Zander_Heroes at Heart

by Maryann Jordan

  “We’ll go together,” she said. “Now y’all climb into bed.” Bending to kiss Cael and Rafe, she moved back to Zander’s bed. “Do you know what your name means, Alexander?”

  Wrapping his arm around his middle, he shook his head.

  “Alexander. That’s a Greek name. A very important name. It means defender of men.” She chuckled, adding, “Well, defender of women, as well.” She reached over, her hand gentle on his arm. “You’ve always been such a leader. I remember when you first came to live with me. The social worker was afraid you were so behind in school that you’d be lost. But I knew how smart you were. Smart and good. Such a good boy. And, you’ve helped me so much with the others.”

  His mouth tightened into a straight line, but her soothing touch made his stomach hurt a little less.

  “And now look at you, reading books that are so much above your age. So smart…and so good. I know why you took the necklace and it touches my heart that you cared to get me something. But Zander, all I ever want is for you boys to be safe, happy, and as good as you can be. That’s the only present I need.”

  “You deserve to have something pretty,” he said, his heart heavy.

  “Sweetie, my something pretty is seeing you boys smile every day. It’s seeing the sunset or a pretty flower.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Ethel,” he said, another tear sliding down his cheek. He hated the feeling of disappointing her. He remembered what life was like before he landed on her doorstep. His mom being gone for days strung out on drugs, looking for her next fix, leaving him with no food. He had been in two other foster homes for only a few months until Miss Ethel took him in. Now he had clean clothes that fit. Food in his belly. School every day. And books. She made sure he could go to the library any time he wanted.

  “Oh, Zander,” she smiled, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “The measure of a man isn’t in the mistakes he makes. The true measure of a man is in how he handles those mistakes.”

  The next day, he tried to hide the quivers as he stood in front of Mr. Timms and confessed the theft. Miss Ethel was stunned at the lengths the boys had gone to in order to get the present for her and made them vow to never climb out of the window again. Mr. Timms peered over his glasses at the three of them, his face severe.

  “Well, I suggest that you three boys come over every day after school next week and work for me until suppertime,” he said, his deep voice reverberating through them. “That’ll work off the necklace, which I agree, Miss Ethel should have.”

  Zander’s breath left him in a whoosh, a grin snaking across his face as the pain in his stomach eased. Casting his gaze up to Miss Ethel, she smiled back at him. Walking home, she put her hand on his shoulder and said, “I always knew it, Zander. You’ll make a good man.”

  2

  Sixteen years later

  Friday night. Zander King was already tired and the night was still young. He walked from the back office of Grimm’s Bar and cast a wary eye over the crowd. As owner, he should be excited about the business, but he knew the combination of alcohol, loud music, and crowds could be explosive.

  He much preferred the days when the bar, at the edge of town, only held a small group of regulars. Faces he knew. People he could talk to…listen to. It had been easy to keep an eye on who was drinking and how much. Plus, he had had no problem cutting them off and ordering a cab for them, though that was still the same. And, yet, his customers always came back. He had made enough money to pay the bills, which was fine for him.

  But, with the resurgence of development in the area, more white-collar workers had discovered the bar and word got around that it was a good place to gather after work. So, now, it was packed with bodies, all vying for the bartender’s attention and trying to catch the eye of their next dance partner or, more likely, the partner for the night.

  As he cast his gaze around the interior, he remembered the hard work that went into Grimm’s. When he bought the property it was a wreck inside, but the bones of the building were solid. With the help of his close friends, they turned it into a place he was proud of.

  The bar ran along the left side of the long room, ending at the hall leading to the bathrooms, office, and stockroom toward the back. Mismatched bar stools lined the old, wooden bar counter. He thought about polishing it, but somehow the rustic look appealed to him. And, it seemed, to others as well.

  Round wooden tables filled most of the space, sturdy wooden chairs circling each one. The walls held little adornment. He figured people came to Grimm’s to drink and socialize, not look at decorations. The sound of clinking bottles against glass caused him to turn to his right, watching as his two bartenders worked efficiently, filling orders as the three waitresses hustled to keep up with the demand. Laughter filled the room, mixed with the music from the jukebox.

