I’ve got a serious sweat going, and every muscle in my body feels like it’s burning, even the ones that I haven’t worked out. The physical therapist—a flamboyant and over-excitable guy by the name of Russel—has pushed me to the brink of my mental and physical capabilities and then shoved me over the edge.
Seriously, this guy doesn’t know the meaning of stop, or ouch, or holy crap I’m going to die. Nope.
“You’re such a baby.” Russel laughs as he helps me with my physical therapy, and as I go to grab the arm of my chair, he slaps my hand away. “No way, snookums. I’m gonna get some steps out of you today.”
If it hadn’t been for the fact that I know Russel, given that he was the go-to physical therapist for our team and I’ve seen him several times before, I may have punched him right now for calling me fucking snookums. “Can you stop with the cutesy names, please?” I groan as I try to concentrate on taking my first step.
Another layer of sweat builds up along my hairline and drips down my back as I use all my energy to lift my crippled leg off the ground and force it forward. I think I manage a distance of like four inches. But fuck it, four inches is four inches. That’s success in my book.
Russel jumps with glee, literally. He leaps in the air and claps his hands together, letting go of my arm in the process and nearly throwing me off balance. “Oh, balls,” he yelps as he grabs my arm and steadies me. I turn my head to glare at him, but he simply flashes me a bright smile and nods his head. “Let’s continue, shall we?”
Step two is easier, maybe because I’m fucking annoyed and agitated that he’s forcing me into all these weird positions during our session, and now he’s making me fucking walk. Don’t I get a break? Don’t I get some sympathy?
“I know you’re murdering me in your head,” Russel beams happily as we step out into the hallway.
“I’m actually wondering if you’re secretly some kind of dominatrix because seriously, you like to cause pain, don’t you?” I grumble as I begin to get into the flow, taking one step after another. Six steps and we’ve made it to the waiting room. Kace is there waiting for me, and he looks up, a massive grin growing on his face. He drops the magazine he’s reading to the side and stands up, holding his arms out and wriggling his fingers.
“Come on. You can do it,” Kace encourages in a baby voice.
I sneer at him. “Shut your whore mouth, Colt.”
There’s an old lady sitting in the corner reading a book, she looks up with a gasp, her reading glasses falling to the end of her nose as she glares across the room at me.
“He’s sorry,” Kace apologizes, narrowing his eyes at me in warning.
I turn to the old lady again. “No, I’m not,” I tell her, almost laughing when her face turns beet red. “This shit is fucking hard, I apologize for nothing that comes out of my mouth.”
“One more step. Come on, macho man,” Russel encourages, ignoring the old lady as she tosses the book onto the table and heads for the reception desk, no doubt to make a complaint. “If she leaves I’ll be in your debt forever. I swear her legs are hairier than yours,” Russel whispers, and I can’t help but laugh.
I force my body forward, pain rippling through every inch of me, and I swear it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. My muscles want to give up. My mind is ready to follow suit. But if I don’t do this, if I don’t push hard and get back to the physical state I was in before this shit happened, then I can’t get back on the team. And without the team, I’m nothing.
I need them.
It gives me purpose.
It gives me a reason to wake up every single day.
And if I’m being completely honest, it makes me feel good. I’m able to help people, be their hero, someone that kids can look up to and aspire to be one day rather than just being complacent with their lives.
I fought to be better than my past. I fight every single damn day to prove that I’m worthy of something more than life has offered me. This injury, it took me back to a place that I never thought I’d ever be again. It cast a shadow over me that I’d spent so long trying to chase away with bright lights and jokes and purpose. The drugs dragged me down, and I fucking hate myself for letting them do what they’ve done. I should be stronger. I should be able to fight against that shit and know the signs.
This pain I’m in right now is just temporary. I’ve fought back once, I’ll fight back again. This time it isn’t just for me. It’s for my team who need me, even when they tease that I’m only here for the jokes. I have to do this for my best friend, who gave me a chance when I was a cocky fucking punk. And I have to do this for Everly because I want to be worthy of her, I want to be better for her. She doesn’t deserve someone broken, who struggles with his demons and his past every day. She needs someone who has his shit together, who isn’t afraid to stand up and say yeah… that happened, but I fucking got through it.
