by Amy Lane
“Admit me?” Sammy’s voice squeaked. Oh God no. “Dr. Richmond—you know my uncles. They’re going to lose their minds. And I need to go pick up kids in….” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to be in Roseville in an hour for Felicity or I’ll be late getting Keenan and Letty and—”
“Wait, wait, wait—didn’t you just tell me you had a full load at school and were starting a job? Sammy—you’ve been managing this condition for five years—what part of ‘no stress’ is running around town picking up kids!”
“Well, we have someone else lined up, but he’s still recovering from his own shit.” Like not talking to Sammy and trying not to be in the same room at the same time, even though they lived in the same house. “I don’t start work until next week. I promised I could help out until then.”
Dr. Richmond shook his head. “You were right—I do know your uncles. And they would want what’s best for you—”
“Please, Dr. Richmond? Please? Just… I don’t know. Give me the supplements and I’ll become a model patient. I’ll eat like a saint, I promise.”
Dr. Richmond closed his eyes. “Sammy, we both know exactly what that promise is worth. But I can’t tell your uncles—you’re over eighteen. You may be on their health care, but your treatment is confidential. I’ll give you a vitamin shot, and is there any day you can come in on an outpatient basis?”
“Well, Friday—but just this Friday. After this week, I’m sort of booked up with jobs… uh, I mean, job.”
Dr. Richmond didn’t seem like a powerhouse, but his glare was something special. “It had better just be ‘a job.’ Sammy, anemia shouldn’t put that much of a crimp in your life, but you have got to take care of yourself!”
“No, no—just one job. The other thing is practice. It’s more like play. Swear. Did you want me to come in?”
Richmond finished writing on his prescription pad, ripped it off, and gave it to Sammy. “You have an appointment at the treatment center across the street for eleven o’clock Friday. That gives you plenty of time to go take care of brothers and sisters and whoever lives in Roseville, but you need to be there, Sammy. I’ll be back in a moment with a B-12 shot and some more great vitamins to shove up your veins, but Sammy, if you don’t show on Friday, you may need iron therapy, and I gotta tell you, if you think a blood transfusion is a pain in the ass, iron therapy really sucks. So turn on your sense of self-preservation, eat some food, get some rest, and show up on Friday, okay?”
“Deal,” Sammy said, sagging against the wall in relief—and exhaustion. “I swear I’ll be there.”
HE barely made it to Felicity’s school in time to pick her up, but when he got there, she wasn’t waiting out front like usual. Feeling lead in every step, he dragged himself into the front office to ask where she was. The kindly looking sixtyish woman in the front office eyed him with a certain skepticism.
“And you are….”
“Her foster brother?” he said, smiling prettily because there was a certain truth to the words.
“Cooper Hoskins? She told us he couldn’t come because of a work injury. You would be…?”
“I’m Sam Lowell. Her foster family situation has changed. The paperwork is still coming through.” Oh yeah—Sammy had learned about bluffing from the best. “Why isn’t she outside?”
“Well, there was an altercation today involving a pair of shoes and a jacket. One of the other girls claimed she stole it, and I’m afraid Felicity didn’t take it that—”
“Those were a gift!” Sammy exploded. “They were a gift from my grandmother, to welcome her to the family. Where is she? Where is she?”
“Well, the principal is interviewing the two girls now, but we had no way of knowing Felicity was telling the truth—”
Sammy pulled out his phone. “You could maybe know Felicity. Have you even talked to her? Ever? Or did you just watch her come in and get her free lunch slip and make assumptions?”
“Well, Mr. Lowell, her home situation has obviously been in flux in the past. Yes, these last two years it’s gotten better, but those clothes were obviously something special, and we were worried that maybe—”
Sammy glared at the woman, waiting for her to get flustered and stop talking. “You were worried that maybe… what?”
In the back of his mind, Sammy thought this might be someone’s grandmother, someone who had seen a thousand kids, not all of them as good as Felicity, and who had learned to assume based on appearance.
