an intruder he wants to kick in the nuts, his head is tilted slightly to the side as if I’m some peculiar puzzle, or maybe I’ve got food on my face. His blond hair reminds me so much of my own when I was his age, hangs loosely over his forehead and part of his face. Zoe, on the other hand, is like a completely different child. She bounces forward on her tip-toes, this time not wanting to hide behind her brother. She’s in a well-worn Wonder Woman dress-up costume that’s obviously too small given that the sleeves are half way up her arms, and the stitching’s barely holding together in places. But man she wears that shit with a bright smile and wide blue eyes, so who the fuck am I to criticize.
Damn, I’m fucking done for.
“My name’s Zoe, of Themyscira,” she announces with a bright smile. Without an ounce of fear in her eyes, she wanders directly up to me, placing one hand on each of my knees and narrowing her eyes. She scans my face as if searching for something important before pulling back with a shrug.
“I’m Luca, of the uh… earth?” I reply nervously, slightly confused but playing along anyway. “I’m gonna take a lucky guess and assume you like Wonder Woman.”
Her eyes light up, sparkling with excitement. With her hands firmly braced on my knees, she leans forward as far as possible without compromising any eye contact. “Wonder Woman is the shit!”
“Zoe,” Dean scolds, shaking his head, but even he can’t help but smile. I, on the other hand, have an ear to ear grin, and Kace is sitting beside me trying to fight the laughter from bubbling up.
Zoe rolls her eyes and clears her throat. “Sorry… Wonder Woman is fantastic, and an amazing example of what young girls like me should aspire to.”
I can hear the sarcasm in her tone, and frankly, I’m fucking impressed. Six years old, and already like me in so many damn ways. I’m already proud of her, and ready to work with her on her ridiculously impressive sarcasm skills.
“Superman can beat Wonder Woman with one hand tied behind his back,” Carter advises his sister, rolling his eyes as if it’s a throwaway statement, but the way he pushes his shoulders back tells me he’s clearly preparing himself for the battle that’s coming. “Superman would smash Wonder Woman in a second.”
Zoe spins around, her finger pointing at her brother accusingly, her eyes narrow in a dark glare. “Boys can’t hit girls, Carter.”
Carter folds his arms across his chest, puffing it out, a smug smile plastered on his face. “He wouldn’t have to hit her, she’d be too slow, and he would just zoom around her really fast with a metal pipe and tie her up.” The kid has a good argument, and he looks confident with it even though it’s completely unrealistic and he knows it. Another of my traits. Even when you know you’re wrong, fake it till you make it.
I clear my throat, drawing the attention back to me. “So, we’re into superheroes, huh?” I ask, looking at Dean, who seems completely exasperated. It can’t be easy suddenly being a single parent with two kids who both seem so headstrong.
Zoe turns to me, placing her hands back on my knees, her eyes roaming my face again, searching for something. “It’s because Mommy told us that’s what you were,” she announces as if it’s obvious. “She never did say what your powers are, though.” And now the way she’s been examining me makes so much sense. My heart, fuck, it’s pounding so hard against my chest that I’m actually beginning to feel a little dizzy.
She told them I was a superhero?
“He is a superhero, I see it all the time,” Kace pipes up. I look over at him, and he’s grinning, totally unashamed of the red in his eyes that tells me this shit isn’t just affecting me. “I work with him, and he is one of the best. Trust me.”
My eyes burn and quickly become misty.
I’m a superhero.
My mom, she told my little brother and sister that I’m a superhero.
Zoe’s gaze quickly switches to Kace, and she leaps over me and onto the couch between us, moving right up close to his arm. “What kind of stuff does he do?” she asks seriously, looking up at him like he’s some kind of rock star.
“He fights off the bad guys and saves the people who need help,” Kace explains, leaning away from Zoe’s intense gaze.
“Are you a superhero, too?” she whispers conspiringly.
I snort, interrupting the deep and meaningful conversation. “Naw, he’s a sidekick.” Kace hits me with a glare, and I burst out laughing.
Carter clears his throat, and I look over at him. He’s standing by the fire, shuffling nervously on his feet. “Mom said you help and protect people. She said you were in the army.”
Dean take
s that moment to slip into his empty chair. “Are you still in the forces?” he inquires, and I tense slightly. I can’t tell them about The Agency, as much as I want to now, knowing that both Zoe and Carter would be super fucking excited to know that I am almost like a real superhero.
When I don’t answer straight away, Kace cuts in, “We are part of the armed forces, but the branch we are in we can’t discuss…” He looks to Zoe who’s still staring at him closely like it’s love at first sight. “Sorry guys, we gotta keep it a secret.”
While the kids seem a little disappointed, Dean nods as though he understands completely. He probably has a pretty good understanding of how the armed forces work, but I’m still pretty sure he has no idea exactly how secret we’re talking. And that’s how it needs to be—for now at least. There are many branches of the army where soldiers have to keep their identities on the down-low. So for now, I’ll let him assume we work for one of those rather than an anti-terrorism agency which isn’t even meant to exist.
Zoe and Carter lose interest quickly, and after a few conspiring whispers, the both of them are racing for the staircase, their manic laughter echoing through the house.
“Seems typical you’d choose a job that you had to keep quiet,” Dean remarks when they’re gone with a soft smile. “Your mom was so good at keeping people out and pushing people away, even those who really cared about her.”
Kace’s face lights up. “Oh really, definitely like mother like son.”
I reach over and shove the smug bastard in the shoulder, but it only amuses him even more.
“And how’s that working out for you so far?” Dean taunts as if he knows exactly what Kace is talking about. “Because I can tell you one thing, your mom regretted a lot of things she’d done in her life, but leaving you because she thought you’d be better off without her, that was at the top of her list. You were her inspiration to change and fight for something better. Then when she was finally at that point, she realized the one thing she wanted was to be able to share that with you. Instead, she threw you away.”
