Van’s face immediately lights up. “This way!” he excitedly says, rushing into the small office.
He tries to pull a box free from near the top and it almost topples the entire thing over. I quickly reach out and take the top one, surprised by how heavy it is. He then taps on one two down from the top, so I remove them both, setting them out into the hallway.
“These all have photos in them from Mom and Dad, but the others have different stuff,” Van says quietly as he grabs the box he wants and carries it back over to the couch.
I can’t help groaning a little as we sit back down on it. It would be bad enough to have just watched a movie sitting on it, but I definitely can’t handle another night sleeping on it.
“Why does Zander have such an awful couch?” I wonder. He can’t be that hard up for cash. The weird thing is that it looks new. How can you get a new, lumpy couch?
“He says it means he won’t ever fall asleep on it. Sleep is for the bedroom, and the couch is for watching a game or a movie.”
“Not at my place,” I immediately disagree. “The couch is a bed, or a comfy place to read or marathon a TV season or series. I could never do that on this couch.”
“I can get Zander to buy a new couch!”
Van’s sudden outburst surprises me. Then again, I’m sure any excuse to get a new couch would be welcome here.
“I doubt Zander wants a new couch. This one looks new,” I point out.
“But if you want a different couch, then I bet I can talk him into it.”
“Van,” I sigh. “I hardly think it’s worth getting a whole new couch just for me. I’m only going to be here for a short while.” As soon as the words come out, I see panic register over his face.
“But, don’t you like me?” he cries.
“Of course I like you,” I rush to assure him, resting my hand over his shoulder for a moment. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You make everything better here. Even Zander is nicer when you’re here. Can’t you stay?” He reaches out to grip my arm, his eyes pleading with me with unshed tears.
Well, shit. I didn’t see this coming.
“At this stage, I am going to be here for a least a little while longer,” I say carefully, resting my hand over his death grip on my arm. “And I’ll still see you—”
“Can I come with you?”
“Come with me where?”
“To your house. I don’t have to have my own room. I can sleep on your couch. It sounds nicer than this one.” A few tears finally spill down his cheeks.
I begin to feel incredibly out of my depth. I have no idea how to handle this. Was I really dispensing advice to Zander last night about his life? I was clearly a delusional idiot then. I have no idea what I’m doing or supposed to say in this situation.
Van looks so hopeful that his good boy act suddenly makes a lot more sense.
“How about you show me these photos, and I’ll have a chat with Zander about it later?” That is probably the equivalent of “go ask your father,” but I don’t know what else to say.
“Zander won’t care if I go. In fact, he’ll be happy to get rid of me. Usually when he works late, I have to sit in his car and wait. He can’t leave me alone in the apartment. I bet he’ll be glad if he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“Why doesn’t he take you into the office with him?” This bothered me last night, too. “It’s nice in there, and I bet the couch they have in the corner is a lot comfier than this one.”
“I don’t ever go into Zander’s offices,” he says quietly, his eyes tearing up again and his face paling more than anything I have seen before.
“Why is that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He rips the lid off the box in front of him and quickly begins haphazardly throwing out loose photos to get to the one he wants.
I let go of my questions for now, reminding myself to ask Zander about it later, and pick up a few of the photos floating around us.
“You should be more careful. You don’t want to wreck any of these,” I say softly, admiring the photo of a happy family in my hands.
I assume the older couple is Van and Zander’s parents. Zander is likely just a few years older than Van’s age now. He looks incredibly like him. Right now, they have the same eyes, same angles in the face, and the same body shape, even if Van is well over a hundred pounds smaller than Zander.
There is no doubting the family resemblance in this photo. Zander has the same curly hair, although they are beginning to lose their shape, and his stance is similar to how Van holds himself now. Plus, he has the same cheeky smile.
In this photo, Zander has a small baby in his arms. They are all smiling for the camera and look incredibly happy.
Why does life have to be so unfair? Why did these boys have to lose their parents? Why must they endure so much pain?
“Here it is!” Van shoves a photo of Zander with long dreadlocks in my face.
I have to laugh at how ridiculous he looks. His hair is frizzy, more matted than anything, and he does not look happy to be having his photo taken.
“Wow … He looks … um … yeah.” I laugh again.
Even though he’s obviously looked at this many times before, Van finds the photo hysterically funny as he grabs his belly.
“Look at this one!” He shows me a photo of Zander with a full set of braces over his teeth, as well as a few unfortunate pimples. “And this!” Now he shoves one of him and some of his other friends mooning the camera. He must be sixteen in this photo and at the beginning of his dreadlock phase.
Van can’t stop laughing at all the embarrassing photos of Zander, and I can’t bring myself to stop him since he is having so much fun.
Of course this fun can only last so long. Soon there are only photos of his mom and dad left, and then sadness quickly sets in. He keeps looking at them, though, going through them and sometimes stroking the images. It breaks my heart.
When I put my arm around him, he is quick to lean into me and cry.
