by T. J. Klune
“Fiancé,” he reminded me with a crooked grin.
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
Finally, Georgia and Eddie finished their “Bear Rocks” speech, and Judge Higgins asked Tyson to stand for a moment. The Kid took a deep breath and did just that.
“I understand that you are very intelligent,” the judge said. “You’ve recently skipped a grade?”
“Yes, sir,” the Kid said. “I’m not one to brag on myself, but since you said it first, yes: I’m very intelligent.”
I thought this was funny. Apparently, I was the only one, so I quieted down quickly. Judge Higgins glared at me again before turning back to the Kid. “So you understand the severity of this situation, then. That your brother is trying to become your legal guardian.”
The Kid shrugged. “He already is.”
“What was that, young man?”
“Look,” the Kid said. “We all know that we’re doing this so nothing can take me away from him again. But, really? It’s just a piece of paper with your signature on it. Bear’s been my guardian longer than you’ve ever even known who we were. He’s my brother. He’s always been my guardian, and not even your word can take that away from me.” He sat back down, obviously pleased that he’d been allowed to have his say.
I would have been rendered speechless if the judge hadn’t called on me next. I stared down at the Kid as I stood. He looked up at me and winked. Christ. I tore my gaze away and looked up at the judge.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud noise coming from outside the courtroom. We could hear voices through the door. I recognized them almost immediately and prayed that the bailiff would arrest them all and take them to jail.
“Look, it’s got to be this one, right? Courtroom Four,” Creed said.
“I can read, you know,” Anna snapped at him. “Are you sure Bear said four?”
“Well, there can’t be that many courtrooms,” her mom said. “This is Seafare, after all. It’s not like there’s a lot of crime or other stuff that happens here.”
“You say that now,” Jerry Thompson said. “But remember when they broke up that meth lab over on the west side? Maybe we need more courts, because apparently tweekers like the beach.”
“I can’t believe my dad just said tweekers,” Creed moaned. “You’re so hip, Pops.”
“I am pretty cool,” Jerry agreed.
“So is this judge the guy that Bear said had eyebrows that looked, like, evil?” Alice asked. Quite loudly. “I think I need to see those for myself.”
“Yeah,” Dominic rumbled. “He said that he wants to bring in garlic and holy water each time he has to face him.”
“Can you even buy holy water?” Stephanie Grant asked. “It doesn’t seem like you could go to a store and just buy a vial.”
“No, I’m sure there’s a store somewhere called Christ ’N Things that you could go to and get holy water,” Creed said. “I mean, where else would they get it? It’s not like priests just go to the kitchen sinks before mass and fill up that huge bowl with tap water.”
“Should we just go in?” Alice asked. “I can’t see through the cracks in the door.”
“We’re a couple of minutes late,” Jerry said. “But they probably haven’t even started yet. Lawyers don’t do anything on time.”
“Go in,” Anna said.
“You go in,” Creed replied. “If they’re mad at us for being late, just blame it on the fact that you’re pregnant and the baby is eating your brains.”
“I still can’t believe you guys are going to have a baby,” Stephanie sighed. “You’re both just so young.”
“Yeah, well,” Creed grumbled. “Let’s not go into that again. I haven’t got the lecture out of my head from all of you in which you tried to show me how I should accurately put on a condom. I’m still insulted that you used a carrot to represent me. At least you could have used a soda can.”
Anna snorted. “Oh, please. Like that’s accurate.”
“I don’t want to talk about my son’s anatomy anymore,” Jerry said firmly. “It’s bad enough that they’re making us grandparents way before we ever thought we’d be. Leave Creed’s penis out of this.”
“Well, if he’d done that in the first place, then Anna wouldn’t be pregnant,” Alice observed.
“Ha!” Ian Grant laughed. “Good one! High five!” Hands slapped together.
“What should we do?”
“Just go in!”
“You go first!”
“Dammit, fine, move. Let me peek my head in.”
The door slowly opened, and Creed stuck his head in and found everyone in the courtroom staring at him. Okay, well I was glaring at him, Otter was trying to maintain composure, and the Kid was rolling his eyes. Erica looked like she popped a blood vessel, Eddie looked like he wanted the conversation to go on, as he was taking notes, and Georgia looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. The court stenographer kept clacking away, like that whole conversation was necessary to put in the transcripts (I immediately found myself plotting ways to have that stricken from the record, but then I realized I hadn’t gone to law school, and I didn’t even know what “stricken from the record” meant). Judge Higgins apparently didn’t think that my family was amusing in the slightest.
“Hi, Bear!” Creed stage-whispered, oblivious to his impending death at my hands. “We’re here!”
“Can we go in?” someone asked from behind him.
He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, they haven’t even started yet. I think they were waiting for us to show up.”
The doors swung open, the seven of them smiling at us. They moved quietly into the benches and sat down, and some of them waved at us while others waited expectantly for court to begin.
I turned back to the judge. “I don’t know who any of those people are,” I said hastily.
Immediate protests.
