The Foster Family, page 13
“Hey, asshole, I never fucking said anything about walking away. You’re the ass hat who’s decided I’m fucking on my way out the door without even fuck—”
The bedroom door flew open and cracked hard against the wall. The handle dug into the plaster and the door vibrated, stuck there. Charlie danced to one side as Malcolm barreled out of the room, down the hall, and right into my personal space. I jumped up, knocking my chair over to bounce off the linoleum. Quickly as I could move, I backpedaled, ass hitting the counter as he reached me, fury in his eyes.
“How many times have I told you?” he asked, voice grating out over his rage. “It’s a simple rule. Now open your mouth.”
“What?”
He held something up, and I had to squint to see it was a ball gag and strap.
“The hell?”
“Mal,” Charlie began, reaching for his arm, but Malcolm held a hand up to him and he stopped midmotion, face pale.
“Open. Your. Mouth.” His gaze bored into me. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d tried. “Now!”
I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut, actually bringing a hand up to press against his chest, he was that close, but he didn’t budge. In fact, he gripped my chin in his other strong hand, and I whimpered. It fucking hurt. Might have hurt even without the recent beating I’d taken. Now it sent flashes of pain through my skull, and the whimpers turned ragged.
“Open!” He didn’t say “or leave,” but he didn’t have to. The ultimatum was there in his voice.
I glanced past him to Charlie. Distress. Skin and bones and fright. He wasn’t scared of Malcolm. He was scared for him. He was scared of this edge, this knife-sharp force in his lover, in how tightly Malcolm held himself. Because he could explode. As Andrew had, he could explode all over me, but he didn’t. He held tightly to his nerves and his rage, and if it didn’t come out on me, and I knew it never came out on Charlie, there was only one other place it could go.
Inward.
I opened my mouth.
He was not gentle shoving the gag in or fastening the straps around my head and already-bruised face. It fucking hurt, and there were tears and more whimpers as the thing forced my teeth apart and my tongue down and the straps and buckle caught tiny hairs and pulled them independently from my scalp.
When he stepped back to look at me, there was such a haunted, angry look about him that I had to lower my eyes. I couldn’t be the one who had put that look there. Only I was.
“Mal,” Charlie said softly, daring to approach now, to touch his shoulder.
“What?”
“Do you think….”
“Charlie.” The one word was a warning, but Charlie ignored it, and I looked up at him as he shuffled closer to his lover.
“I know,” he said. “I know, but you’ve made your point.”
“Charlie.” Suddenly, Malcolm frowned, glanced to me, to Charlie, and pulled in a breath. All the anger drained away in an instant, just drained away, leaving him empty and frail as though someone had opened floodgates to his emotions.
That someone was Charlie, just by being there, being calm. Being the guy Malcolm reached for and always, always found.
When Malcolm looked back to me, I squared my shoulders and met his gaze. He wasn’t frightening, I told myself. He was just Malcolm. I’d broken the rule so many times. No surprise he’d gone a bit ballistic after the day we’d had.
When I didn’t look away, he nodded, carefully undid the buckles, and let me spit the gag onto his palm.
“I’m sorry,” he said before I could speak. Now as gentle as he’d been rough, he brushed the wetness from my cheeks.
I nodded. “Me too.” I met Charlie’s eyes, and though my cheeks flushed under Malcolm’s palm, I didn’t look away. “I’m sorry I called you that. I don’t think you are. I don’t think either of you are. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” I focused on Malcolm. “I’ll try not to swear anymore.”
He flashed a crooked, sad smile. “Hard to stop what you don’t even realize you’re doing.”
I touched the back of his hand, then the side of my aching face when he pulled away. “I think I’ll be more aware now.”
He nodded, and his fingers followed mine, featherlight down the side of my jaw. “Doesn’t make what I just did okay.”
I stared at him. “Cause and effect,” I said. “I’m not stupid. You’re not superhuman. I pissed you off. I will try not to do that anymore.”
