by Dani Wyatt
“Gosh, I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe it. Thank you. I don’t know how you did it but, thank you.”
I even go so far as to walk over to where Jeremy is sitting and give him a quick side hug.
Because the truth is I am thankful. There are few things I wouldn’t do for my brother. As I hug Jeremy I realize even after all these years, he feels a bit foreign to me. He’s like that uncle you know you should like, but there’s an underlying creep factor that seizes you up when you get close.
Jeremy’s arms dart up my back, pulling me into him before I can retreat. His face is buried in my chest, and he takes a long, deep breath as he smashes his nose into my boobs.
I give myself a quick, silent lecture about being grateful. Jeremy has been here for me, and now he’s trying to be there for Jordan. That is the number one priority in my life, and I will do anything to convince the court that I am the best person for him.
Still I can’t help but into marble as his arms clutch around me. That’s all I am—a bent over statue unable to decide if standing up or letting him continue to make my boob his new face pillow is the right move.
I pray that this awkward moment will end in the next three seconds.
My silent prayer is answered when Jeremy shifts his head because he’s unable to breathe, and I take the opportunity to pull away.
“Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair-club hair and gives me a smile. “So, he should not be here.” Jeremy nods toward Bruce.
“I can heeeeear you.” Bruce does not hide his rightful annoyance. But, I give him a pleading look, and he rolls his eyes. “Fine. I need some air. Some far-away-from-here kind of air.”
Bruce grabs his coat off the back of the chair next to Jeremy and then leans down, his mouth inches from Jeremy’s ear.
“Bye.” Bruce hits the “B” in a loud, stage-worthy voice. Jeremy jumps, and I almost bust out a laugh.
“Bye.” Jeremy shifts, trying to salvage some of his pride.
Bruce sticks his tongue out at me on his way to the door, then just as quickly gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze “Good luck.” His last words as he saunters out the door are more imbued with pity than I would like.
“Okay. So, aren’t you excited?” Jeremy asks once Bruce is out the door.
“Of course. Does this mean things might be looking up for me?”
“Well, let’s just say with the right moves, things could start leaning our way.”
He puts a little too much emphasis on the word “our.”
“You never went to that lawyer, did you?” Jeremy starts clicking his nails on the tabletop again.
“No, you told me not to.” Lying is a mandatory skill when you grow up in the system and, good or bad, I excel at it.
“Good. Because if you did, it would not work in your favor. Lydia would interpret that as aggressive.”
Lydia Sewell is the Nurse Ratchett of the Southeast Office of Child Protective Services for the City of Cleveland.
A cold sweat covers my arms and back at the sound of her name. I remember her from when I was six. Her box-cropped hair looked as though she’d hacked it off with a pair of medieval sheep sheers, adding to that the wardrobe of a female guard from a Russian Gulag.
And, she hated me.
She was my first social worker. I had the pleasure of meeting her four days after my mom went out on another one of her “dates,” the great State of Ohio having decided that leaving a six-year-old in charge of a ten-month-old for two days did not meet the minimum guidelines of parental responsibility.
Now, she holds the key to everything that means anything in my life.
Everything? Did that change today? Is there possibly something else that means something to me now?
“Listen.” Jeremy pushes up with a sigh and stands.
“What?” My hands are sticky as he reaches down and grabs one and gives me a sympathetic tilt of his head.
“Just follow my lead, okay? When they get here, just . . .” He’s staring at the top of my head before he licks his lips. “Just consider that I may be something more to you than I’ve been in the past. ”
Before I can even process whatever his unsettling insinuation might be, there is a knock at the door, and I feel like my feet are no longer touching the ground.
It’s been twenty-six days since they let me see Jordan. It feels like twenty-six years.
I barely notice that Jeremy has my hand in his as he steps forward, his free hand on the door knob.
I image Lydia looking me up and down like she always does, and I am suddenly acutely aware that my socks don’t match.