That’s what true strength is.
“Fuck!” I scream as pain rushes through me so fierce I can’t stand it any longer as I take the last step. Kace rushes forward, holding me up as Russel runs back down the hallway and shoots out with my wheelchair, practically taking my legs out from underneath me as he races up behind me. My breathing is ragged and jumpy, so I lean forward trying to slow my racing heart. “Holy mother of fucking God!”
And on that note, the little old lady in her heels, clip-clops toward the door, opening it and looking at us over her shoulder before huffing loudly and walking out. The door swings shut behind her and Russel bursts out laughing.
“Thank you, Lord,” he praises, and I chuckle through panting breaths.
“You owe me now,” I laugh, pulling my body up straight in the chair.
Russel winks. “Next time I’ll make sure the massage gel is warm. Good work today, Luca.” He squeezes my shoulder, then he turns on his heel and struts off back down the hall.
Kace snorts out a laugh as he grabs the back of my wheelchair. “I was going to ask how it went…” he waves at the flustered receptionist, “… but now I’m not sure I want to know what you do in there with Russel.”
I screw up my nose as we head out the door and down the ramp, exhaustion taking over me.
“I’m proud of you,” Kace tells me a few moments later as he pulls the door to Lily’s car open and slides me up beside it, so I can maneuver myself into the passenger’s seat.
“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it is,” I murmur, my arms shaking with the effort, one almost giving way as I practically throw myself from the wheelchair, grabbing the handbrake of the car to help pull myself in the rest of the way.
Kace takes the wheelchair around to the trunk and folds it up and professionally maneuvers it, so it fits in Lily’s tiny car. We have to use hers because it’s a fucking mission in itself to get from a wheelchair into Kace’s ridiculously sized truck.
Kace takes his time, making his way around to the driver’s side, squeezing and folding his body into the tiny car. Lily’s bright yellow Suzuki Swift leaves something to be desired when it comes to space. With Kace and I both well over six foot, this isn’t exactly a car that’s made for us. We push the front seats back as far as they can go, which leaves no room for anyone in the back and allows Kace to drive without his knees up around his chin.
“So,” Kace starts as we pull out of the parking lot. “Lily said she’s throwing a girl’s night.”
I look over at him and raise my eyebrow in suspicion. “For what?”
He continues to stare directly at the road, I know he’s refusing to look at me, and I can see him fighting against the tug at the corner of his mouth. “To celebrate Everly joining the team,” he replies, trying to keep his tone casual. “I vote we crash it, and you can tell her all about today and how well you’re doing.”
I turn my body, so I’m looking out the window. “And why the hell would I want to do that? Have you noticed the way I’ve been avoiding her? Aren’t you keeping up, Sherlock?”
I don’t have to look at Kace to know that his face has transformed from smug to disappointed and irritated. “Why are you being such an asshole?”
Tensing up, I grit my teeth. “I guess it’s in my fucking genes,” I snap, swinging around to hit him with a hard glare. One he doesn’t even get the full impact of because he’s too busy watching the damn fucking road.
The tension in his shoulders seems to release a little. “This is about your mom?” he asks, his voice soft and calm.
I slam my palm against the dashboard and raise my eyes to the roof of the car.
He ignores my tantrum and continues, “I don’t get why you can’t just talk to me about it. I already know what happened. But what I don’t know is… how it’s impacting you. Or how you’re dealing with it. Because you shut down so goddamn easily.”
“She fucked up my childhood, Kace,” I hiss. “She didn’t give a shit about me. About whether I was looked after. Whether I had the things I needed to live a healthy life.” An ache forms in my chest, my hand unconsciously moving there, rubbing at my heart as though it might ease the pressure that’s building inside my chest.
“Yeah. She was a shit mom,” Kace agrees with a straight serious face. “But look at what you’ve become, and with no damn help from her. You should be proud of who you are now. You’re a damned sight stronger than half the fucking guys at The Agency and have a lot more heart than them, too. You didn’t let that shit define you.”
“No, I moved on, instead of letting it drown me. I used it as a stepping stone toward something better, and never looked back. But that’s it, man. I never fucking looked back, I never once tried to find her, even when I got on my feet in a place where I could have helped her. I did exactly what she did to me. I turned my back, and in my mind…” I point to my temple, “… that makes me just as fucking bad as her.”