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not.” And I wasn’t. Because after Andrew’s beating, after the words he’d spat at me and my helplessness under his anger, nothing Malcolm did was as scary as that feeling of being blinded and tormented just because I was vulnerable. At least Malcolm’s anger had been about me and my actions to some degree. Andrew’s had nothing to do with me at all. I could have been anyone. His girlfriend, his dog, some faceless stranger on the street. That was scary.
“I’m going to take him to Lissa’s,” Charlie said quietly, gripping my arm just above the elbow and pulling me from between Malcolm and the counter. “Come on, Kerry.”
Malcolm looked at the floor, nodded, and backed off. Just a step. Just enough for me to slide out of the tiny space.
I had no choice but to stumble after Charlie as he dragged me through the kitchen and out the back door.
“Wait.” I yanked free when we made it to the lawn. “What? I thought—”
“He needs his space,” Charlie said flatly. “Come on.” He walked away, rounding the corner of the house out of sight and leaving me to follow.
I glanced to the house and the closed back door. There was no movement or sound until I heard a car start in the driveway. Malcolm was not stopping me leaving. Not trying to talk Charlie out of delivering me back to Lissa’s doorstep. I hurried around to the front and stood outside Charlie’s car door, arms crossed until he opened his window.
“Get in.”
“Who said I was going anywhere? Not me. Not Malcolm. I thought he’s the boss.”
“He is. Get in the car.”
“Charlie.” I wanted to plead with him, but he was pissing me off, dictating what was going to happen to me without even consulting me about it, and from him, that made me too angry to beg properly. Everyone had been dictating today. Malcolm deciding I was moving in, Matt handing over my stuff, no questions asked, Marcus deciding I couldn’t stay with them anymore. And now Charlie sending me back where I wasn’t welcome. Even Andrew had dictated what I wanted from him and given me no choice as to what I ultimately got.
“Would you please get in the car, Kerry.”
“I can’t go back there.”
“What are you going to wear to work tomorrow if you don’t?” he asked. “You bled all over the clothes you had on today.”
I had too. My nose had gushed down the front of my shirt and stained the best pair of jeans I owned. With a sigh, I conceded and went round to climb in. I wasn’t about to give in that easily, though.
“I’ll pick up clothes and come back with you,” I told him.
He pulled out of the drive and down the street before he spoke. “You don’t have to decide that right this instant.”
“I’m not. I decided hours ago, and one little temper tantrum is not going to scare me off.”
We pulled to a stop sign, and he took a moment to study me. “He hasn’t lost it like that in years,” he said at last.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I’m not the guy he’s going to care enough about to share with you after all.” I never meant to bring out the crap in everyone around me, but I was a lightning rod for violent outbursts these days. “But just in case, I’m not going to give up. Not yet.”
Charlie pulled out of the intersection with a loud sigh. “You’re adorable in your denseness, you know, Grey? He hasn’t cared enough to lose his temper with anyone in ages. He doesn’t lose it with me anymore, but he used to. When we first got together, until I learned about all his little oddities and how not to set him off.”
“So your life is about tiptoeing around to not set him off and wishing he actually cared enough to get mad. Reminds me of a few foster homes I’ve lived in.”
There was a brittle silence before he spoke again. “Some he lived in too, probably. But that isn’t the case. Like I said before, you have to be in it to understand it.”
“And here you are kicking me out.”
“I’m driving you to Lissa’s. What you do once you get there is up to you. No one said you have to leave.”
“Just that this is how it happens.”
“How what happens?” he asked.
Horrified, I realized I’d spoken that thought out loud.
“Kerry? This is how what happens?”
I let go of a breath and tried to concentrate on the hazy world passing outside. I couldn’t see any detail at this distance and speed. I suddenly wished I had a spare set of glasses or enough cash to go to the eye doctor. I wanted to be able to see his face clearly, but he was a generic blur from where I sat. No better than the passing scenery.