Judge Higgins arched an eyebrow, which, given what they looked like, I thought he was about to put a curse on me. “Now that that’s out of the way, I wanted to take a moment to talk with you, Derrick. You’re… twenty-one, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are in school and work part time as well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have the help of your… partner, who’s here with you?”
“Fiancé,” Creed coughed quite loudly.
Goddammit. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell me something, Derrick. You’ve had Tyson for the last three years. You’ve survived this long, and your life seems to be more stable, at least according the reports from CPS. You have a… supportive family.” They preened and grinned. “And you have the backing of a social worker and therapist who I’ve worked with for years and know don’t take any bullshit from anyone.”
“Can he say bullshit?” Creed whispered loudly.
“It’s his courtroom,” his mom whispered back. “He can do whatever he wants.”
“But I want to know, Derrick. Why do you want this? What do you hope to achieve?”
I didn’t even have to think. “I want this because he’s my brother,” I said honestly. “And I hope to help him grow up to be the best man who ever walked the face of the earth. People think that I did something noble. They say I saved him by raising him.” I shook my head. “They don’t realize that he was the one that saved me.”
The judge watched me for a moment, and I wanted to squirm under his gaze, but I forced myself to stand where I was and stare right back. Finally, after what felt like days, Judge Higgins nodded. “Good answer. Are there any further issues that I need to be aware of? Any last details before we move forward?”
Silence.
“I’ve learned at my time here in family court,” he said, “that life can be hard on children, that choices are made for them that are not always in their best interests. I have seen the very worst in people, who have inflicted pain and violence against the ones entrusted to them. It hurts to see those cases, because it ma
kes you wonder when it will all end, when there will be a day when you think it will all be okay.
“I think today may be one of those days. Derrick, from everything I’ve heard, and from speaking to Tyson myself, you’ve raised a remarkable young man. And while the focus may have been on Tyson and his well-being throughout this process, you yourself deserve the credit for who he is. When he makes something of himself, it will be because of you, and that is one thing that I hope you never forget.”
He looked at Tyson, who had a slow grin starting to spread across his face. “And you, Tyson. I’ve heard what you’ve been through. Your mother made an egregious decision, one that has affected you greatly. But do not allow that to define you. You are so much more than that. I also understand you’ve suffered a recent loss of a dear friend. Just know that I’m sure she would have been proud of you, just as much as everyone in this room is. You will listen to your brother, yes?”
He nodded. “Yes. Unless he tells me that I have to eat a hot dog. Then I’ll be back in here petitioning for emancipation.”
The judge smiled, if only for a moment. “Of that I have no doubt.” He turned back to me. “Derrick, I am hereby appointing you as legal guardian to Tyson McKenna. The CPS visits will continue for a short while, and I would recommend that you continue with the therapy as well. But that choice is yours now. And every choice that follows. It is a great responsibility, but one I think you will shoulder as you’ve always done. Do you have any questions?”
“That’s it?” I demanded, unable to stop myself. “He’s mine? That’s all it took?”
Judge Higgins chuckled. “Well, you’ll need to sign a couple of things with a notary, and we’ll want to set a schedule for CPS, but yes, Derrick. That’s it. He’s yours.”
“Holy shit!” I shouted.
The judge frowned. “Not in my courtroom, Mr. McKenna. But you’re right. Holy shit.”
And that was all I heard from him because I’d already turned and grabbed the Kid and pulled him up to me and held him close, and as we both trembled, as we both realized that this was finally it, our family closed in around us, and there was laughter and congratulations and even a couple of tears. But it was him in my arms that I focused on, Otter’s hand at my back. The Kid put his forehead against mine, and everything else faded around us, and the Kid said the only thing that needed to be said.
“It’s about damn time, Papa Bear.”
I WOKE up one morning in August, the sun not yet risen, wondering why my body saw fit to wake me so damn early in the morning. And then it hit me.
I’m getting married today, I thought. Well, fuck me sideways.
I shot straight up in the bed, and stared down at the man next to me, one huge leg draped over mine, his arm across my lap, snoring as if it was going out of style and he had to make sure everyone knew how good he was at it. I’m getting married to this guy today.
Jesus, it grumbled. You act like you’re surprised. It’s been on your mind ever since you saw that damn ring. Believe me, I know. I’m stuck in here.
Oh, please. You love it as much as I do.
That’s a flat-out lie! Sort of!
My loving gaze turned into a glare, wondering just how the hell the big guy could continue to sleep on what was supposed to be one the most monumental days ever. Bastard. I extricated myself from his grasp and pushed him on his back and straddled his waist. I ground my hips down with just enough pressure to let him know I meant business. He stopped snoring and groaned. I pressed down harder. He cracked open his left eye. “What you doing?” he rumbled.
“How can you be asleep?” I scowled.
“Easy. I close my eyes and it’s done.”
“Oh, well. If you want me to stop, then I can.” I made to move, but his hands came up and gripped my hips.
“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” he growled at me, his fingers digging into my flesh.
“Nowhere,” I managed to get out, rolling my ass against his hardening dick. “Just gonna stay right here until you realize what today is.”
