It’s amazing that thing your body does when shit hits the fan. I was exhausted at eleven this morning, barely able to think straight, ready to fall into bed and sleep for days. Then I saw those kids and Dillon—and his complete shift in character. I watched him transition in less than five minutes from a man-child playing games with his friends, into a solidly determined, responsible adult, ready and willing to set aside his own comfort and convenience for the sake of his niece and nephews.

My brain and my body switched on, flooding me with energy and purpose. The fatigue evaporated. I found my center.

“Where are we going?” Joey asks, sitting in the back seat by the window with Chrissy beside him, holding his hand.

“To my house,” Dillon says, turning in his seat to face the kids. “You’re staying with me for a while. I’m really glad about it too.”

I watch in the rear-view mirror as Chrissy meets Dillon’s eyes with hers. Her expression is difficult to read, but if I had to guess I’d say she’s trying to gauge the sincerity in his statement.

Jordan sits sullen on the other side of his sister, his shoulders drawn as far away from his siblings as he can, his eyes cast out the window. These kids have been through some trauma that neither Dillon or I know the depths of yet. Their eyes are frightened. They don’t have the capacity to smile. Their forms are the bodies of children, but their faces appear like the faces of old people.

I saw hollow, frightened children like these in war zones when I was in the Middle East. It’s rare to see such trauma here at home.

When we arrive at Dillon’s place, we’re greeted by Ginny and Carrie who’ve obviously been busy. The house smells like freshly baked cookies, and all the windows and blinds are open, letting in fresh air and sunlight.

They’ve been shopping. The refrigerator and pantry are stocked with food, including fresh fruit, juice, and milk, along with kid-friendly things like hot dogs and chicken tenders. There’s breakfast cereal, bacon and eggs, pancake mix, and plenty of fresh vegetables.

Carrie shows us all around. They’ve moved some stuff out to the garage to make room for an air mattress in one room where Chrissy and Joey will stay until Dillon can organize a better arrangement. Jordan’s room is the guest room. The girls have fixed it up with Star Wars bed sheets and comforter. They’ve bought the kids some new clothes, toothbrushes, shampoo and soap. They’ve thought of almost everything, and made the house ready for its occupants, including getting dinner going in the form of a couple of grocery store pizzas ready to slide into the oven.

“Who doesn’t like pizza?” Carrie asks the kids, her expression bright.

Even Jordan seems intrigued, despite his best attempt at appearing disinterested. Chrissy and Joey eat like starved animals, shoving pizza into their mouths, barely chewing.

“Slow down kiddos,” Dillon suggests, surveying his new brood. “There’s more where this came from. Enough for everyone. Try to chew.”

After dinner, Ginny and Carrie tell the kids goodbye, hugging them, getting very little in return. Jordan, especially, stiffens, tolerating the contact, an expression on his face like he’s waiting for a blow to land. Chrissy stands stiff, staring straight ahead. Only Joey seems to respond, his small hand rising to touch Ginny’s arm when she drops down to her knees, wrapping her embrace around his small, frail shoulders.

Watching them, Dillon’s expression is grave.

“Thank you for everything,” he says, walking the girls to the door. “I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

Ginny grins, laying her hand on Dillon’s shoulder. “We’re not done,” she says. “Tomorrow we’re going to Bristol to visit a few furniture stores. How do you feel about a bunk bed for Chrissy and Joey? You need kids’ furniture. And they all need some new shoes too.”

Dillon seems dazed. “Yeah. Okay,” he says.

“We’ll pick you all up around noon tomorrow. Will that work?”

He nods. “Sure.”

Carrie hugs him tightly. “Try to get Joey to bed by eight,” she urges. “Chrissy and Jordan an hour or so later. Not too much T.V. Maybe read to them if they feel like it. We picked up some kid’s books and put them in their rooms. We can get more later.”

When they’re gone, Dillon and I take a breath together for the first time all day. His eyes meet mine wide with wonder.

“Wow,” Dillon whispers. “Just… wow.”

The kids are huddled in the living room in front of the television, slightly comatose from a huge meal. They’re quiet, watching something on a kid’s cable channel I’m sure Dillon didn’t even know he had.