Kace sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I think you’ve got this completely skewed view of reality.”
I huff out a breath. “It’s not skewed, man.” I feel the tension slowly releasing from my body. “I could have gone out looking for her, could have chased her down years ago. I could have made the fucking effort rather than just being so damn angry at myself and at her. You’re right, I wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t for her… and man, there’s no way I’d ever change where I am today.”
The sound of the car is the only thing filling the silence between us. Kace is right, he’s my best friend, and I kept all this shit from him. I don’t even really know why. I guess I feel like it could burden him in some kind of way to share my issues. Yet, I’ve willingly poured them out and onto Everly’s shoulders without a second thought, because I knew she would listen.
“My mom turned her life around,” I admit quietly. Kace sits a little straighter. If he were a dog, his fucking ears would have perked up. “She got married. Had more fucking kids… I have a little brother and sister… and the little boy…” I run my fingers through my hair, “… he’s just fucking like me.”
Kace laughs, a deep guttural laugh. I reach over and shove him in the arm, unable to keep from grinning. “Shut up, dude. He’s nine now, but in a couple years, fucking hell, there will be two of us in the world.” The joke settles both of our nerves, calming the serious tone a little. “But honestly, she sorted her life out. And if I’d gone looking for her, I could have been a part of that life. The one where she was the woman that I always imagined as a child, and that I wanted in a mom. I could have fucking had that. I could have had a relationship with my siblings. Maybe even got to know her husband.”
“What the hell is stopping you from doing that now?” Kace asks, his brows pulling together in confusion.
“You think they want a reminder that their mom had this horrid past, and did shitty things… like leaving their child in a hospital to fend for himself?” I ask him like I think he’s an idiot.
Kace suddenly slams his palm on the steering wheel and my body jolts back and forth as Kace slams on his breaks and swerves to the side of the road, barely missing the curb with his tires. “You’re a fucking idiot,” Kace murmurs, his voice unusually calm. “You’re bitching ‘cause you never did anything before to make an effort, you missed out on time with your mom. Now, you have a chance to make an effort with two kids who have your blood, and you’re like nah…wah, wah, wah, bitch, bitch, bitch, complain, complain, complain. Fuck me!”
I stare at him for a good half a minute as he huffs and puffs under his breath. His words sink in through my skin. I know they’re fucking true. I am being a sissy. “Shit man, tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?”
“Look, I get it. It’s scary. You can walk into a room with fifteen men armed with automatic rifles, but you can’t stand in front of two kids and tell them it would be cool if they’ll be your friends.” Kace basically sums it up completely.
Give me violence and danger any day, but put me in a situation where I might be rejected as a person… fuck.
My problems with Everly I guess, stem from this stupid part of my brain. Leave her before she leaves me. Skip the part where I’m thrown away again and don’t have to deal with how that would probably kill me.
“God, I hate it when you’re fucking right,” I growl, folding my arms across my chest and sink back into the Suzuki seats.
“Now we’ve established that I’m right… once again. What the hell are you gonna do about all this?” Kace asks, turning to face me as we sit in this stupid clown car in the middle of suburbia. He looks at his watch. “Lily said she’s out, so she’s not expecting us home for another few hours…” he allows his words to hang in the air. No doubt hoping that I will fill the pieces.
“Feel like going for a drive?” I ask quietly, pulling out my cell and searching for the address I need. I’ve been there once before, but my mind had been in a complete blackout for the whole drive, I don’t even know how I got there.
Kace grabs the steering wheel and grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”
We pull up outside the house, right on dusk, the sun disappearing behind the massive two-story home that’s made up of both gray wood cladding and brick accents, which gives it this soft, homely feel. The porch is cute and welcoming with one of those farm style swings and a painted white banister. I can imagine Dean standing right there in the morning as he waves Carter and Zoe off to catch the school bus, a cup of coffee resting in his hand.
“We ain’t gonna get the wheelchair in there,” Kace points out as we sit outside the home like two guys on a stakeout. I look over into the backseat to see the crutches Russel had given me at my last appointment. The same ones that I’ve refused to even look at. “Well, guess it’s a good time to test these babies out.”