That got him. His eyes went wide and he sat up, holding me in his lap as his arms went around me. “Oh, crap,” he breathed. “We’re getting married today.”
“Yup,” I said, leaning forward to lick his jaw. I reached down and palmed his dick through his pajamas, and he started breathing heavy in my ear, and I was so totally about to get laid—
And then he threw me off of him, and I landed on the bed before bouncing and falling off to the floor. “Ow,” I said as I stared up at the ceiling.
He peered over the edge. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Just because we’re getting married, doesn’t mean you can start abusing me,” I reminded him as I rubbed my elbow.
“You were trying to sex me up,” he accused me.
I rolled my eyes. “I really wish you’d stop being trapped in the nineties.”
“We can’t have sex before the wedding,” he said, completely serious. “It’s tradition.”
My eyes bulged. “What? Fuck tradition! We’ve had plenty of sex before the wedding. You’re not exactly a virgin, you jerk.”
He shook his head as he pulled me up and back onto the bed. “Not on the wedding day,” he insisted. “We have to save it for tonight. Because then you’ll be my husband.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gag,” I said. “That sounds even worse than partner.”
“Lover?”
“What are you, a sixty-year-old woman who raises ferrets?”
“That doesn’t even make sense. Soul mate?”
“Gross. Kind of.”
“Yours?”
“Better. But I still want sex.”
He snorted. “You can wait until tonight, horndog. It won’t kill you.”
“It might,” I groaned as I rubbed my dick through my shorts. I made sure his eyes were on my hand as I arched my hips. He licked his lips. And then looked away.
Bullshit.
I slid my hands down my shorts and grabbed my cock, starting to stroke up and down, letting him know how good it felt with my voice, how I wished it was his hand, his big strong hands wrapped around me. I reached up and tweaked my own nipple, and I cracked an eye open to find he was watching me again, breathing awfully heavy for one who was planning on saving himself for marriage.
“What are you doing?” he said hoarsely.
“Jerking myself off,” I grunted. “You won’t do it, so gotta take care of myself, you know.” The moan that followed was completely unnecessary, but I could see his resolve crumbling as I stroked the slit with my thumb and brought it to my lips to taste the pre-come dripping from my dick. I groaned again, and Otter lost it completely.
He snarled at me and batted my hand away, and then his mouth was on me, moving up and down as my back arched off the bed. He was rough with my balls as he sucked them in his mouth, first one and then the other, his hand sliding up my stomach and chest and pressing there to hold me down, to keep my from bucking into his mouth. He liked control, my Otter, and I was glad to give it to him. Before long, I was spilling down his throat, a blissed-out grin on my face as he came up and kissed me savagely.
“That doesn’t count,” I reassured him. “You swallowed, but your virtue is still intact. Even if my swimmers are now being broken down by your digestive tract.”
“Fuck tradition,” he growled at me as he reached for the lube.
“Fuck tradition,” I agreed, grinning up at him as he loomed over me.
AND fuck tradition is exactly what we did. The wedding was held down on the beach, as it was the only place that made sense to the two of us. Otter figured that it was a place that started many things for us, both good and bad, and that it was there that we would build this memory as well.
The Kid begged to lead the ceremony and went so far as to go online to try and become an ordained minister. Apparently, it only takes, like, five minutes to do, and I honestly considered it for a moment, before I realized that his sermon would probably go
on for days and cover such topics as the Japanese slaughtering dolphins and how he had finally picked out a wig to go with his stage name, Minerva Fox. He disagreed with my assumption, telling me that he would promise to keep things short and sweet if I allowed him to, at the very least, wear his new I THINK THEREFORE I AM VEGETARIAN T-shirt, and would allow him two minutes to educate the guests about the wonders of donating to PETA. I countered with no. He came back with what if he could just write a poem that he’d dedicate to Otter and me? Then he gave me that wide-eyed dazzling grin face thing he does so well, and I fell for it again, reminding myself that next time would be the last time.
We decided against having anyone officiate the ceremony, deciding that we’d just say our own things and go from there. After that, we’d register as domestic partners (gag!) with the state of Oregon. The Kid told us daily how the tide was changing and pretty soon we could get married for real. I couldn’t tell him that I wouldn’t care about that, that this was real enough for me, that the following week, we were going to have our last names changed over to Thompson.
And I couldn’t tell him I was terrified.
Don’t give me that look. That terror had nothing to do with doubts or earthquakes or oceans or any other metaphors that I’ve ever thrown in. It had nothing to do with my infinite neurosis. No. I was terrified because I was going to be standing in front of my family, and I would have to open my mouth and say words that were meant to be sweet and binding and everything else that was in my heart and soul? Are you fucking kidding me? I remember staring at Otter when he said we should just write our own vows, but my ability to speak had fled, and he’d taken my silence as consent and two days later had come to me and let me know that he was finished already. I asked to see his, hoping to just copy his down and maybe change a couple of the words. He told me there was no way in hell. I told him I wanted a divorce. He just laughed.