“I know it sucks and it’s not fair, but just because you can’t see them here with you anymore doesn’t mean they’re not still with you. Every memory you have of them proves that. They are still so very much alive in your mind, and they will go wherever you go. You’re never apart from them,” I tell him softly, rubbing his back in small circles, hoping to offer him some comfort, if not from my words, then my actions.
“It’s not the same,” his muffled voice sobs.
I can’t argue with that. It isn’t the same at all. It will never be the same again for Van.
“What are you still doing up? It’s past …”
Zander’s voice startles us both, even if it wasn’t said loudly or angrily, but Van’s reaction is far worse than my little jump.
He goes stiff in my arms before leaping away from me and knocking over the box of photographs. Without a backward glance, he races into his room and slams the door shut.
I turn around to face Zander, seeing he has completely frozen as he stares at the photos scattered across his coffee table. Then I quickly move to clean up the mess Van made from his fast escape.
It takes a few long moments before Zander crouches down to help me.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he finally says.
“We didn’t hear you come in. I’m sorry about his bedtime and the mess. Van was … Well, he …” I trail off since Van’s reaction says it all.
I know Zander might not be perfect, but I do know he loves his brother and his obvious sadness tells me he still has a lot of his own grief consuming him. They both are going through something impossible, and I don’t want to add to Zander’s burdens by telling him about what Van said earlier about not wanting me to leave.
“I haven’t looked at these since …” He doesn’t finish his sentence, distracted by the photo in his hands of his parents on their wedding day. They look young, happy, and full of hope.
“They look like loving parents,” I say gently.
“My dad was a mechanic. He could talk about motors all day, every day. It was the only thing that interested him. But when I spoke about starting my own business, or Mom went on and on about the latest thing her friend or one of their kids was doing, or Van was gushing over how cool one of his games was, Dad was all ears and gave you his complete attention. He gave great advice, too.” Zander sounds like he’s in a trance. It’s a shame he must come out of it.
“Sounds wonderful,” I tell him honestly, placing the last of the photos back in the box.
Zander finally shakes himself out of his memories and stands, holding out a hand to help me up. “Was Vaughn …? Was he upset looking at these?”
“At first, he was fine. He was showing me photos of you, actually. Dreadlocks definitely don’t suit you,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood. “But eventually, he became overwhelmed. He misses them.”
“I got the phone call about the accident when I was at work,” Zander says, looking right through me as he recalls the awful event. “I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even see. I was in complete shock. Dec went to Vaughn’s school and brought him to me. I couldn’t even process it, let alone tell my kid brother that our parents were dead. I don’t even really remember much about that day.
“I know Vaughn lost it. He kicked in walls, threw a side table over, smashed a jug, and ripped my phone cord out of the wall. He was screaming and crying, wouldn’t let anyone near him, and then he dodged us all and ran outside.” Zander’s body tenses while retelling this part, his worry easy to read in his tone. Van scared the hell out of him that day.
Without thinking on it much, I step forward and hug him.
He doesn’t react at first. Then he pulls me in tightly and squashes me against his hard chest.
With how hard he’s holding me, an almost stranger, I wonder if he has allowed anyone to comfort him since his parents died.
“The idiot nearly got hit by a car!” he growls, continuing his story. “That snapped me out of my stupor, and I screamed at him that he had to be more careful, that I refused to lose him, too.
“After that day, he never cried again. At the funeral, he looked like he wasn’t even aware of what was happening. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he had been medically sedated. He completely shut off, and the only time he spoke to me in long sentences was to yell at me and to fight.”
“Is that why he doesn’t want to go into your office?” I suddenly deduce.
“He hasn’t said it out loud, but he hasn’t stepped foot in there since I told him our parents were dead. I don’t push it.” When his voice cracks, my heart squeezes painfully for them both.
“And he’s not cried since at all?”
“Well, tonight, obviously. I’m sure he must cry sometimes, but I never see it.” He shrugs, which I feel against me. “He probably does it alone in his room.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy,” I point out. I wonder why he was able to open up to me tonight, but can’t seem to show emotion in front of Zander.
It’s one thing for Zander to hold things in. While still not healthy, he’s at least a grown man. But Van is twelve, and the things he is repressing now will continue to affect him later and change the adult he will become in the future. No kid deserves to be full of so much anger and grief.
“I know, but like I said, he won’t talk to me. He won’t talk to anyone I set him up with. He just keeps it bottled up inside.”
“Maybe it was too soon then. Maybe he’s ready to talk now,” I suggest.
“Or maybe he has connected with you. Maybe it’s you that is bringing this healing forward in him.”
I take in those words, feeling cocooned in our hug with his arms still wrapped tightly around me. Is that what is happening? Has Van really connected with me? Or am I just a convenient adult who was around at the right time?
“I’m worried that, when I leave, it will hurt him,” I admit. “I’m concerned that he will take that out on you.”
“I think you’re right. We can cross that hurdle when we get there. No one is saying you have to leave anytime soon.”
I try to take that in, while also not reading too much into it.