But that was the part of Sammy’s head that ached the fiercest.
“Look, Mr. Lowell, it doesn’t matter what I think,” the secretary said, looking worried. “What matters is that after we called her ‘foster brother’”—and he could practically see the air quotes—“we realized that her foster family moved a long time ago. We had other students placed with those people, and they just closed up shop. So I don’t know who you are or who Mr. Hoskins is, but to have her suddenly show up in shiny new clothes after all this time of being attached to, apparently, nobody, is highly suspicious.”
Sammy scowled at her and shook his head. “Lady, I recognize that you’re doing your job, but you know what? Consider this can of worms officially open.”
He punched Channing’s personal number into the phone and connected.
“Uncle Channing? Yeah, it’s me. Look, Felicity’s school is keeping her because they think she stole her new clothes—yes, they’re stupid bigoted asses. I figured that out.” He took a deep breath, aware that the ache in his chest and his head, which had eased up after the doctor shot him full of vitamins, were both back in full force. “But they’re starting to ask questions—you know, those questions, and I need to get her now or I’m going to be late for Kee and Letty and….”
“Don’t panic, Sammy.” God, Channing always sounded so together. “Okay. Here—hold on a minute.” Sammy breathed into the pause and glared at… what was her name? Okay. Greta Chapman. School Secretary. Awesome. “Okay. Sammy, here’s the plan. Brandon is going to get Kee and Letty—he’s about ten minutes away from their school right now. He’s on it. You’re going to go see the principal now. I don’t care what they wanted you to think when you were at school, but he doesn’t get to block family members out of the room. We’ll be there with Clement Wainscott in an hour or less—you remember Mr. Wainscott?”
Sammy had vague memories of a custody hearing when he was eleven, as his father made a last bid to be in his life. “Yeah—he’s the one who finalized my adoption with you and Tino, right?”
“And Letty and Keenan too. We’ve got a plan in place. We need you to do one thing while you wait for us to arrive, and it might be the toughest job of all.”
Sammy’s stomach sank even further. “He’ll hate me,” he muttered. “He already hates me.”
“Well, hate you or not, Sammy, it’s his only option to keep Felicity in his life. We were going to try to give him time, but I think time may have just run out.”
“Wonderful.”
“Ain’t it? Now go to the principal’s office and get that kid out of there. She’s probably terrified.”
“So am I,” Sammy muttered as he hung up. But the thought of Felicity accused of theft, worried about getting taken out of her new home when she’d just gotten used to it, made him brave. He glared at Greta Chapman. “Where are they?” he growled, letting the throb in his head give him some added anger.
“They’re right down the hall, but you can’t go in there—”
“Watch me!”
Sammy stalked down the hall with the woman trailing at his heels and thought about how tight Felicity hugged him and how she was counting on him and Cooper and Channing and Tino to make her world all right.
Braver Than You Think
“COOPER? Hey, I’m here. Felicity’s with me, and she’s fine.”
Cooper heard Sammy’s voice and sank slowly down into the kitchen chair, his whole body shaking. “Fine?” he asked, his voice tinny in his own ears. God. She’d called him from school, h
ysterical, begging him to come get her. But he’d just taken a pain pill and couldn’t drive, and even if he could, what was he going to do? Officially he was nobody to Felicity—her last name was Abrams, he’d been her foster brother a thousand years ago, and other than that, nothing. He’d told her to hang tight, Sammy was on his way, and then he’d done what he should have done two days ago.
He trusted Sammy.
God, he should have trusted Sammy that night. Trusted that he wouldn’t just hare off and leave Cooper’s broken heart behind him. Trust that maybe letting the relationship unfold slowly would keep it from breaking, while borrowing trouble at warp speed would destroy it before it was born. Just maybe trust that Sammy was the kind young man Cooper had been seeing for the past week and a half, and he wouldn’t leave Cooper and Felicity high and dry.
And now Sammy was on the phone, telling him it was all going to be okay.