“You’re going to have to figure out the parental controls on the remote,” I observe, peering in at them. “Don’t want anyone stumbling across Game of Thrones or any of the other stuff you like to watch.”

He nods, genuinely smiling. “Yeah,” he observes. “This is weird. But… it’s okay.”

Exhaustion returns hours later, after we’ve gotten the kids changed into their pjs, their teeth brushed, faces washed, read to them for a few minutes, then gotten them settled into bed. Carrie and Ginny had the forethought to get night lights for the kids’ rooms; none of them want to sleep in the dark.

Jordan is the last to close his eyes for the night, curled up under his Star Wars comforter in the twilight of his quiet room behind a door left open, per his request. When the house finally falls silent, Dillon and I crash on the sofa in the living room and catch our breath.

I pull Dillon’s feet up to my lap, gently massaging his pads and pulling his toes.

“You okay?” I ask.

Dillon nods, his expression slightly stunned. “Yeah,” he replies. “When I got up this morning, this isn’t exactly how I thought my day was going to go.”

“Me neither,” I reply. “But in the scheme of things, it could have been a whole lot worse.”

Dillon sighs, “Oh yeah?” he asks. “How do you figure?”

Do I really even need to go there? My expression betrays me.

“Okay, you’re right. The meth lab didn’t blow up,” he says. “My sister, who’s a raging lunatic, didn’t die or get her kids killed. And they’re safe now. All of them. Even Kimmie.”

I nod. “That’s right.”

“And you’re here with me,” Dillon adds.

Yeah. There’s that. “Is that okay?”

Dillon sits forward, coming to me. He slips both hands around the back of my neck, pressing our foreheads together.

“Better than okay,” he whispers, eyes closed. His skin is hot to the touch. Still, his touch is like a drug to me; it’s exquisite.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” I say, my voice low and calm. “We can’t let all this….” I say, gesturing to the three children asleep in the bedrooms down the hall, “Bulldoze everything we need to talk about.”

He nods, gently pressing his lips to mine in a sweet kiss. “I know. It’s important,” he agrees. “Let’s get a shower. We could both use one. We’ll talk in bed if I can keep my eyes open long enough.”

Under the heat of fast running water, days’ worth of filth and fatigue slip from my body. I stand still, letting the flow cleanse me, laying down a layer of soap, then allowing it to glide down the drain. My mind drifts, finding calm. I allow myself to let go of my worries about Dillon, the injured people I encountered early this morning in the rain, and free of tomorrow’s concerns for these three little children whose lives have been turned upside down.

“Can I come in with you?”

I open my eyes, blinking back the sting of soap. Dillon stands on the other sides of the shower door, naked, beautiful, every bit as exhausted as I am.

“Please,” I say, opening the door to admit him, allowing a billow of steam and spray to escape.

We trade places. I lather up a wash cloth while he soaks, then begin gently massaging it into him, working from his face down to his neck and shoulders. I rub cleansing circles into his open pores and wash the angst from his skin.

On any other day, it would be impossible to be this close to Dillon, to feel him tremble beneath my fingers to see his beautiful form and not want to possess it. I’d take his cock in my soapy hands and stroke gently until he’s hard, then fall to my knees and take him in my mouth, caressing him with lips and tongue, lifting his balls in my probing fingers until he begged for mercy.

Tonight, I just want to be close without going there. We’re both too tired and far too preoccupied with bigger issues. Maybe I even want to prove something to myself; that what I feel for Dillon is about far more than just sex. Yes, he’s sexy. He makes me feel sexy. He does things to me that no one has ever even approached. But there’s more to it than that. I caught a glimpse of it today when he stood down the woman from Child Protective Services. I saw the person I love emerge. I saw his loyalty, his inner strength, and his innate comprehension of ‘the right thing to do’ rise fearlessly from behind a façade of carefree irresponsibility.

Dillon allows me to wash him in silence. I wash his hair and rinse it while he stands back passively. When I’m done, I shut the water off and wrap the towel around him to dry him off while he observes me without words.