Kace follows my gaze. “At least if you start using them, I won’t have to keep watching my toes when you’re around.”
I snort as I push the door open. “You deserve everything you get.”
“What’d my toes ever do to you?” he asks as he climbs out of the car and comes around my side, pulling the crutches out of the back seat.
“They’re attached to you, dickwad,” I jest, rolling my eyes as I take the crutches from him and spend the next five minutes trying to adjust the damn things. Okay, so that’s probably a little dramatic, but by the time I figure it out, I’m ready to throw them on the road and run them over.
Fuck Russel and his stupid shit!
“Come on, princess,” Kace taunts from just a few feet away, knowing I’m going to get up and go after him like a bull being teased with a red flag.
“I’d watch your mouth now I’ve got two large sticks in my hands, and I’m not against shoving them up your ass.”
Kace doesn’t even acknowledge the threat. “The curtains have been moving ever since we got here, so no doubt your surprise visit isn’t much of a surprise anymore.” I caught the movement myself, refusing to look up to acknowledge it. Instead, choosing to ignore my flight instinct and put all my effort into fighting with the damn crutches.
Now, though, the distraction is gone, and as I look up I catch a mess of golden locks bouncing away as the curtain falls back into place. The crutches make me feel unsteady at first, and I feel incredibly awkward. It’s going to take practice, but Russel is sure this is going to help me heal and give me back my movement much faster.
Kace walks behind me as I try to propel my body up the handful of steps that lead to the front door. Only once I feel myself falling backward, Kace catching me with a hand on my back and forcing me forward again. When I get to the front door, I tuck one of the crutches under my arm to support myself and knock hard, three times.
There’s some kind of commotion inside, rustling, scraping of chairs and maybe even a giggle. It’s a normal house, where kids spy through the curtains on their visitors and then make a dramatic run for it when they finally come to the door. There’s a pile of shoes in different styles and sizes tossed in a heap alongside an old welcome mat which seems to have greeted a lot of people over its time. These are all things I missed the last time I was here. My blinders had been on, I’d been angry, and on a path of destruction. I hadn’t seen the toys lying around, the family vibe the house had, and I certainly hadn’t felt the warmth that I feel when Dean opens the door this time.
He has a genuine smile on his face that has me almost leaning forward toward him, pulling me in. It’s obvious he isn’t surprised to see me. No doubt the two little minions have informed him of our arrival, thinking they were also being stealthy and secretive.
Oh geez, they’re just like me.
“Luca,” Dean greets happily. “Weren’t expecting to see you, but I’m pleased you came. Come on inside.” He steps to the side and holds out his arm, welcoming us into his home.
Kace touches my arm, and I turn to look at him. “You want me to wait outside?”
I frown and shake my head. “Hell, no,” I insist, tugging on his arm and pulling him forward.
I swallow my shit down and make my first step inside the house. “This is my best friend, Kace. Kace, this is Dean.”
Dean holds out his hand to Kace, and they shake firmly.
The place is warm and tidy, apart from a wagon with a few stray soft toys scattered as if it’s been dumped there in a hurry.
“I see you’ve had a bit of an accident since I saw you last,” Dean observes as he leads us through the entrance way and into a comfortable sitting room that houses an intricate stone fireplace. It looks like it’s only for decoration but still takes your breath away as the centerpiece of the room. “You guys want coffee… or something a little harder?”
“Harder,” I answer without missing a beat. I’m off my medication now, refusing to let that shit take over my mind any more. Molly’s herbal pain killers help, though there are still times where I want to cut my fucking leg off, but the pain never lasts long, and I know it won’t be like that forever. I just have to keep reminding myself it’s not worth it to ever put Everly in that position again. I’ve already hurt her enough.
“I’ll just have water,” Kace responds, as we both take a seat on a large brown leather chesterfield sofa that makes me feel like I’ve suddenly slipped a couple of decades into the past. And when Dean makes his way over to the wet bar in the corner of the room and pulls two short glasses from the shelf, it’s almost like I’m in some sixties mafia movie.
Dean has that look about him too. A pristine white dress shirt and black pinstriped slacks. While his shirt is pulled out and he has on mismatched socks, I can definitely see that during the day, he would look incredibly intimidating.