  Lynn, one of the servers, passed him, her fingers linked through multiple long-neck beer bottles, smiling her greeting. A young mother, she worked evenings while her husband watched the kids. She was a hard worker, though her smile gained her extra tips. Zander made sure his servers dressed in jeans and t-shirts, nothing too revealing. He was not desperate enough for money to use sex to sell drinks and was determined to keep the assholes who wanted to hit on waitresses out of his bar.

  Catching Joe’s eye, one of the bartenders, he lifted his brow in silent question, gaining a quick nod, letting him know everything was under control.

  “God, you still look like a grumpy bugger.”

  The words paired with a clap on the shoulder had him quickly turning around, his gaze landing on a tall man standing behind him. “Rafe! Good to see you, man. When did you get back?”

  “Got in this morning. Figured I’d come here first and see you.”

  The two men hugged, fists thumping each other’s backs. Pulling away, Zander stared into the face of his best friend. He did not have to look around the room to know every woman’s eyes were pinned on him. Rafe had always been blessed with good looks. Pair that with the serious bodybuilding he had worked on while in the Army, the boyish charm that seemed to come naturally to him and Zander knew women flung themselves at him.

  “What?” Rafe asked, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re staring at me as though trying to figure me out.”

  “Nah, just wondering why you haven’t got some groupie hanging on your arm—ow! Hell, man. You don’t gotta punch me,” Zander groused, rubbing his shoulder.

  Rafe laughed, drawing more glances his way and ignoring them, as usual. Sliding his gaze over the bar, he said, “Place looks really good. Damn, business is good too. You got people in here drinking and dancing and spending their money.”

  A jukebox stood in the corner, the music blaring for a group dancing in the back. Scowling, Zander recalled how he had initially balked at purchasing the contraption, but Rafe had insisted people wanted music in a bar.

  “Yeah, maybe too good,” he grumbled.

  “Oh, come on, Zander. This is great. You’re doing what you like and making money at the same time.”

  “And you’re not?” Zander watched as a speck of doubt flew through Rafe’s eyes, quickly replaced by the ever-present twinkle.

  “Sure. What’s not to love about having my picture taken and getting paid ridiculous sums of money for it?”

  “Ever sorry you did that calendar?” Once more, Zander watched the twinkle dim in Rafe’s eyes, this time lasting longer. Two years ago, the Hunks in the Army Calendar featured Rafe as July and as soon as he was discharged modeling contracts rolled in.

  Shrugging, he replied, “Nah. Listen, I’m beat from my flight. I’m checking into the hotel—”

  “Like hell you are. You still got the keys, so go crash at my place.”

  “I didn’t want to impose in case you were with someone.”

  Now it was Zander’s turn to throw his fists onto his hips, a glower on his face. “First of all, if I was with someone, don’t you think you’d know it? Secondly, I sure as hell don’t have time to date and God kno
ws, I’m not hooking up with someone I meet here. Fuck, man. Just head to the apartment and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With another back-slapping hug, Zander watched as Rafe weaved through the crowd toward the door. Seeing Zeke, his bouncer, open the door to let Rafe out, he walked past the bar. He inwardly smiled at the sight of the huge, antique pub mirror and cabinet on the wall behind the counter. When he and his friends had first entered the dirty, ramshackle building, his gaze was immediately drawn to the wall behind the bar. While the actual building was falling apart, it held a full length, floor to ceiling, wooden pub cabinet, with a massive mirror, still intact. Running his hand over the dusty oak, he knew the antique alone was worth the price of the building.

  Making his way to the door, he greeted Zeke. “How’s it going?”

  “Good, good, boss. Crowds are pouring in. I’ve got Roscoe keeping an eye on the numbers so the fire marshall ain’t got no reason to complain.”

  “See any potential problems?”

  “Nah, not so far. Roscoe’s in the back, but reported all’s good.”

