by Amy Lane
“Sammy called. He said they’re petitioning for foster care. I guess Channing is trying to make some magic happen?” Because everything he’d heard or seen had told him that these things ran at the speed of bureaucracy.
“Well, Channing has resources,” Taylor said, his grimace stopping at the injured corner of his mouth. “But he’s also got connections. He had to fight pretty hard to keep Sammy away from his father. Nica used to write me about the court battle. I hear it was pretty fierce.”
Cooper’s turn to grimace. “I take it his dad….”
“Not a great person,” Taylor said. He didn’t flicker his eyes to Brandon’s, and Brandon looked at him as though he hadn’t heard this story. “Abusive,” Taylor told them both. “At least to Sammy’s mom. We’re not sure how much Sammy saw, but we have the feeling he knows more than he lets on. But the point is, Channing has ins with the family court system. Odds are good he and Tino will be her legal guardians before she gets home.” Both of them looked at him soberly. “I hope that’s okay with you.”
Cooper fought the urge to cry out of sheer relief. “Oh my God,” he said softly. “I’ll have help.”
Brandon scrubbed at his eyes with his hand and let out a sharp bark of laughter. “All you had to do was ask, moron. But seriously. You’re good with this?”
“Yeah.” Cooper nodded, thanking God that Felicity had more people in her corner. “She… she followed me home. I told you that. Twice. She just wanted someone to love her. Think she was special.” His eyes burned, but he didn’t want to tell this to Brandon and Taylor. It was like his kisses. He only wanted Sammy to have them. “I’m glad she’s got a whole household now.”
“Is anything wrong?” Brandon asked, and then, as though he was clairvoyant, “How’s Sammy?”
“Subtle, Brand,” Taylor muttered. “Real fuckin’ subtle.” He turned his attention to Cooper. “We heard he had a nosebleed on Saturday. And we see him on campus sometimes. Today he was running for the parking lot looking like death warmed over. How is he?”
Oh God. Cooper wanted to confide in them so badly. “We’re worried,” he said tentatively. “The nosebleed was scary. He was tired Sunday night too.” There. He’d said enough without giving away a confidence.
Brandon shoved a cookie in his mouth and then talked as he chewed. “He needs to start feeding his spleen. Squash, kale, spinach—like a juice or a smoothie in the mornings, in addition to those supplements he takes. And he should probably be taking folic acid and B-12 too. But that’s the doctor’s end.”
Taylor stood up. “Give me a list and I’ll go get it.”
“Right now?” Brandon asked, reaching for another cookie.
“Yes, right now. Everybody else is out doing legal shit, Cooper’s here with the kids, and dammit, I don’t like the way that kid looked today. They’ve got a juicer. Let’s make a shit-ton and freeze it. He’s probably already out of Stacy’s smoothies. Am I right, kid?”
Cooper nodded bemusedly. When Taylor had a plan of action, he didn’t screw around. “Show me,” he said suddenly. “When you get back, show me how to use the juicer. I’ll make him juice when everyone else is eating breakfast.”
Brandon smiled and low-fived him. “My man. You get the family conspiracy thing. Good.” He stood up and used the napkin to clean up the crumbs on his shirt and the coffee table. “We’ll be back. You occupy the short people. We can make good things happen!”
Heartened, Cooper went back in the kitchen and started Keenan on his homework, giving Letty something to color while he started dinner. Brandon and Taylor were back in half an hour, and then he really got to work.
By the time Channing and Felicity walked in, Tino and Sammy on their heels, homework was done, leftovers were waiting on the stove and on the counter, and a big pitcher of questionable-looking but very tasty juice sat in the refrigerator. Brandon and Taylor had needed to leave, but not before Taylor had given Cooper explicit instructions about making sure Sammy had his juice drink with his supplements every morning.
Tino and Channing gathered around the stove making plates for themselves. Felicity, looking exhausted, gave Cooper a long, wordless hug and then kissed his cheek and excused herself to go tell Keenan and Letty the big news.
“It’s all she could talk about,” Channing said, smiling tiredly. “How she gets to be a sister too.”