Sort of.
“Cooper, look—I got her out of the principal’s office, and we got a lame-ass apology for the stupid shoes, but something bigger has come up. They started looking into her records—”
Cooper sucked in a breath. “Oh God. Social services—have they called them yet?”
“No, but Channing did, and everybody is having a big ol’ meeting in the principal’s office while Channing signs a shit ton of paperwork to make her his foster kid. Tino too.”
“Wait, what?”
Sammy let out what sounded like a sigh but wasn’t. Cooper listened hard and realized that Sammy was having trouble catching his breath.
“Cooper, could you just… just trust us?” he begged, his voice thready. “They’re going to make her official, and then we can move her school to someplace everybody’s not a dickhead about her having sparkly shoes, and you won’t have to drive crosstown to pick everybody up. Can we just… can we just do that? You’ll still be the nanny, she’ll still be in your life, and my grandma Stacy won’t have to be heartbroken because she got taken away. Can we do that? Does it have to be a thing?”
Cooper wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Yeah, Sammy. We can do that. It’s….” Amazing. Tremendous. A true burden off Cooper’s shoulders. “It’s fine.”
“Good,” Sammy breathed. And then breathed again.
“Sammy, are you okay?”
“Tired.” And that sound—that breath sound.
“Have you eaten?”
Three more breaths. “Oh hell. I was going to get something after I picked Felicity up, on the way to get Kee and Letty. They should be home in a minute, by the way. So be ready.”
“Sammy! Focus. Food. Now.”
“I’ve got some protein bars in the car,” he said, his voice wandering.
“Good—give the keys to Felicity and have her go get some for you. And….” Oh God. He’d already screwed things up by not trusting Sammy as it was. “Have Channing or Tino drive you home, okay?”
“’Kay.” Deep breath. “Cooper?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I kissed you.”
Cooper closed his eyes. “I’m not. I’m sorry I blew up over nothing and hurt your feelings.”
“Mm… that’s nice. Can I keep the kisses, then? I liked getting your first ones.”
Cooper’s breath caught. “Is Felicity getting protein bars?”
“Wait. No. Here, Felicity?”
Cooper waited for a moment while Sammy gave her directions and then started talking again. “You here with me, Sammy?”
“Yeah.”
“Sammy, you may want to see a doctor about this. You’re not sounding… right.”
Sammy giggled. “Way ahead of you. Saw him today, got vitamin shots and new supplements. Have a treatment appointment on Friday. It’s all rainbows and lollipops, Coop. Sammy is on the case.”
Cooper let out a breath, something in him easing. “Well, good. I need you to take care of yourself, Sammy. I just… just need you to be okay.”
“Mm. I was not okay Sunday night. Not gonna lie.”
Cooper’s chest constricted, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Was this how Sammy felt when his blood wasn’t carrying enough oxygen? This was awful. This was the whole reason he hadn’t looked for anyone to kiss him.
Until now.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I….” So naked, wearing jeans and a T-shirt in Tino and Channing’s kitchen. “I could barely keep me and Felicity fed and clothed, Sammy. I don’t know how I’m going to… to find the faith in someone else, to, you know, wait for kisses.”
“Mm.” He sounded dozy, like he was falling asleep. Then, “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. Here, you’re still looking a little ragged. Come lean on me for a minute, okay?”
In the background Cooper heard Felicity. “Sammy, your hands are so cold!”
“Yeah, but you’re warm. Snuggle, ’kay?”
Cooper scrubbed his face with his hands. “Sammy?” he said, suddenly wanting a second chance.
“Yeah?” He sounded like he was chewing.
“Just… have patience with me, okay? You… you’re so patient with everybody else. Can you have some patience with me?”
“Yeah.” His breathing had evened out, and Cooper wondered if maybe he hadn’t been stressed before he’d ridden to Felicity’s rescue. Dammit, Sammy!
“Yeah, what?”