I have tunnel vision. The door opens, and I see the familiar, utilitarian, black shoes. The next moment, I hear my favorite noise.
If a treasure chest full of gold and diamonds could have a sound, this would be it.
“Promise!” A flash of Jordan’s blond hair is the only thing I catch before he practically runs me over, and my cheeks immediately hurt from the spasm of muscles causing a smile that closes my eyes.
“Hey, crazy.” My voice is already breaking, I have to fight to swallow the lump lodged in my throat.
Every part of me is alive. Like the kind of alive people describe just before they die. I get that every time he hugs me.
My fingers are shaking as I graze them over the sides of his head, down to his cheeks. His hair needs to be cut, and there’s a scratch on his forehead.
“You grew another three inches, I think. You’re going to be taller than me by next week.”
“You’re not that tall.” He leans back and takes his hand from the top of his head and moves it toward mine, measuring us.
“Yes, but I’m also not eleven years old.” I can’t stop smiling; he’s so beautiful.
The glow is still on my cheeks when Lydia clears her throat.
“Did you tell her?” Her Gulag voice can’t ruin my moment.
“Tell me what?” My eyes dart from Lydia to Jeremy even as I pull Jordan closer.
Lydia stares down Jeremy, then turns and pushes the door closed with her man-hand.
My eyes are full moons, waiting for whatever is coming.
“What? What are you supposed to tell me?” I’m suddenly the mother bear with her cub, working Jordan behind me.
Jeremy opens his mouth to speak, and I feel the vacuum of silence that engulfs me.
A loud bang on the door lifts my feet off the floor with a yelp.
Jeremy’s standing closest to the door and he reaches for the knob with an air of propriety that annoys me, but I’m in no condition to correct him.
The door doesn’t need to be open more than a few inches before I know who it is. My eyes only need a split second.
My mind spins.
My body heats.
Just like in the shower.
“Hi.” Beckett’s voice fills my ears, deep but questioning. I gulp a mouthful of air as his face comes into view through the opening in the door.
I have Jordan shielded behind me with one of my arms curling around to cage him there. He peeks over my shoulder, and I feel the energy in the room spark.
“Hi.” It’s all I can say. My mouth has forgotten how to form other words.
Jeremy opens the door wider with a glare as Beckett’s enormous form takes a step inside.
I can tell he’s assessing. He’s been in combat situations before.
That’s what this is, right? Combat?
“You forgot your phone in the Suburban.” Beckett’s lips are moving, and the words make sense, but he’s distracted, absorbing clues from the strange scene that has developed in the few minutes since he left this room.
Jeremy’s hand darts out to grab my phone.
“Thanks.” Jeremy’s voice is clipped as he attempts to close the door on Beckett.
Lydia is doing something with her mouth, and some clicking sounds are coming from her. Whatever they are, I don’t think they represent her approval.
“Don’t—.” Beckett�
�s hand flies around the edge of the door as Jeremy pushes it into his face.
His voice takes on a flat, deeper tone and Jeremy’s effort is no match for Beckett’s force. “What’s going on?” Beckett looks at me.
His eyes make my belly flip. He’s inside now, solidly inside, and no one seems to know where else to look except Beckett’s face.
“Nothing’s going on,” I say. I know he’ll hate my answer, but I don’t know what else to say.
Nothing. Everything is happening Beckett. Everything that means anything.
This is so far from nothing; the irony makes me burst out in a puff of painfully inappropriate laughter.
Jeremy shoots me a look and stuffs his hands down in his pockets. The look on his face tells me he is humiliatingly aware of his beta position next to Beckett.
“Hi. I’m Beckett.” He turns on the miracle-smile, the disarming, boyhood charm, and extends a hand to Lydia.
“Hello.” She forces something like a smile on her lips.
Yeah, he’s got that power. Don’t fight it. Trust me.
“We’re in the middle of something personal.” Jeremy clearly needs to step down because as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Beckett loses his smile, drops Lydia’s hand and spins to square off with Jeremy.