“Did she eat?” Cooper asked worriedly. “Did Sammy?”
“She might need to come in and get something. I fed Sammy on the way home,” Tino told him, looking worriedly in the direction of the stairs. “He bled all over his shirt—he’s probably up changing.”
“Fuck,” Channing said succinctly.
Cooper went determinedly to the refrigerator. “I’m going to bring him up a health drink,” he said, pulling out the ice and setting up a behemoth-sized glass. “Brandon and Taylor found the recipe—it’s supposed to give him vitamins to help his blood absorb iron.”
“That is an outstanding idea,” Tino said, sounding bitter. Cooper looked up in time to see Channing squeeze the back of his neck tenderly.
“It was just a long day,” Channing said. “He was running on empty when he hit the school, and it got longer after that. He’ll be okay.”
Tino scowled and shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “That kid…. Channing, our kid….”
Channing pulled him into his arms, the tenderness so intimate, Cooper was just as glad to flee the room.
He found Sammy, shirtless, huddling in bed, shivering.
“Sit up,” Cooper said gently, setting the juice down on his bed stand. “I’m going to get you a sweatshirt.”
“So stupid,” Sammy muttered. “Feel so dumb. Was trying to get it all under control—went to the doctor, have a treatment on Friday. One damned long day….” A shiver rocked him, hard. Cooper grabbed a soft gray sweatshirt, worn thin, and brought it to the bedside.
“Yeah. It was a long day. Those happen when you have to play superhero. Now here, give me your arms.” Cooper slid it over his head and helped him into it. “Oh man—your hands are freezing. Here.” Cooper tucked them under Sammy’s armpits and held the juice for him.
“What is this?” Sammy asked suspiciously.
“It’s a toxic potion designed to plant alien thoughts in your brain,” Cooper replied blandly. “It’s vegetable juice. It’s good.”
Sammy’s eyes narrowed. “Did you drink it?”
“Yes, Sammy. Watch me drink it.” Cooper took a gulp, glad Brandon and Taylor had experimented with different combinations and some seltzer water until what came out was really pretty yummy. Cooper smiled blandly and held it back to Sammy’s lips, and he opened his mouth and drank like a big boy.
He let out a sigh when he was done. “That was not awful,” he admitted. His body seemed to relax in one big tremble, and he held out his hands. “I can drink it by myself.”
Cooper waited until Sammy’s hands were locked around the glass, and then he locked his on top of them.
“I’m not going to drop it!” Sammy protested.
“I know,” Cooper said softly. “I just like holding your hands.”
Sammy paused in midsip and smiled over the brim of the cup. “That’s remarkable.” He took another sip, Cooper’s hands on top of his. “Why don’t you lie down next to me in bed? I’ll finish this off, and we can tell each other about our very long days.”
Cooper let go of his hands slowly and kept eye contact. “Okay, Sam. I can do that. Just finish the juice.”
Sammy smiled sunnily. “Course. Even little kids can finish juice.” He took a hearty swallow. “Honest.”
Cooper took him at his word and moved around to the other side of the bed before pulling up the throws and lying down on top of the covers again. Sammy held the glass with one hand and opened his arm so Cooper could lean on him. Cooper did, resting his head on Sammy’s narrow chest and listening to his heartbeat for a moment of quiet.
“This isn’t bad,” Sammy
said into the silence. “You make this yourself?”
“Taylor and Brandon helped. According to them, you looked like death warmed over today.”
“Nice,” Sammy muttered, taking another swallow. “Family, what a—”
“Blessing,” Cooper said fiercely. “They went out shopping and looked up recipes that didn’t suck. You have no idea. That tastes decent. We massacred some perfectly fine vegetables to get there.”
Sammy chuckled and drank some more. “Point taken,” he said, relaxing. “You’re right—Brandon and Taylor are good people, and we’re lucky to have them. Don’t mind me.” He sighed dispiritedly. “I’m glad Felicity is safe. Tino is taking her to Keenan’s school tomorrow and registering her. I see more shopping trips in her future. That school she was going to thought they knew sparkly shoes from a hole in the ground. I’m telling you, they’ve got nothing on the bling needs of Keenan’s school. We’ll have to make sure she’s sequined to the teeth.”