“They always give a choice. My-way-or-the-highway-type deal, and when you can’t toe their line you get bundled into the car with whatever you’re smart enough to grab and dropped off somewhere.”
“Who?”
“Foster parents. With their rules and shit.”
“Difference this time is you knew that going in. Mal needs what he needs. You want to be a part of that or you don’t, and no one is judging you either way. You’re welcome to be our gardener, to earn a living, to be a part of our lives that way if you want. You have to follow the rules if you want more, and it’s not a case of taking some and leaving the rest.”
“All or nothing.”
“It is the way it is.”
I nodded agreement. “I know.”
When we got to Lissa’s, he got out of the car and came to the door with me. We went in together, and Lissa and Marcus offered herbal tea and concern as we settled around the table. Apparently she’d already done away with all things caffeine, she said, because if it wasn’t in the house, she couldn’t be tempted to overcaffeinate her baby.
When she gazed at me, all soft and worried, and Marcus frowned a tight little frown at me, I assured them I was fine.
“But you could have told me you were expecting,” I accused her, managing to keep it light, even though I did feel a bit of loneliness at the idea she didn’t think it was something she needed to tell me.
“I would have.” Her glare for Marcus was venomous, and he hopped up as the kettle boiled, obviously relieved to be out from under that look. “I was waiting.”
“Why?”
She rubbed a hand over her belly, which showed no signs, to my eye, of growing any life.
“Because. This is our third kick at this can, Kerry. The first two ended badly, and I didn’t want to do that again. We’d actually stopped trying. We were happy to have the shop.” She tossed a crooked grin at me. “And you.” Her shrug was eloquent, though. “The universe had different ideas. The minute I said I no longer cared, hormones kicked in, I guess. But we didn’t want to say anything to anyone. We didn’t want to risk the whole world knowing about another failed pregnancy. It’s hard enough when it’s just us that we have to console. I wasn’t interested in patting grandmothers-to-be’s hands and offering stupid platitudes when yet another grandchild failed to materialize.”
“But Liss needs to be calm,” Marcus put in as he set the teapot on the table. “No stress.” He gave me a significant look.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “I induce stress. I am aware.”
“It’s stupid,” Lissa said, clearly miffed. “You still work for us, and we still care what happens to you. Only now I don’t have you under my roof where I can keep an eye on things.”
“I am not a child,” I reminded her.
“So you keep saying…,” Charlie muttered.
“Oh fuck”—I shot a glance at Charlie—“screw you.”
She grinned at me. “Is there a swear jar or something?”
“Or something,” I agreed quickly before Charlie could say anything. “Listen, Liss, it is going to be okay. I’ll be perfectly fine there. Andrew is not going to come around their house, if he ever even figures out where I am. Not with these two big lugs around. He needs to stay healthy, after all. His body is his livelihood.” I leaned forward so I could reach her hand, and after a moment, she squeezed my fingers and smiled a little thinly. “I can’t guarantee he won’t come here, and Marcus is right. That isn’t what you need, even if you weren’t preggers. I don’t trust him not to hurt you, especially after today, so this really is best. It isn’t about anything else right now, okay?” I looked over to Charlie because that was directed as much at him as her. It wasn’t about sex or love or relationships. “It’s about a roof over my head and them being willing to give me that until I figure out what else I might want. Make sense?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
“You’re scared of him,” she said softly, and for a split second, I thought she meant Malcolm and caught myself glancing at Charlie again for reassurance. Then I realized she meant Andrew, and then I realized—she was right.
I stared at her, gripped her fingers too tightly, and willed myself to stay neutral. To not care.
Slowly, she turned her head and faced Charlie. “If you don’t take very good care of him, you’ll have me to worry about. Do you understand that?”