“What exactly do you do?” I find myself asking, realizing I have no fucking idea what it is that had gotten him this amazing home. Not to mention, I hadn’t missed the brand new red Tesla parked in front of the garage down the side of the house.
Dean fills three glasses with ice, adding water to one from a bottle out of his bar fridge and topping the other two with an almost half empty bottle of Glen Fiddich. My eyes widen because I can tell from the worn and faded label on the bottle it must have been made a long fucking time ago. I also know that bottles like this that were aged forty to fifty years could price anywhere between three thousand dollars and forty thousand dollars. It’s like drinking liquid fucking gold.
He walks over and hands Kace and me our drinks, which I cradle like a newborn baby, not willing to spill a damn drop, before returning for his own and taking a seat in the large leather armchair that matches the sofa we’re on.
“I’m a lawyer,” he answers simply, before taking a sip of his drink and licking the residue off his lips before swallowing.
“What kind of lawyer?” I inquire, narrowing my eyes at the simple answer as I raise my glass to my mouth.
Dean smiles as if he knew the question was coming, he knew I’d be too curious.
The malt liquid is smooth and rich as it travels down my throat, instantly making me feel warmer.
“I’m a public defender.” His response, mixed with the afterburn of the whiskey, has me coughing. I try to cover it, so I don’t look like a fucking pansy, but like when you try to stop a sneeze, it often makes it ten times worse.
Kace chuckles under his breath, and Dean simply grins at me, neither of them speaking, just waiting for me to get my shit together. “You um…” I clear my throat, trying to get my composure back, “… you fight for the criminals, huh?” I struggle to make it sound casual. I’m not accusing him of being the guy who gets rapists off their charges or anything, but I really don’t like it.
Dean shrugs. “I have morals, I have values, and I’m at a place in my life where I get to choose my cases and who I represent. But yeah, there was a time when I had to argue in favor of men who had beaten their wives, woman who had left their children in hot cars in the middle of summer, and just all around fucking assholes.”
My eyes widen slightly at the sound of him cursing. I hardly know the man, but there’s this vibe he carries which makes me think he isn’t the type to often swear and curse, especially given he’s now a single dad.
“This is an awfully nice house for a public defender,” Kace comments, his eyes roaming the room. It’s true. Public defenders aren’t exactly paid millions and they sometimes do the shittiest of jobs. They are like the porta potty cleaners of the courthouse.
“I guess you could say I was lucky to be raised to know the value of a dollar and learned early on about investments and real estate.”
“Why the fuck did you decide to work with criminals then?” I ask.
“I chose to give something back and fight for people who sometimes don’t have a voice. It’s not a glamorous job, but there are times when it can be incredibly rewarding. Like when you meet someone who’s an amazing person, but has just made some mistakes. Or when you represent someone who you know didn’t do the things they’re accused of, and you fight your damn ass off for them.”
The passion in his voice is unmistakable. He really does believe what he’s saying.
“Well… I can respect that.” I’m not sure what else to say. The man really does believe in what he’s doing and who am I to judge someone who feels so strongly about giving people a second chance, or fighting to keep them out of prison when they haven’t done anything wrong. I take another sip of my drink, just as a strange thought crosses my mind. I wondered for a moment after I’d met Dean the first time, and seen how pulled together he was, how he’d met someone like my mom.
“That’s how you met her, wasn’t it,” I say without asking the question itself or explaining who I’m talking about. I can tell he knows, he doesn’t need me to specify. With one simple nod, I get all the answers I need. “Wow…” I’m actually at a loss for words, my mouth is dry, and there are questions I want to ask, but I can’t seem to make sense of them and get them from my brain to my mouth.
Dean finally takes pity on me and starts to speak. “Your mom, she was trying to sort her life out when we met. She had a job, but they only paid minimum wage, it wasn’t enough for her to get her own place or even feed herself every day,” he explains, his shoulders tight and his brow pulled together in a hard frown as if the thought of her working her ass off for nothing still makes him furious. I listen intently, sitting forward in my seat, somewhat I guess surprised to hear that my mom had managed to get a job and was still fighting for that despite having nowhere to live.