  “Thanks.” With a chin lift, he made his way back to the bar. Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick group text. Rafe’s in. Meet tomorrow on schedule. 11am. Hitting send, he allowed himself a small smile, thinking of tomorrow’s activity. A body slammed into the back of him, immediately wiping the smile off his face.

  Turning, he glared as a young man, eyes slightly glassy, mumbled, “Sorry, dude.”

  Dude? Seriously?

  “Not your dude, man. I’m the owner and guess who just decided you’ve had enough.” Looking up, he called out, “Roscoe!”

  A large, dark-skin man hustled over, a huge smile on his face. Looking at the young man attempting—and failing—to match Zander’s glower, he placed his hand on his shoulder. “Time for this one to go, Mr. King?”

  Nodding, Zander ordered, “Show him the door, but call a cab.”

  Roscoe’s fingers dug into the young man’s shoulder as he maneuvered him toward the door, his phone already at his ear with a cab company on speed dial. Watching to make sure the man was not causing a problem, he walked behind the bar. Seeing Charlene serving drinks with flair, her t-shirt skin tight, he rolled his eyes.

  “You servin’ drinks or being the show?”

  “Aw, boss. You know a girl’s got to get her tips where she can,” Charlene laughed.

  “Just make sure you let us know if anyone gives you a problem.”

  Winking, she finished pouring tequila shots for one of the servers, and said, “Got it covered, but thanks.”

  Hearing a rousing cheer go up from the back, he looked over to see the cause. Bachelor party. Fucking hell. Bunch of idiots, taking out a man before his wedding, and plying him with liquor and tales of the ball and chain.

  “You okay, Zander?” Joe asked, a grin curving his lips. “You look even more sour than usual.”

  “You wanna keep this job?” Zander shot back, only barely kidding.

  Joe chuckled, shaking his head. Tossing a bottle in the air before pouring the contents into three glasses to the cheers of the crowd around him, he replied, “Admit it. You need me to keep ‘em coming back.”

  From the looks the women were shooting at the hotshot bartender, Zander knew Joe wasn’t entirely off the mark with that comment. Blowing out a deep breath, he moved back to the stockroom, escaping the crowd and the noise.

  Zander lay in bed scrubbing his hand over his face, having just looked at the clock. Three a.m. When the bar closed, the crew cleaned while he counted the till before locking the money into the safe, seeing everyone out, and setting the security. His apartment was only a ten-minute drive and he was home by two o’clock. With the second bedroom door shut, he assumed Rafe was sound asleep. Showering, he had climbed into bed a few minutes later, only to lay there, his mind on the past.

  Rolling over, he punched his pillow a few times before forcing his mind to clear. Giving up on sleep, he sat up and leaned against the headboard after turning on the lamp on the nightstand. Opening the book lying on top of the pile, he began to read, his mind taking flight with the words.

  An hour later, he turned out the light, willing sleep to come. Memories of childhood stories full of princes, kingdoms, fairies, and princesses came to mind. Sighing heavily, he knew there was no such thing as a happily-ever-after in real life.

  3

  Zander drove down the street, the homes on either side seeming much smaller than when he was younger.

  “Looks different, doesn’t it?” Rafe asked from the passenger seat, his face turned toward his window. “I know you’ve been around often, but I haven’t been back since last year. Some of the houses look a little better than they used to.”

  “Some of them have been bought by younger couples trying to do the house-flip shit that’s on TV. You know, buy a run-down house, put a fuck-ton of money into it, and hope to sell it for a profit.”

  “Well, they look pretty good.”

  Turning at the next corner, Zander noticed Rafe lean forward, his gaze now focused on the house at the end of the street. Quiet, neither spoke for a moment, the comfortable silence passing between them.

  “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t ended up here?” Rafe asked, his voice strangely hoarse.

  “Every damn day,” he replied. Pulling to a stop on the street, he parked his truck, but neither made a move to get out.

  “She saved my life.”

  Zander shot a glance at Rafe, wondering what was going through his mind, but did not ask. If he wanted to talk, he would. “I reckon she saved all our lives.”