Charlie nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Lissa.” Marcus patted her arm, then mine, then looked at Charlie and sighed. “Somebody drink the damn tea,” he muttered. As if by force of will he could make everything normal and ordinary because he’d made tea.
IT TOOK us almost an hour to pack my things. Lissa had insisted on washing everything I owned when she’d come home from the shop, and the last load was in the dryer when we had arrived. Now she sat on the floor in the living room with me to fold my clothes while Charlie and Marcus stared at the TV screen where there was a ball game on and game announcers droning baseball stats ad infinitum.
We didn’t talk at all. Neither did they. If silence could be comfortable and sad at the same time, this was, and I couldn’t figure out what anyone had to be sad about.
“Not like I’m quitting my job,” I reminded her at last. “You’ll still see me three days a week. Probably more, since I’m taking on their garden, and who knows. I might find other clients.”
She looked at me, not quite close enough for me to see her expression through the nearsighted blur.
“What?” I asked.
“I know that.”
“So what’s the problem?”
She shrugged. “You’re moving out.”
“You’re moving on,” I reminded her with a glance at her midsection.
She rubbed her stomach and sighed.
“Although I have to say”—I smirked at her—“I am so going to miss the hormonal train wreck.”
“Eat me,” she snarled.
I made a face and she laughed.
“You’ll be okay,” she said, like she needed to convince me.
“I’ll be okay.” I convinced her right back.
Half an hour later, we were piling my things into Charlie’s trunk. All three garbage bags of my clothes and toiletries left room to spare. Miss Claire cried piteously from her carrier in the backseat, and then Lissa was hugging me good-bye on the curb.
“You’d think I was walking out of their lives forever,” I muttered as I buckled in.
Charlie looked at me, a sideways tilt of his head, though I couldn’t see his expression very well, and snorted. “You’d think they’d be happier about that.”
“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?”
He didn’t reply to that, but the silence as we drove back to their beach house was less fraught than it had been on the way out.
WE HAD been gone for less than two hours. The house was a disaster zone.
The living room had been torn apart, the bookshelves missing, and all their contents perched precariously on every available surface. My boxes were empty and flattened, neatly stacked behind the door.
“What the hell?” Charlie muttered, dropping my bags on the kitchen floor. “Mal?” His voice had that sharp, verging-on-panic edge of someone expecting the worst.
“In here!” Malcolm’s voice twined cheerily through the mess to us from down the hall. We followed it.
The hole his bedroom door handle had made in the wall was patched, the new plaster still dark and damp and lumpy. In the spare room they had given me, we heard sounds of shuffling and found Malcolm pushing a heavy oak dresser to the spot below the window opposite the end of the bed.
I squinted, but even through the haze of poor sight, I could see that the bed was not the same heavy, iron-framed one that I’d slept in the night before. This was a larger sleigh bed with dark wood head- and footboards. The toy cabinet in the corner was gone. Bookshelves lined that wall, all filled with my books, neatly organized by the colors of their spines, from what I could tell without being able to identify them all from their blurry outlines.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Just….” Malcolm straightened and backed to the middle of the room, hands on his hips. “Thought you needed your own space. I figured you should be able to pick your own paint scheme, though. You might not like what I pick out. I always hated moving into a new room, and the foster parents would have it all painted up and made so generically boy I felt like I was in some bad version of an afterschool-special movie set. New fosters were the worst. The ones who’d been around a bit, at least all they did was buy new sheets and throw away all the old toys and games that were broken. There was always broken stuff. Missing pieces. I hated that.”
He sounded a little bit manic.
“Malcolm?” Charlie said, stepping into the room.
“I know, I know,” he said, glancing at Charlie, then back to the dresser he’d just moved. “Your mom”—he shifted to look at me—“she loves this furniture. But she likes the pine shelf bed too. I moved that into her room and put the iron bed Alistair’s mom gave us in that room. She’ll get a kick out of sleeping in it.” He almost giggled, and the sound was so out of place coming from him even I began to worry.