“She sometimes had to steal food,” Dean continues, the frown melting away and sadness taking over. “She was living in a public bathroom, stole a loaf of bread and a candy bar from the convenience store, and the clerk called the cops. They found her in the bathroom around the corner and arrested her for theft and trespassing. She was completely clean, no drugs, no alcohol, but had nowhere else to go.”
“Jesus,” Kace mutters under his breath, while I sit there and stare at Dean, wanting so badly to hear more, but frozen and completely lost for words, like a small child hearing a fairy tale for the first time. I want to know more about this part of my mom. The part where she’d fought to keep her job, living out of a public bathroom with not even enough money to feed herself every day, but still staying sober and getting off her ass every day for employment.
“I knew someone at the local shelter. They have permanent residences there for a handful of people, the ones like your mom who can get work but need help saving up to get a house or apartment, so I managed to get the charges dropped, and they found her a space with them,” Dean tells us, his emotions changing once again, and a smile breaking out. “She came to my office with a bunch of flowers about a month later, the same day she put down the deposit to rent a small studio apartment.”
A picture sitting proudly on the wall above the fireplace catches my eye. My mom, Dean, Carter, and Zoe, my little brother and sister, all grouped together on the grass in some amazing rose garden, grinning from ear to ear. I can’t help but smile at how their faces seem to be beaming. My mom, she looks older, but healthy, unlike the bony frame I always remembered her having. Her face is fuller—it actually suits her.
I point to the picture. “So, how did this happen?” I ask, moving my finger from the photo and gesturing to the rest of the room, and house.
Dean chuckles, tossing back the contents of his glass before climbing to his feet and heading back over to the bar. I look down at my own glass, it’s still three-quarters full.
Fuck, I’m turning into a pansy.
“When she bought me the flowers, she asked if she could take me out to lunch to thank me for fighting for her. It wasn’t an easy case, she had priors, and the judge was cautious about whether she was actually turning her life around.” His gaze drifts down to the bar, watching the liquid swirling around his glass, filling it almost to the brim. It abruptly occurs to me that here I am, asking about my mom who I hadn’t seen since I was ten, eager to know more and more about how she changed her life. And here is this man, answering everything I’m asking of him, not even thinking about how much it must be hurting him to talk about the woman he loved, who was now gone.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely. His eyes flick over to me as he places the whiskey bottle back on the shelf. “I won’t ask any more questions after this. But there is just one more…” I wait for him to nod before continuing, “Did you really love her?” I’m not even sure why that’s the one question which comes to mind. I could have asked him to tell me anything. Was she honestly sober? Did she really put her time and effort into Carter and Zoe? Do you think she ever regretted leaving me at the hospital that day?
I didn’t ask any of those questions, I asked whether he loved her. Because somewhere in my head, that will be the one thing which will tell me whether she really had changed her life around and whether she’d become a woman I could have been proud to call my mom.
And right at this moment, it feels like that’s one thing that really matters.
Dean is a good man, I can tell that without a shadow of a doubt, and I’m really fucking good at reading people. He wouldn’t have ever chosen to be with someone like the mom that I knew, he wouldn’t let someone like that hurt his kids.
“I loved her with everything I had, and I still do,” he replies after a long pause, his voice raspy with emotion. He looks back into his glass like it holds the answers to all life’s mysteries, and I can tell that while he put on a good front since I walked through the door, that losing his wife has been one of the hardest things he’s ever had to endure.
He eventually clears his throat and brushes across his nose with the back of his hand. “I get that she shit on you,” he offers, looking up again. “And trust me when I tell you she never let herself forget it. She never attempted to make excuses for her past, and she never tried to pretend like it didn’t happen. But what she did do, was fight to be better every single day. She fought for me, for our kids, and I know she would have fought for you if you’d come back into her life.”
“Unfortunately, it’s a little too late,” I mutter, somewhat disappointed that I didn’t get to meet this new person she’d become, and even somewhat proud to hear that my mom never tried to pretend like she was perfect, even though by looking at this house, and Dean and the kids, it seems she had it pretty damn good.
