I watch with anticipation as my attorney sits back from his computer screen, his chair squeaking in protest. The heavy sigh is the only warning that I’m not going to like what he has to say. I got up this morning on a mission to get Matthew and Brandon out of that house and away from that woman.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” he says glancing back at the picture Matthew sent me last night. I thought having evidence would help to seal her fate for custody.

“What do you mean, it doesn’t prove anything? This is what they’re living with. There must be a dozen empty beer bottles sitting there, a half empty bottle of liquor and a paper plate full of cigarette butts. She’s smoking in the house despite Matthew’s asthma!” His eyes watch me carefully, his expression not showing any indication of what he’s thinking as I rant.

“All this could’ve been yours,” he says, indicating the photo.

I jump to my feet, my chest expanding in anger. “I don’t smoke and sure as fuck don’t drink like that!” His hands raise, palms up, resigning to my looming presence as I hover over the desk in his direction.

“Calm down. I wasn’t saying it is yours. My point was, they could have been…this could be anyone’s coffee table in anyone’s living room. It could even have been staged. You didn’t see her smoke those cigarettes or drink that alcohol and there’s no law preventing her from doing either. It can only hurt her guardianship if she’s doing it in excessive amounts, which you’d have to witness, repeatedly. And even if you did, it would be her word against yours…and you better believe she’d deny it, Chance.”

I slide back into my seat, knowing his words are spot on. Instead of wanting something better for those kids, she’s the type to drag them down with her. Memories surface of being left alone for hours on end, sometimes days, as my mother left me hungry and scared. The neglect and loneliness of my own childhood is something I’d just as soon forget, and something I’m not willing to let them experience. I don’t know if she’s any better or worse than my mother. I hardly saw her and based on Matthew’s assertion, they hadn’t either.

“Do you think Matthew and Brandon have witnessed her drinking, smoking or…?” I meet his eyes and I know exactly where he’s going with this and I want no part of it. I hated my mother for all the things she did and didn’t do for me growing up, and I never asked them to turn on her. I want to protect them from the harshness of having to grow up too fast. Matthew sending that picture to me was only by circumstance. Without any visitation rights, I’d asked him to take pictures of the house. I wasn’t asking him to tattle or recognize behaviors he has no business knowing about at his age.

“All I want is them out of that environment,” I say resignedly.

“I know you do, but there are a lot of factors involved here. It helps that we’re not fighting their mother this go around. However, I think getting Matthew and Brandon to have a look around could speak volumes.”

“I’m not dragging them through that! We talked about this the last time I considered fighting for custody from my mother. I don’t want them looking for shit they shouldn’t know about. I want it as peaceful as possible. I’ll settle with her, give her money every month to stay out of our lives. I’ll do whatever it takes to give them a better life.” My eyes lock on his hoping he sees the sincerity in it. Nothing means more to me than those two boys.

“I understand, but I think it would more than likely speed this process up.”

“No,” I say firmly.

He nods as if he expected that reply. He picks up a legal pad and pen. “Let’s talk about if you get custody…and Chance, that’s a big ‘if’. How will you provide—”

“I can provide better for them!”

“It’s not based solely on what you can purchase. People don’t get to knock on other people’s doors and take children from their custody because they can buy better.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “God, I really wish we would’ve acted on this soon after your parent’s death. It’s always harder to undo something.” His chubby fingers knead at his forehead.

It’d only been a week since their deaths and I thought it was a given they’d live with me. I expected some sort of paperwork to make it official, but I never dreamt I’d have to race my mother’s sister to the courthouse to file my petition.

“This fight will in part be what she isn’t providing for them.” His attention turns back to the image on his computer screen. The subtle shake of his head has me believing for the first time since walking in, he’s on my side. “The other part being that if she isn’t deemed fit, that you are.”

“I’ll do anything. Those two boys are all I have in life, Edward.”

“How will you juggle career and home life? These boys are going to need around the clock care. You already provide private education. You’re still paying for that, right?”

“Yes, Vic went over the arrangement with her. The car picked them up this morning and took them to Brinnwood Academy.”

He nods, approvingly. “Good, don’t stop that. What about your career? It’s not the most family friendly. Do you have a steady girlfriend, potential wife?” I shake my head, fighting back the pinch of disgust from covering my face with the idea. “Boxing takes you away from home for long hours training and then there are the fights. You hold multiple belts, surely you’re going to defend those.”

“I’ll figure it out. I only have two more fights this year. The next one isn’t for another three months. I’ll cut back. I can work with the association and my endorsers. I’ll hire a nanny. I’ll hire a teacher full-time to home school them. They won’t be left at home, they can travel with me.”

He watches as another bout of desperation pours from my mouth and it kills the high I had walking in here today. I thought the picture would seal the deal, or at least require some sort of home inspection. Now my schedule is going to be the issue.

“Chance, I’ll start working on this, but you better start working on that. That isn’t going to hold up. You need to think about whether it’s more important to have them away from that environment even if it means custody isn’t given to you.”

“What does that mean? Who would they go to?”

“Foster parents,” he deadpans.

“Over my dead body!” I jump from my seat and pace the length of his floor to ceiling windows. I pause, looking out over the St. Louis skyline. The Gateway Arch dominates the view.

“Parenthood isn’t a part time gig, Chance. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

I take another minute looking out the window. I haven’t felt this helpless since I was little. Fighting off the Johns that came and went, treating my mother and me however they wanted. When I shift on my feet, my own reflection shows in the glass.

I’m not that little boy anymore. I’m a grown man.

A fighter.

No one fought for me, but I damn sure will for them.

“Absolutely.”