  With that, he opened his door, the gift in his hand, meeting Rafe on the sidewalk. A roar of motorcycles came down the street, halting behind them, and they watched as Jayden and Jaxon climbed off. The two pulled off their helmets in sync, shaking out their dark hair, hooking them on the handlebars before turning their wide smiles toward the house. When they moved as one like that, it was hard to remember that they weren’t identical twins. Greeting the twins, Zander and Rafe moved forward, hugging the pair.

  An SUV was the last to arrive, Cael at the wheel and Asher in the passenger seat. Asher slid out first in the lithe way of his, followed by Cael, the sun catching on his light hair. Both stopped and stared at the house as well. More greetings filled the air before the six of them moved to the front door of the house.

  They made the trip every year, sometimes joined by a few of the other boys Miss Ethel raised in the large home she opened whenever social services called. But this year it was just them, all having been taken in at about the same time that came to remember.

  Using his key, Zander opened the door and stepped in, immediately greeted with the smell of Miss Ethel’s rosewater perfume, the gentle scent having permeated the walls. Walking into the front hall, the others at his back, he stopped, assaulted by the memories. Miss Ethel greeting them after school with a platter of homemade cookies, dinner around the old, wooden table in the dining room, always finding room for another chair whenever their ranks increased with a visit from another social worker. When times were lean, they had soup and sandwiches. Other times, she would cook a large chicken or roast. When the kitchen was filled with the scent of pies or cookies baking the boys knew afterschool snacks would be a treat. All served with love.

  Some boys stayed a few weeks, some for longer. And then some, like Zander, stayed until they were eighteen.

  Walking past the dining room on the right, he turned toward the living room, once more his mind filled with memories…the holiday decorations and the tree she would have in the corner.

  “Well, my goodness, boys. Come in, come in,” came the call from the corner chair, next to the floor lamp. Knitting needles now resting on her footstool, Miss Ethel pushed herself upright as Zander hurried to assist.

  “Miss Ethel, you know we’d never forget your birthday,” he assured her, moving in for a hug, feeling her feeble hands pat his back. “We haven’t missed one ye
t, have we?”

  Stepping back to allow the others their chance with her, he stood to the side, watching the annual tradition unfold. Her hair, still in its bun, was now snow white. Cael, last to greet her, assisted her back into her chair and she adjusted her wire-framed glasses after wiping her eyes.

  “Sit, sit,” she ordered with a smile. “It hurts my neck to look so high up to see your faces. I never get over seeing what good-looking men my boys turned out to be.”

  Zander sat on the end of the worn, but clean, sofa, Rafe and Cael settling next to him. Jaxon and Jayden headed to the dining room to bring in two more chairs while Asher took the wing-back chair matching the one Miss Ethel used.

  “So, tell me all,” she said, clasping her wrinkled hands in her lap. Not waiting for one of them to speak, she turned to Rafe. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of months. Are you still a hot-shot model?”

  The others laughed as Rafe blushed bright red and dropped his chin, shaking his head. “Yes, ma’am.” Shrugging, he said, “It pays the bills and I figure I’ll do something else when this gets old.”

  Holding his gaze with her watery, blue eyes, she nodded. “I have a feeling it’ll get old before too long. But you’ll know when the time is right.” Looking over at Cael, she said, “How’s your family?”

  One of the few boys with a family outside their group, Cael had been reunited with his sister, who was now married and with a little girl of her own. He had enthusiastically welcomed being an uncle. Grinning, he said, “Family’s good, Miss Ethel. My niece is a whirl of motion and I can see why you only took boys. She’s got so many dolls and fairy costumes and, even though she’s only six, play makeup.”

  Clapping her hands, Miss Ethel cackled. “Oh, I would have loved taking in little girls as well, but I never wanted to have both. So, when boys started being brought to me, I decided that I would just keep boys.” Settling back in her chair, she said, “I remember every boy ever brought to me, including the ones who did not get to stay long.”