“I’m not sure my back can survive your couch long-term,” I confess, cringing when it occurs to me that I sound like I am fishing for an invitation into his bed.
“Which is why you will be sleeping in my bed tonight.” Zander surprises me, squeezing me a little tighter.
My entire body melts at just the thought of that, of the images that enter my mind, with the possibility of what could happen in that circumstance. However, Zander either reads what is on my mind and is quick to shut it down, or it’s a coincidence that he knows just how to crush those fantasies.
“I just came home to check on you guys and grab a quick bite to eat and a shower. I’m heading back out later. Dec and I are going to break into Forbes’ house and retrieve the USB. I doubt I’ll be home again before sunrise, so there is no point in my bed being empty while you suffer on the couch.”
“Oh …” I lamely reply, reluctantly stepping back when Zander drops his arms from around me, appearing a little embarrassed by our embrace.
The reminder of his mission tonight is like a cold bucket of water being thrown over me. I’m not here to flirt or fantasize about Zander. I’m here for his protection and help. That’s it. At best, he sees me as someone who might be able to help his brother. At worst, I am an obligation he can’t shake.
“I’m sure Vaughn has calmed down now. I’ll just see him and make sure he’s settled in,” Zander says without looking at me, already moving toward the hallway.
I’m not sure if Van answers his knock or not. Regardless, Zander enters and closes the door behind him.
Distracted, I plate up some food for Zander, and by the time he comes out of the room and makes his way over to me, I have accidently given him the entire leftovers from the casserole. It fills the entire plate and stands at almost two inches thick.
Oops!
“I’m hungry, but I’m not sure I’m that hungry,” he jokes as he takes in the plate.
I quickly redden in embarrassment. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll take some off—”
“Nah, leave it. I can’t remember the last time I ate a home-cooked meal I didn’t have to make myself. I’m sure I’ll love it. Is this your specialty?” He sits himself on a stool and watches me after putting the plate in the microwave.
“No.” I turn my body toward the fridge and duck my face in there before he can read on my face that I very clearly don’t have a specialty dish.
“It is going to be a surprise, then?”
“Yep.” It will be a surprise for us both. “So, don’t try to get it out of me.”
Realizing I have spent too long in front of the fridge doing nothing, I grab the foiled garlic bread and swing around to face him. “Want some burnt garlic bread with it?”
“I think I literally have my plate full already.” He gives me a small smile before standing and taking the plate out of the microwave, which he needs to put in three more times afterward to heat the entire thing through.
“You put my sweats back on?” he asks as he begins to dig into his food.
I look down at myself and wince at the reminder of what Sasha did earlier.
“Yeah, well, I can’t really sleep in jeans,” I explain. My other clothes are dry now, though a proper wash might have made them less stiff than my crude shower wash.
“Didn’t Sasha get you some new clothes?” he distractedly inquires.
“She did …” I say carefully.
“Shit, what did she do?�
� he groans, shaking his head a little.
“Let’s just say that none of what she got me is really appropriate to wear.”
“What?” Zander sounds genuinely confused as he drops his fork to give me his full attention. I redden further at having to explain this more to him.
“Most of it is … well, revealing.”
“Revealing?” He still looks confused.
I decide I am going to kill Sasha for making me describe this to him.
“As in, sexy lingerie, see-through pajamas, short shorts, low-cut tops, and dresses that I definitely can’t bend over in, unless I want to put on a show.”
Zander’s mouth drops open in shock, and I fidget a little.
“Why would she do that? She knows Vaughn lives here with me; why the fuck would she want you in clothes like that?”
He’s clearly angry and getting more worked up about this as the seconds pass. I can just imagine the fight tomorrow at work. Except, Zander reaches out and grabs his phone, connecting to Sasha immediately.
“What the hell are you playing at?” he immediately demands of her, pausing when she says something. “I don’t care what time it is. Why the fuck did you buy Ava that shit?” he growls into the phone before listening to her reply. “It is shit. Just because it cost me a shitload doesn’t mean it isn’t shit!”
I wince at his words, glancing back at Van’s room to see if Zander’s raised voice has gained his attention yet.
His door remains closed, thankfully.
“Sasha, do I need to remind you that Vaughn lives with me? What the fuck is a twelve-year-old supposed to think of that?” Another pause from my end. “After he’s gone to sleep? What is Ava supposed to wear for the other eighteen hours? And why the fuck do you think she wants any of that crap?” He is hissing after her reply, his anger no less apparent. “For me? Are you fucking insane?”
My heart sinks a little from his clear anger, but my embarrassment quickly rises to takes its place.
As there is another long silence, I would give anything to know what Sasha is saying, but I don’t even hear a whisper.
“Look, just stay the fuck out of this. The last thing Ava needs is this, and that doubles for me. Tomorrow, buy her some fucking normal clothes and forget this stupid idea.” Zander slams his cell down on the table, making me wince as a crack appears on his screen.
I Stole His Car (Love at First Crime Book 1) Page 11