Dean shakes his head. “It’s not too late. I’ve got two kids upstairs who both carry so many of their mom’s traits it’s almost uncanny. You can see her in them. You can get to know her through them.” He sounds suddenly excited and optimistic. “They really want to see you again. I know last time was kind of a shock, but they’ve been asking about you.”
I know that the kids are here, I’ve seen and heard them this whole time at the top of the stairs through a small gap in the banister that I can see from where I’m sitting. They’ve been whispering and tip-toeing around—and by tip-toeing, I mean pounding around like a herd of elephants. I rub my lips together nervously.
Am I at a place where I can see these kids and not break down?
If they’re really like my mom, will I notice?
Will I see her in them, or will I have to learn about her to see what traits of hers that they carry?
“Okay, yeah. I mean… bring them in.”
Dean’s seemingly more relaxed now, and he grins at how fucking awkward I’m being but still steps just out of the room to the large mahogany staircase that disappears up to the second story. A flurry of footsteps hurries across the landing as they scurry away, thinking that their father won’t notice that they’ve been eavesdropping.
“Carter! Zoe! Come down here and see our guests,” he calls, tapping his foot as he waits for them to barrel down the stairs less than three seconds later.
Carter seems a lot more open to me this time around, as Dean herds them into the sitting room. Instead of glaring at me like an intruder he wants to kick in the nuts, his head is tilted slightly to the side as if I’m some peculiar puzzle, or maybe I’ve got food on my face. His blond hair reminds me so much of my own when I was his age, hangs loosely over his forehead and part of his face. Zoe, on the other hand, is like a completely different child. She bounces forward on her tip-toes, this time not wanting to hide behind her brother. She’s in a well-worn Wonder Woman dress-up costume that’s obviously too small given that the sleeves are half way up her arms, and the stitching’s barely holding together in places. But man she wears that shit with a bright smile and wide blue eyes, so who the fuck am I to criticize.
Damn, I’m fucking done for.
“My name’s Zoe, of Themyscira,” she announces with a bright smile. Without an ounce of fear in her eyes, she wanders directly up to me, placing one hand on each of my knees and narrowing her eyes. She scans my face as if searching for something important before pulling back with a shrug.
“I’m Luca, of the uh… earth?” I reply nervously, slightly confused but playing along anyway. “I’m gonna take a lucky guess and assume you like Wonder Woman.”
Her eyes light up, sparkling with excitement. With her hands firmly braced on my knees, she leans forward as far as possible without compromising any eye contact. “Wonder Woman is the shit!”
“Zoe,” Dean scolds, shaking his head, but even he can’t help but smile. I, on the other hand, have an ear to ear grin, and Kace is sitting beside me trying to fight the laughter from bubbling up.
Zoe rolls her eyes and clears her throat. “Sorry… Wonder Woman is fantastic, and an amazing example of what young girls like me should aspire to.”
I can hear the sarcasm in her tone, and frankly, I’m fucking impressed. Six years old, and already like me in so many damn ways. I’m already proud of her, and ready to work with her on her ridiculously impressive sarcasm skills.
“Superman can beat Wonder Woman with one hand tied behind his back,” Carter advises his sister, rolling his eyes as if it’s a throwaway statement, but the way he pushes his shoulders back tells me he’s clearly preparing himself for the battle that’s coming. “Superman would smash Wonder Woman in a second.”
Zoe spins around, her finger pointing at her brother accusingly, her eyes narrow in a dark glare. “Boys can’t hit girls, Carter.”
Carter folds his arms across his chest, puffing it out, a smug smile plastered on his face. “He wouldn’t have to hit her, she’d be too slow, and he would just zoom around her really fast with a metal pipe and tie her up.” The kid has a good argument, and he looks confident with it even though it’s completely unrealistic and he knows it. Another of my traits. Even when you know you’re wrong, fake it till you make it.
I clear my throat, drawing the attention back to me. “So, we’re into superheroes, huh?” I ask, looking at Dean, who seems completely exasperated. It can’t be easy suddenly being a single parent with two kids who both seem so headstrong.
Zoe turns to me, placing her hands back on my knees, her eyes roaming my face again, searching for something. “It’s because Mommy told us that’s what you were,” she announces as if it’s obvious. “She never did say what your powers are, though.” And now the way she’s been examining me makes so much sense. My heart, fuck, it’s pounding so hard against my chest that I’m actually beginning to feel a little dizzy.