Cooper chuckled too, thinking that once upon a time he would have accused someone like Sammy of thinking only materially. He wondered how much bling Sammy would have sacrificed to be able to have a long day without a nosebleed and an early bedtime.
“She’ll like that.”
“How about you?” Sammy asked perceptively. “Will you like that? She was yours and yours alone for a very long time.”
Cooper took a deep breath and went for what Sammy always went for—the truth.
“It’s the first time in two years I haven’t been terrified,” he said. Then, on a note of revelation, “Of course, now I’m terrified for you, so I guess it’s a trade-off.”
Sammy made a sound of skepticism. “I’m fine, Coop. Please—don’t worry about me.”
“Of course I’m going to worry,” Cooper insisted. “You have no idea what you’ve given me, Sam Lowell. This right here? A cuddle on the bed? Kindness? Conversation? This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And your hands are cold and your face is pale, and I keep thinking, more and more every day, that I need to know you’re healthy.”
“Even if I have to leave?” Sammy asked, like this mattered to him.
“Especially if you have to leave,” Cooper told him. “Because if I feel anything like this when you leave, I need to know you’re coming home.”
Sammy made a frustrated pfft. “Want to hear something pathetic?” he asked, voice shaking a little.
“I’ll hear anything you can tell me.” Cooper’s heart ached. Whatever it was, it hurt.
“I’m… I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to move out without my trust fund. I’m so embarrassed about that—my uncle made, like, three times his fortune on top of his fortune, but I don’t think I can. I think Channing bought a small house down the street so I could be close, but… but how much money does a musician make, really? How much does a teacher make? All those shows you see, a thousand people living in an apartment, finding change for Taco Bell—I wanted that. It seemed so normal. But….”
But his health was fragile. Cooper heard it—but that’s not what Sammy said.
“But you can’t fit a baby grand in an apartment with six other people,” Sammy finished, gulping the last of his juice in one swallow.
“Yeah.” Cooper’s voice sounded rusty in his own ears. “Music is important. I get it.”
“When I was a kid….” Sammy set the juice glass down and pushed back against the pillows, holding Cooper a little tighter. “When I was a kid, when I sat down at the piano and sang, I could hear my mom at the piano, singing with me. Channing told me that when she was younger, she wanted to be a musician too. But their parents—I guess sort of classic overachievers, right? So Channing, he went out of his way to tell me I could be anything I wanted. That as long as it made me happy, he was happy to finance my education. And music made me happy. Tino had to remind him of that, by the way, but it’s why I’m getting my degree in music.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Stupid, right?”
“No.” Cooper wanted to touch more of him. And more and more. He settled for his hand on Sammy’s chest. “Not stupid.”
“You… you were out on your own at seventeen, Cooper. I just keep thinking that my problems probably sound like bullshit to you.”
Cooper thought about it. “When I was seventeen? Yes.” He grimaced to himself. “When you don’t have money, you think it’s the end-all and be-all, you know?”
Sammy grunted. “I see how you could think it. Life’s hard enough without having to worry about food and rent and health care.” He swallowed. “I’m perfectly aware that without Channing’s super-ultra-awesome insurance, I probably wouldn’t even be able to go to school.”
Cooper’s chest hurt. Sammy? Stuck at home? All the vibrancy he tried so hard to sustain, muted? Cooper couldn’t think about it. Instead he said, “Yeah. I was sort of bitter.” Was that why he hadn’t made any friends—not even at work? Had it been jealousy? Anger driving him? “But then Felicity followed me home. And the first time, I was… I was so scared. What if someone thought I took her? What if she got in trouble? God, what if she got beaten? I couldn’t take care of her—I mean, it was crazy stupid to even think I could take care of her, right?”
“You were a baby,” Sammy said softly. “What? Nineteen?”
