Shifting in my seat, I ran my fingers over my cell phone, clicking on the video for the millionth time. All I could think about was Brooke Fury. The glow of the recording lit up the small confines of the car. Hastily, I glanced out the windows, making sure no one was around. My eyes flickered back down quickly, and I pressed play.

Her image popped up, curvy, in that tiny slip of that tight skirt. Her backside round and plump, her calves working themselves in those stiletto heels. Dark hair cascaded down in long, silky waves. She swayed her hips for me, more than normal and when she got to the back of the bar, she looked over her shoulder toward me. Damn, her smile was deadly.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her—not since the first time I saw her in the office, running up a flight of steps with a fire in her eyes. I’d been crushing hard on her for weeks, and I couldn’t get myself to stop.

A fist pounded on my window, practically shoving itself down my throat and yanking my heart right through my asshole. “What the hell?” I shouted, fumbling to end the video and shut off my phone.

Outside the window, stood my brother, smiling at the roof of my car, snow settling in the messy, brown curls of his hair. He pounded on the window again.

I shoved my phone in my coat pocket and opened the car door. “Hey, Cameron. How are you?” He was dressed for a winter storm—two layers of coats, bright red gloves, green and brown striped snow boots, and a pair of Pokémon earmuffs.

He smiled awkwardly at the top of my head and yanked me up the walk by the scruff of my coat until we were inside the foyer of my mother’s house. “Girl,” Cameron said, tapping his index finger to my phone. It made me wonder how long he had been standing outside the car door in the snow, watching along with me.

“Yeah, she’s just a friend,” I said, but I was hoping to change her mind.

“Just a friend,” Cameron repeated, sliding his arms out of his coat and hanging it along the hooks in the hallway. “Take shoes off,” he continued, without hesitation.

I tugged my own coat off, watching Cameron hang each piece of his clothing on a hook. Two coats, both gloves, the earmuffs—each piece taking up its very own hook—hanging at a precise angle. When he was finished, he stood barefoot, hair dripping with melted snowflakes spreading into a puddle on the hardwood floor. He was still smiling at the top of my head.

“Take shoes off,” he repeated, his tone a bit higher than before.

“I will, don’t worry,” I said, slipping my feet out of my boots.

He showed his teeth at my hair again, some smile only Cameron could do, and walked into the living room without another word.

I kicked my boots against the wall and rubbed my hands down my face. I was exhausted and stressed, and the thought of one of my mother’s home-cooked meals had my mouth watering. The house smelled like garlic and roasted tomatoes.

My mother’s heels clicked softly on the kitchen floor. The clinks and clanks of dishes and silverware being laid down made my shoulders relax. “Is that you, Ryan?”

“Yeah, Ma. Just taking off my boots,” I called out to her.

“Just a friend,” I heard Cameron repeat again as I walked inside the kitchen. He was sitting in his chair, rocking back and forth, a fork fisted in his hand, ready to eat.

My mother ignored him and yelled out my stepfather’s name. From somewhere upstairs, I heard a television shut off and footsteps bounding overhead. “Come and sit, it’s getting cold. You’re late. I thought you were coming an hour ago.”

“Sorry, I had work stuff,” I said, pulling out a chair. “Had a memorial party to show my face at.”

Cameron looked under the table at my feet as I sat. “Shoes off.”

“I took my shoes off already,” I said, grabbing a homemade garlic roll off a platter and placing it in his plate. He snagged it off his plate and devoured it in two huge bites.

My mother plopped a heaping pile of baked ziti onto my dish, “Eat some salad too, will you?”

“Yeah, Ma. Of course,” I smiled, grabbing my bowl of salad and shoving a huge forkful of green leaves in my mouth and smiling around it. “Yum,” I said between chews.

She swatted me on the shoulder and laughed. “Animal.”

Behind me, my stepfather, Anthony, walked through the door and smiled warmly. “Hey, Ryan. How’s the transfer going? You good in the new squad?” He sat down and grabbed a roll and a dish of salad.

“Yeah, it’s great actually. Close to home,” I answered.