She told them I was a superhero?
“He is a superhero, I see it all the time,” Kace pipes up. I look over at him, and he’s grinning, totally unashamed of the red in his eyes that tells me this shit isn’t just affecting me. “I work with him, and he is one of the best. Trust me.”
My eyes burn and quickly become misty.
I’m a superhero.
My mom, she told my little brother and sister that I’m a superhero.
Zoe’s gaze quickly switches to Kace, and she leaps over me and onto the couch between us, moving right up close to his arm. “What kind of stuff does he do?” she asks seriously, looking up at him like he’s some kind of rock star.
“He fights off the bad guys and saves the people who need help,” Kace explains, leaning away from Zoe’s intense gaze.
“Are you a superhero, too?” she whispers conspiringly.
I snort, interrupting the deep and meaningful conversation. “Naw, he’s a sidekick.” Kace hits me with a glare, and I burst out laughing.
Carter clears his throat, and I look over at him. He’s standing by the fire, shuffling nervously on his feet. “Mom said you help and protect people. She said you were in the army.”
Dean takes that moment to slip into his empty chair. “Are you still in the forces?” he inquires, and I tense slightly. I can’t tell them about The Agency, as much as I want to now, knowing that both Zoe and Carter would be super fucking excited to know that I am almost like a real superhero.
When I don’t answer straight away, Kace cuts in, “We are part of the armed forces, but the branch we are in we can’t discuss…” He looks to Zoe who’s still staring at him closely like it’s love at first sight. “Sorry guys, we gotta keep it a secret.”
While the kids seem a little disappointed, Dean nods as though he understands completely. He probably has a pretty good understanding of how the armed forces work, but I’m still pretty sure he has no idea exactly how secret we’re talking. And that’s how it needs to be—for now at least. There are many branches of the army where soldiers have to keep their identities on the down-low. So for now, I’ll let him assume we work for one of those rather than an anti-terrorism agency which isn’t even meant to exist.
Zoe and Carter lose interest quickly, and after a few conspiring whispers, the both of them are racing for the staircase, their manic laughter echoing through the house.
“Seems typical you’d choose a job that you had to keep quiet,” Dean remarks when they’re gone with a soft smile. “Your mom was so good at keeping people out and pushing people away, even those who really cared about her.”
Kace’s face lights up. “Oh really, definitely like mother like son.”
I reach over and shove the smug bastard in the shoulder, but it only amuses him even more.
“And how’s that working out for you so far?” Dean taunts as if he knows exactly what Kace is talking about. “Because I can tell you one thing, your mom regretted a lot of things she’d done in her life, but leaving you because she thought you’d be better off without her, that was at the top of her list. You were her inspiration to change and fight for something better. Then when she was finally at that point, she realized the one thing she wanted was to be able to share that with you. Instead, she threw you away.”
Kace huffs in agreement, looking at me out of the corner of his eye before taking a long sip of his drink.
His words hit me right in the gut like a fucking sucker punch. I screw up my nose, sitting forward in my seat and bracing my elbows on my knees. “Don’t start with me, Colt.” I know that look from my best friend isn’t just about my mom, but about Everly too. “I hurt Everly, and I turned into someone I didn’t recognize.”
“People make mistakes, Luca,” Dean cuts in, his face serious and his eyes cutting through me as if he can see right inside my very soul. “Your mom made one big mistake, one that she hated herself for until the day she died. The question is, can you forgive her for that, knowing what you know now?”
My breath catches in my throat and for a second the words, hell fucking no, tickle the end of my tongue, but there’s something that stops me.
I love what I do, and because of how hard I fought, I managed to get myself to a place where a lot of people could only ever dream off. All because of the events that happened in my life, all because she decided to give me a different life than the one she was offering.
So, I guess I have her to thank for the opportunities I’ve been given, the friends who appeared in my life, and the all the people I’ve met and rescued and fought for.
“Yeah,” I mutter in disbelief of even myself. “I do forgive her.”
Dean’s eyes sparkle, and I see for a moment his bottom lip quiver, then he hits me with a question that makes me reconsider everything. “Then how come you can’t forgive yourself?”