“Are we?” Beckett just went from Prince Charming to John Rambo. His voice and the way his neck is jerking have my stomach churning into a knot.
“Hi, I’m Jordan.” Jordan’s blond head pushes out from behind me, and his voice is so sweet, it’s daring me not to cry.
Even my mother-bear attempt to keep my brother behind me doesn’t work. Beckett’s shoulders don’t move but his head swivels, and I see the way his eyes move to me, then back to Jordan. There is no mistaking us for unrelated strangers.
Ivory hair, porcelain-doll skin. Jordan’s wide, dark chocolate eyes are the only stand out difference. Whoever his father was, I imagine him with the same deep, intense brown eyes as Jordan.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say, and I don’t know what it means.
“Hi. I’m Beckett.”
“Beckett’s a friend of mine.” I shift Jordan in front of me, presenting him instead of protecting him.
Jordan is staring up at Beckett, and I can see his look of awe and childlike wonder.
Beckett is not ordinary. He is striking in size, features, and presence, and he has taken over the room entirely.
“Beck . . .” I step forward even as Jeremy shuffles my way and darts his arm out like a barrier between us.
Beckett’s lips go tight, and his eyes marshal Jeremy back a step, the smaller man’s arm falling like a defeated noodle-sword at his side.
“This is Jordan—my brother.” I manage to say as my heart comes up into my throat.
“Nice to meet you, Jordan.” Beckett flashes his winning smile, and he’s just managed to give me cause to change my panties. .
“Are you a football player or something?”
“No.” Beckett shakes his head focusing completely on Jordan. His energy shifts, and I can see my brother is caught in his force field. I understand completely what he’s going through. “I’m an artist, actually.”
An artist?
“Huh.” Jordan is as caught off guard as I am.
“And a Navy SEAL. Or, I was. I am. I mean, I am.” His face is so beautiful, for a moment I forget the dangerously awkward situation I’m in.
“Wooooow. I want to be a SEAL. I studied all about SEAL’s in school. I watched a show about it.” Jordan’s excitement nearly brings me to tears. “You went through all that stuff they show? The two weeks of hell?” Jordan quickly looks toward Lydia’s disapproving stare. “I mean heck.”
Jordan’s eyes are enraptured, and I hear Jeremy’s defeated sigh.
“Promise.” Jeremy chastises me with my own name.
“Jordan, maybe you can talk to Beckett another time.” I step behind my brother and try to angle his shoulders away from his new best friend.
BFF
My heart is breaking into pieces that stab all my soft parts. It’s so obvious that Jordan needs someone like Beckett. Integrity and honor are not things you usually find in the pseudo-father figures of the foster care system.
“Can you please just give us a minute?” I’m pleading because I can see Lydia scribbling something in the thick, manila folder that had been stuck under her arm. “Just one minute?”
I blink several times waiting for Lydia because, at this moment, she is the gatekeeper to everything in my life that matters.
She stops the dang scribbling, squashes the folder between her body and her crossed arms. She wears her disappointment in all things me like a tiara.
Everything about her is gray. Clothes, eyes, skin, hair . . . lips.
Gulag Lydia gives me a flash of her lifeless eyes, and I take that as a yes only because I can’t stand the sour heaviness in the room.
I rest my hand on Beckett’s arm, trying to tell him a thousand things with that touch as I move out the door and into the hall, hoping he will follow.
He does, and he pulls the door shut behind him.
“Don’t ask me to leave.” He looks at me with such determination I freeze. “I don’t know what’s the fuck is going on, but you need me here. Whatever that is,” he jerks his head toward the closed door. “I can smell a fucking ambush.”
I fill my lungs with a slow breath and the hairs on my arms stand up because I know he’s right.
“Please, I should have told you. But the truth is, we haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other that well.”
“We will. I know what I need to know.”
