Martin and I were in the living room when Thom and Dean came home. Dean didn’t live at the house, but I noticed that he was here a lot during the past few days. I didn’t know if that was common or if it had to do with me...or the man Dean shot in the alley.

“Boys, shut the TV off, I need to talk to you guys,” Thom said as he pulled his jacket off.

“Where’s Mason and Kyler?” Dean asked as he walked to the stairs and hollered for his two oldest nephews.

Thom sat down in the leather chair next to the sofa and looked really upset about something. I felt awkward and like I shouldn’t be here for their family discussion.

“Thom, should I leave the room?” I whispered.

He raised his head and frowned at me.

“No, Wesley. Stay put.”

I sat quietly beside Martin and felt my heart begin to pound. This was obviously going to be a family discussion, and I felt like I didn’t belong at it. I’d only been here for a few days. Kyler sat down on the other side of me, and Mason took a seat opposite Thom. Now that everyone was here, Thom exhaled loudly, stood up and crossed the room to stand beside Dean.

“We have some bad news,” Thom began.

I heard the leather sofa cushions move as Martin and Kyler sat up straight.

“Your Uncle Bram is dead,” Thom sighed.

Shit. I sat still but glanced at Martin, Kyler, and Mason. Even though I’d only been here for a short time, I’d heard their Uncle Bram mentioned several times by the boys.

“What happened?” Mason asked.

“No...he was just here a few days ago,” Martin shook his head and then stood.

“Dad, what happened?” Kyler repeated Mason’s question.

Thom shook his head and crossed the room to where Martin had begun to pace. Martin said their uncle’s name as Thom pulled him into an embrace.

“He was just here, Dad,” Martin sobbed.

“I know, son.”

Son.

I wanted to be someone’s son. I wanted to matter and for someone to give a damn about me. From the sofa, I watched how Thom calmed his three kids during the bad news.

“He was found in his apartment with a gunshot wound to his head,” Thom quietly said.

“Shit,” Mason blurted.

“Dad, do you think it was another family or group?” Kyler angled.

Why would another family want to kill their uncle? And what kind of group would kill him?

“Yeah! He was working on some deals. Kyler is right. Maybe—”

Thom interrupted Mason, “No, Mason.”

“Someone is going to pay for this, Dad,” Mason insisted and stood abruptly.

“Mason, you can’t begin accusing and focusing on revenge. There are no signs of forced entry to the apartment, and the gun was in his hand,” Thom said firmly as he rubbed on Martin’s back.

I watched Thom console Martin, and I began to wonder what that would feel like. It would probably hurt my back. He must trust his father a lot. Of course he does, it’s his father.

“Boys, it was suicide,” Dean countered.

“Someone could have pulled the trigger and then put the gun in his hand. You know, made it look like he shot himself,” Kyler suggested.

“Yeah! Uncle Dean, what do you think?” Mason probed.

Dean and Thom exchanged glances, and when Thom looked away, Dean advised Mason not to get caught up in revenge. For the life of me, I didn’t understand why Mason and Kyler were hedging on someone else killing their uncle when it sounded like he apparently killed himself.

Mason seemed to be mostly angry over the news, while Kyler didn’t seem to be angrier than upset. But it was Martin who was the most visibly upset.

“Was he always in your life?” I cautiously asked Martin when we were in our room for the night.

“Yeah. Uncle Bram taught me how to swim out in the lake. We’d spend all day out there.”

Martin flipped the lights back on and pulled a photo album off the bookshelf. He came over to my bed and nudged me to move my feet. I sat up, and we leaned against the wall that my bed was against on one side. Martin opened the album and began showing me some pictures of his uncle and shared some of his memories with me. After a while, Martin wiped his eyes and closed the photo album.

“Thanks, mate.”

I nodded at him, “No problem.”

Martin put the photo album back on the shelf and got into his bed.

“Do you have any pictures or anything from where you came from, Wes?” he asked.

“No.”

I thought back to the docks. No one took pictures there. None of the kids had anything like an album. None of us had anything.

“No? Nothing like a photo of your adoptive family or something?”

“No…we never took pictures.”

“That’s too bad. Pictures are great to have. Even though your mind remembers things, it fades. But a picture is nice to have because when you see it, you remember things. I’m glad I have the pictures of my Uncle Bram.”

There was nothing in my past that was worth remembering. It was all very forgettable. I had vivid memories of my past, and I could certainly do without them.