“I’ll have patience with you. Just… you know. Make eye contact at dinner, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh—and that, uh thing? We were talking about?”
Cooper remembered that Felicity was right there. “The doctor’s appointment?”
“Yeah. Could we keep that maybe to ourselves for a little?”
Oh God. Keep a secret from Channing and Tino, the two men who were pretty much saving his little sister from a crappy life in a crappy home with people who didn’t care about her like Cooper did? “You’re not going to tell them?” he asked, hating himself for even thinking about it.
“I’m being a grown-up,” Sammy said with dignity. “I can’t exactly work construction and pay rent, but I’m doing my best.”
And for the first time, Cooper heard chafing in Sammy’s voice, a need to move beyond his role as protected child and into the role as an independent adult. But Sammy, you hold this family together—doesn’t that help?
“Okay,” Cooper heard himself saying. “I’ll keep your secret. But you have to let me know things, okay? What the doctor says, what your treatment is, when it’s going to be.”
“You hid a child,” Sammy reminded him. “For two years! And now I have to be open and honest about the one secret I’ve ever had in my life?”
Gah! Cooper sucked. Sammy was right, and it wasn’t fair, and there was no way Cooper had the right to ask for this, except, “You’re promising me everything, Sam Lowell. Everything. You’re promising me a home for the only family I’ve ever really had. You’re promising me food, a roof, a job, and… and kisses. And friends. People who care if I live or die. This is… this is collateral. Being straight with me here is collateral on that promise, you understand?”
And I really am worried about you, and I’m not used to that, and this will let me see for myself that you are not just going to… to… walk out the door and never come back.
“Okay, fine. You caught me at a weak moment.” And then he chuckled.
What. An. Asshole.
“I am not amused.”
“You should be. That was high comedy. If that doesn’t amuse you, what does?”
Cooper gaped at the phone like a fish. “Amuses me?”
“Yes, Cooper Hoskins—what do you like to do in your spare time?”
“He likes to watch old movies on television and recite the lines,” Felicity offered from close enough to the phone that she was probably lying on Sammy’s chest.
“That sounds life changing,” Sammy said, but there was amusement in his voice, nothing more. “We’ll build on that. Plays. I will take him to plays.”
While Cooper was trying to
assimilate where this conversation had gone, the front door opened and excited voices rang in the entryway.
“Sammy, the kids are here with Brandon. I’ve got to go.”
“Mm. Okay. Someone will call when we leave for home. Don’t forget about me, okay?”
Never. “Okay. See you then.”
Cooper ended the call and stood, grateful for his healing body as he’d never been in his whole life. He could stand, and his ribs were getting close to healed. His collarbone would need a brace for a while, but the rest of his body—sound. He didn’t have to fight for breath or worry about his blood failing him as his spirit tried so hard to shine.
He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and turned to smile at Keenan and Letty as they burst through the door.
“Where’s Felicity?” Letty asked, running to hop up onto one of the stools around the island. “She should be here. Brandon and Taylor picked us up and they said she was fine but I made a picture today!” She waved it in the air in a shower of macaroni and glitter. “Felicity needs to tell me it looks like a girl made it because Keenan said a boy could make it too.”
Cooper looked at Keenan, who was holding his hands out in mute appeal.
“Well, a girl did make it, so of course that’s what it looks like, but if you’re talking about glitter, I’m pretty sure he’s right and that can be used by either girls or boys.”
Both children looked mollified—and then looked to him for what he’d come to understand was an after-school staple. “Peanut butter or chocolate chip?” he asked, reaching into the cookie jars on the counter.
“Both!” they said in tandem, and he pulled out their after-school cookies and poured them both some milk.
“Now you guys enjoy, and I’m going to go talk to Brandon and Taylor.” He brought a napkin full of cookies and one big glass of milk to the TV room, where he’d seen them go when the kids came in.
“Thanks, Coop,” Brandon said, setting the napkin on the coffee table with the milk in the middle. “We wanted to have a word with you in case nobody else called.”