“Jordan’s my brother. It’s a long story.” I shake my head. “But, I think you should go. That lady in there—”
Beckett leans down right next to my ear, and I can hear his smile as he whispers, “That’s no lady.”
Stop doing that.
I snort trying to hold back my laugh and slap his arm.
“Stop.” I shake my head.
His smile is like pixie dust that sends a tingle up from my feet, working magic on its way to my face.
Which is now a deep shade of chartreuse, I’m sure.
“Okay. Shhhh, listen.” He steps closer, and the warmth of his breath is not helping me maintain a reasonable sense of the moment. My hands go up to rest on his chest, trying in vain to push him away. The instant I feel his heart beat under my palms, the only thing I can think of is the way he looked that first moment he moved inside of me.
“Something is wrong in there. I told you, I have a sixth sense. The Kung Fu is strong with me.”
Stop smiling.
“Promise.” Jeremy’s annoyed voice comes through the closed door, and I fight to break Beckett’s spell.
“I can’t tell you everything right now, but I will. For now, though, you have to go. Please, if you care about me, you’ll go. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, okay? I’m fighting for my life here. Please.”
I’m pleading, and Beckett’s eyes don’t leave my face. I can see him making a thousand decisions in that solitary moment, and I pray he listens.
Beckett lets out a sigh and lays his hands on my shoulders, brushing his thumbs on my neck, and I want to disappear with him.
“Six AM. I’ll be standing right here at six fucking AM, and you will be doing a lot of talking.”
His hands move from my shoulders, brushing upward onto my neck. They are enormous, and for a moment, I remember just how dangerous he can be.
Before that thought can go any further, his lips are on mine, and my body ignites. That sheen of sweat covers me again, and his mouth is as close to heaven as I can imagine.
His tongue presses between my lips tangling with mine. Just when I forget for a second my predicament, he pulls back, his tongue brushes, no, grazes, over my bottom lip, his teeth give me a quick bite, and then he’s done.
“Six fucking AM.” His hand is on the doorknob, and he pushes the door open
just enough for me to get in before he shuts it behind me. I swallow hard, trying to process the mixed bag of lust and fear he’s just elicited.
Jeremy is pissed.
Lydia is scribbling.
Jordan is smiling.
And, I’m dying.
Promise
I’m exhausted.
Shattered.
The acrylic paint is still drying on my fingertips, smeared on my t-shirt and all I can think of is it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.
One hour with Jordan is not enough.
They’d peeled my crying brother off of me from where we’d been working on our painting in my bedroom. The last thing I’d heard was his my name as Lydia pulled him out the apartment door.
Every time he leaves, it’s this. A sucking black hole where all the horror of my life lives. It comes back and drapes over me until I can’t breathe, and I am thankful there are no weapons within reach.
Jeremy’s arms are around me, and I don’t care. Right now, I would do anything to never have to go through this again.
To never put Jordan through this again.
“Hey. It’s okay.” Jeremy kisses the top of my head, and I fight to get a breath in through the sobs. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
“I have to get him. I don’t know if I can live if I don’t.”
“We’ll do everything we can. Together, okay?” He pushes me back to look down into my face.
He’s not so bad.
I keep telling myself that like I’m trying to convince someone.
He got Lydia to bring Jordan. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.
“I know she wasn’t happy.” I say, and we both know who I’m talking about.
“No, that little visit from that guy wasn’t good for your cause. You can’t have men in and out of your apartment like a revolving door. That looks bad.”
Revolving door? I haven’t even been on a date in three years.
“He’s a good guy.”
Jeremy tenses his fingers on the tops of my arms.
“Just do what I tell you to do, okay? I know the system. I know people. I care about you. Haven’t I shown you that? I care about Jordan, too. I could be part of his life.”
I’m too tired to think about what that means. I know my past gives the court a reason to pause when considering awarding me Jordan, but I’ve changed. The things I did when I was younger shouldn’t haunt me forever.