“Yeah? Good guys?” he asked, dipping the top of his roll into the salad dressing,

“Yeah, for the most part. The squad is awesome. I’m still getting to know them.”

“Any pretty ones?” my mother interrupted, patting her mouth with a napkin.

“Eh, here we go,” Anthony groaned, shaking his head. “Ignore her, Ryan. She’s been reading too many romance novels, and she’s been playing matchmaker at church.”

My mother gasped dramatically and swatted him on the shoulder. “I have not!” She looked at me and smiled sweetly, “I just want you to find someone to settle down with, Ryan. My biological clock is ticking.”

“Your biological clock?” I said, choking on a forkful of food.

“I need grandbabies. Soon,” she said, wide-eyed and smiling.

Next to me, Cameron rocked on his chair and chewed noisily.

“I’m looking for the perfect girl, okay Ma?” I chuckled, softly. “But I can’t find one like you.”

My mother clasped her hands in front of her lips, and I knew I was in for a lecture. I was thirty, when would I settle down. I had a dangerous job. I should go to confession every Sunday to make sure my soul was going to be saved. I braced for the impact. She kept glancing at me with nervous looks. I knew something big was coming. “You’re too much. Your father may he rest in peace. You’re just like him.” She looked up to the ceiling like she always did. When I was a kid, I used to imagine him sitting up in the corner hovering in the air, defying the laws of gravity, winking back at her and giving her a thumbs up.

“What’s going on? Talk,” I said, putting my fork down.

“What do you mean?” she asked, darting her eyes back and forth between Anthony and me.

“You want something. Spill it,” I chuckled.

She looked at Anthony, and he gestured for her to talk.

“Anthony bought me tickets to Rome. It’s a four-week cruise,” she blurted out and squeezed her eyes shut. My mother was always so dramatic.

“That’s great, Ma. Why do you look like you’re going to hurl?” I asked, laughing.

“Well,” she said, placing her palms down on the table. “We were hoping you could take Cameron and watch after him while we went away.” Next to me Cameron rocked faster.

“Watch Cameron?” How did one watch a sixteen-year old kid? One that had Autism? I wasn’t trained in that, what if I lost him or something? I chewed the rest of the food in my mouth and swallowed slowly. “Watch him do what?” I asked, positive I was hearing her wrong.

She shot me a dark look. “I…” she started, but stopped as her eyes darted quickly to my stepfather. “Not I. We. We really need your help, Ryan. It’s only four weeks; it’ll go fast.” She folded her hands together, twisting and fidgeting her fingers. She was nervous asking me; it was plain to see. “Debbie lives too far away, and she’s got her hands full with the kids.” My sister Debbie was always too busy, always too far away. The minute she could get the hell out of this house, she flew clear across the country and settled down with the first guy with money she could find. She had three kids I never met, which goes to show you how close we were.

Cameron rocked faster.

“He goes to his school program from seven in the morning to six at night. Then, he has an exact routine before going to bed. He’s learning to—”

“What’s going to happen when I need to go into work?” I rubbed my hand over my forehead, trying to figure out a way to make it work, but seeing all dead ends. “I mean, I want to help, but I don’t know if I’m the best person for this sort of a thing. Would he even stay with me?”

I turned to Cameron and reached out to touch his shoulder. He slid the chair away, so I couldn’t touch him. I dropped my hand instantly. “You want to come and stay with me Cam?”

He bolted out of the chair and ran up the stairs, coming right back down with a rolling cart of luggage already packed. “Please. Thank you.” His tone was flat.

Anthony grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. My mother ran around the table with tears in her eyes, grabbing my face and kissing my cheeks. She was speaking something in Italian, holding her hands up to the ceiling like I was giving her a gift from Jesus himself. They clinked their wine glasses and cheered as Cameron stood stiffly behind us, clutching the handle of his luggage, staring at the top of my head.

All I could do was sit frozen in the middle of all the madness, seriously thinking, I’d rather be in the middle of armed bank robbery right now. That, I knew how to deal with.

Taking care of someone with special needs, I was completely lost.