“Eighteen the first time. And I took her back and promised to write and visit—and I did. Every weekend. I’d drive up on Saturday, and she’d just be… waiting on the lawn for me. Nobody had brushed her hair, and she was wearing hand-me-downs. Her face would just light up when I got there. And I remembered… I remembered being her. I remembered sitting on somebody’s lawn like leftovers from a garage sale and hoping—just hoping—somebody would want me too.”
Sammy’s head was tilted back, and his eyes were closed. “I’d want you,” he said, his lips tilted at the corners.
“I didn’t know that then.” Cooper rubbed his cheek against Sammy’s chest, thinking I don’t know that now.
“It’s true. So what did you do that first time?”
“Well, I took her out to ice cream, actually. And then to the park.” He hadn’t told anyone this, not even Taylor, that odd, hallucinogenic night in the hospital. “I just… she’d walked five miles across town. I didn’t want her to think she did all that and I didn’t care. And then I took her back to the home, and they… they didn’t even notice that she’d been gone.”
“So she ran away again?”
Cooper grunted. “That was my fault, sort of. I got a chance to work overtime. I called the house, but they didn’t bother to pass on the message. So Saturday night, I got to my crappy little apartment, and she was just….” His heart constricted. “Just sitting on the steps. Crying. In the rain, Sammy. She’d walked in the rain. And nobody was there for her. So I took her in. Got her warm, let her wear my other pair of sweats.” He laughed bitterly. “Shared my hamburger with her. And we sat and watched movies, and I just… just hugged her. Like… like you do with Letty or Keenan. And it was okay.” Weak. That sentence—weak. “It was awesome,” he confessed. “Somebody cared for me and let me care for them. So the next morning, I called to tell the home that I had her, and they… they said, ‘She’s out with friends right now. We’ll call you when she’s back.’”
Sammy grunted. “Assholes.”
“They didn’t even notice—she’d been gone all night and most of the day before. So… I just… kept her. She had one of her foster siblings sneak out her clothes. We raided the mailbox for some of the paperwork I needed to keep her in school. And… I kept her. Because nobody wanted her. But I wanted her. How could you not want someone who would walk five miles in the rain just to watch TV on your couch?”
He felt Sammy’s kiss in his hair. “Or who takes in a little girl because he wants her to know somebody loves her.”
“You’re so kind,” Cooper whispered. “I didn’t ever think the world had people this kind in it. Your uncles—they’ll do right by her, do you think?”
“I can’t imagine them scr
ewing it up,” Sammy told him, and his laugh was only a little bitter. “They’re super-über-spectacularly competent at everything they do.”
“So are you.”
“I’m a mess. I’m… I can’t get through a long day without passing out. I used to do my homework twice because I’d do it once and forget to save it and lose the hard copy and give back the library book and….” His voice wandered sleepily. “I’m a mess.”
“Sammy, I’m living in the maid’s quarters, and it’s bigger than my last apartment. I haven’t even done anything yet to earn that.”
“You’ve been doing more every day,” Sammy told him. “You will. Being the manny is no joke with three kids, not even when you are one of those kids.”
Cooper laughed at “manny,” but only for a moment. “You’re not a kid anymore.” Sammy didn’t smell less adult than he had. His chest still felt defined, if narrow. His voice rumbled deeply against Cooper’s ear.
“I do kid things.” Sammy yawned but kept his mouth mostly shut. “I once lost my car keys three times in the same month.”
“I fell off a roof trying to control a five-hundred-pound AC unit in a windstorm.” Because which one of those things sounded dumber?
Sammy didn’t move his head, but his giggle was a puff of air against Cooper’s ear. His voice was almost too soft to hear. “I just… you know. Needed you to know that I’m, like, Channing 2.0, the glitchy version.”
Cooper caught his breath and pushed up so he could see Sammy’s expression. Was he serious about that?
But even as Cooper watched, his face relaxed completely and his breathing evened. Like a child, he’d fallen asleep.
Cooper pushed back the dark gold hair that had fallen into his eyes, and Sammy leaned into his hand. “You don’t have to be your uncles, Sam Lowell,” Cooper whispered. “You’re a perfect version of who Sammy is supposed to be.”
He stayed there for a few heartbeats, just to watch Sammy sleep.
