He shows me his index finger. “You’ve slept through the night for one week. I usually go back to my bed before you wake up. I forgot to put on the alarm and slept in.”
He bites another donut and says with his mouth full, “I’m not into you if you’re wondering that.”
I’m speechless.
“There are options, like going to therapy,” he offers.
“It costs money,” I answer.
“I’ll pay,” he offers.
“Sure, you can afford to pay for my therapy, but you have to live in this center. That makes so much sense,” I say, annoyed because how dumb does he think I am?
“Yep, it’s ironic. My life is a satire. As I mentioned when we met, my parents died when I was little. I ended up in the system. Yet, I own several properties, and my trust fund could support me for many lifetimes.”
He’s full of shit.
“You’re joking, and it’s not entertaining.” I stare at him.
“It sounds surreal, doesn’t it?” he agrees, shows me the paper bag, and says, “Donut?”
I grab a sugar-coated raised donut and take a seat next to him. “That’s why you told me that you’d be gone soon, isn’t it?”
He nods. “I plan on leasing my own place once I’m emancipated. This apartment is cool, but let’s be honest, we don’t have much privacy. I’m done sharing my room. At least with you, I don’t have to worry about losing the little I own.”
“How did you end up here?”
He makes a sound between a huff and a snort. “And here I thought you hated me because you knew.”
“I don’t hate you. It’s hard for me to trust anyone.”
“Same, buddy,” he finishes his drink. “Why don’t I change, and we’ll go shopping? I finally got my debit card, and I could use some new clothes.”
On our way to the mall, he tells me about the last group home where he was at, “It was hard to know if you’d be the next one beaten by the older kids—or abused. I chose to leave.”
Like when I wanted to run away, he didn’t think everything through. He was hungry, cold, and afraid to die. As he sometimes does in the middle of the night, I reach for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “You’re safe now.”
“I was lucky,” he states. “Ms. Sadie and her husband were kind to me. Any other person would’ve sent me to jail or back to a foster home. Hannah, the Deckers, and everyone at the center have been kind to me.”
I met Hannah yesterday. They are close. I had no idea they just met a few months ago. I dare to ask, “Is this Hannah your girlfriend?”
He chuckles. “Nah. She’s like a little sister. I like girls, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never dated or kissed anyone. I jump from one place to another way too often to try to make friends, let alone get to know a girl.”
I nod. Okay, he’s straight. That helps me. If I ever develop a crush on him, I just need to remember that, like Tucker, he’ll never reciprocate my feelings. Plus, I have to be “normal.” Loving a boy almost got me killed.
Chapter Twelve
Ethan
When I arrive at the Deckers’ house, Tucker is pacing outside the entry. “You didn’t come yesterday,” he says indignantly when he spots me.
“It was Sunday,” I respond. “Did they make you study?”
“No, but I had to spend the entire day with my family,” he answers, scrunching his nose.
Anyone who hears him would think that he had to shovel crap at a farm instead of hanging with his incredible family.
“But did you survive?” I can’t help but laugh when I realize that I not only used Zeke’s phrase, but I matched his sarcastic tone.
That guy is rubbing off on me too fast—and not in a hot way.
Well, that’s exactly what he said about me when I complained about the cab driver who took us from the mall back to the center after we went shopping.
Tucker stares at me with a flustered face. “Of course, I survived, but it was weird. Do you have any idea how many cousins I have?”
“Umm, I noticed during the holidays,” I remind him. “You’re about to have a little sister too.”
I swear his lip trembles, and if I get close, he might bite me. Again, not in a good, sexy way. I might lose my finger just because I said the wrong thing.
“What did you do this weekend that seemed so important you didn’t care to come to hang out with me?”
“I worked on Saturday.”
“With Zeke?”
“Careful with your tone, or I’ll think you’re jealous of him.”
His shoulders slump, and his gaze lowers too. “You know I don’t feel that way, Eth.”
I do. But then why is he being possessive?
As if he heard my silent question, he says, “I just miss hanging out with you. The only time we’re together is while we’re studying. We used to do everything together.”
“Yeah, well…you live on an island, and I live in the city now. It’s not easy to just come by in the evening to hang out.” I chuckle. “I doubt your parents will approve if I bring pot like I used to do when we lived in Texas.”
“Have you been smoking pot?” he asks, shocked.
“No. I’m just saying that we’re not in the same place, geographically or mentally.”
Tucker has no idea about my struggles. The nightmares, the sleepless nights, or the fears that are eating me alive since that day. He doesn’t know that the only way I can sleep is when Zeke is next to me. Fuck, I didn’t even realize it until yesterday.
“I asked them again if I could move to the center with you,” he mumbles.
“What did they say?”
I’m sure Zeke wouldn’t mind moving to another place. He’s ready to claim his freedom.
“The same thing that they said around Christmas time: no. I’m not old enough to live by myself. I don’t have a place, a job, or a way to show the state that I can be independent. Yet, they’re helping you and that kid.”
“If I had a family like yours, I wouldn’t try to move,” I say under my breath, knowing he’s going to get pissed.
He just doesn’t get it. I am alone. I have a job and that shelter, but if I didn’t, I’d be in foster care. How can I explain to him that his situation is close to perfect? So many kids would give everything to have at least one parent who gives a shit about them.
He has three parents who want to be there for him, grandfathers who have stopped their lives literally to homeschool him, and a big family who wants to be involved in his life.
“You want my family, you can have them,” he says, and repeats, enunciating pretty well, “All of them.”
“Ooh, he’s giving us away,” his grandfather Chris opens the door, then places a hand on his chest. “I’m so touched, Tucker. I knew you were kind to others, and it appears that you like to share what’s yours. Though, there’s no need to do it. Ethan is part of our family.”
Chris tilts his head toward me. “I’m not kidding, kid, you’re a part of us. There’s no need for him to give us away like we are in an auction. Now that you two are here, we got a request from Tristan, so come inside.”