“Go get some boxers on,” I say, speaking for the first time. “And bring me a pair. We may have to get up for the kids in the middle of the night, and we don’t want to give young, impressionable minds an unexpected show.”

He nods, amused, though his eyes hood heavy with fatigue. Then he leans toward me, pressing his lips to mine.

“Thank you,” he whispers, gently nipping my lower lip. “Thank you for being here and being this way.”

Dillon Manning is getting sappy. Someone please make a note of it.

In bed together, with the nightstand lamp still on, the sheets and blanket pulled up to our chests against the chill of the air conditioning, Dillon props up on an elbow to face me.

“I wonder how long this is going to last,” he observes, posing it as a statement, more than a question. “Having the kids here, I mean.”

“I dunno,” I say, speaking softly. “As long as it takes. Your sister’s in no shape to get them back anytime soon, even if she gets bailed out.”

He nods. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t have a clue how any of this works.”

“You need to get an attorney,” I tell him.

Dillon’s brow furrows. “Why do I need an attorney?”

He really is clueless. “Because you’re just the temporary guardian while Kimmie’s in jail. If she does get bailed out, or even worse, if her husband gets out on bail, either one of them can claim them and take them back.”

My statement strikes him like a blow. “There’s no fucking way I’ll ever let Darryl Schmidt near them again,” he states flatly. “That’s not happening.”

“That’s why you need legal custody,” I say. “That’s why you need a lawyer.”

“Monday,” Dillon says. “I’ll call Fox Lee on Monday and get a referral.”

He raises his hand, resting it on my chest, his eyes meeting mine. “I want you to know some stuff,” Dillon begins. “What I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m listening,” I say.

“I don’t have any practice being part of a couple. Not a real couple, with promises and commitments and all that. I’ve avoided letting myself go there, because I’m scared. I’ve been a coward. I’ve kept you at bay because it scares me just how much I feel for you, and how different it is from anything I’ve ever felt before. I haven’t known what to do with it,” he says. “But I know now. I want to be with you. I want to make this work. I wasn’t lying today when I said you were the best thing that ever happened to me. That’s the truth, from the bottom of my heart.”

That’s quite the turn-around. “What changed?” I ask. “Is it because of the kids?”

Dillon shakes his head. “No. I was going to tell you all this, this morning. It has nothing to do with the kids, except…” he pauses, lingering on a puzzle unspoken.

“Except?” I ask.

Dillon takes a deep breath, holding the air, then letting it out slowly.

“Except now… Well… if you want to be with me, I guess now I come with some extra baggage neither of us counted on. This thing with the kids, it’s not going away anytime soon. If you want me, you get them too.”

“The kids aren’t baggage,” I say. “They’re a challenge, but a worthy one.”

I roll on my side, facing him. “I need to know what changed your mind,” I say. “I need to understand.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I missed you. I had a lot of time to think about everything you said. I had a lot of time to think about what I would miss if you weren’t in my life. And a good friend reminded me of some stuff—that life is short and I’d regret not taking a risk.”

Gil. He talked to Gil about us.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t know whether to be happy or angry or just what, but I have to know the answer to the question that’s been eating me alive for a week, so I just throw it out there.

“Are you still in love with Gil?”

Dillon blinks, astonished. His face stiffens a little. I can see his wheels spinning as he tries to process a response. It’s taking him too long…

Just then, at the foot of the bed, I hear a faint whimper. Dillon and I both sit up to see what it is.

Joey stands three feet from the end of the bed, his hair rumpled, his eyes red and damp. He’s crying.

“Hey Joey, what are you doing up?” Dillon croons, rolling out of bed.

“Where am I?” he asks through streaming tears. “I want Mama. I want Teddy. I can’t find Teddy.”

His Teddy bear, certainly contaminated with toxins, must have been left behind when the police took him out of the trailer.

“I’ll get you a new Teddy,” Dillon promises, scooping the boy up in his arms. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

This information sends Joey into a jag of tears, wailing with fear and confusion.

“I’m scared in there,” he says. “Not my house. Not my house!”

“Dillon, bring him to bed,” I say, getting to my knees, reaching for Joey. “He needs to sleep here tonight.”