LT #21:  Veritas

 

 

Chapter 1

 

“You were out late, Faith,” warned Nikita, implying that she was waiting for an explanation.

 

“It’s okay, Mom,” said Faith, waltzing through the front door. “Connor walked me home,” she added smugly, unable to keep the satisfied smirk off her face.

 

“Ah,” Nikita nodded knowingly. “Are you two friends again?”

 

“Oh, Mommmm…” Faith retorted, rolling her eyes. We are so much more than that, she thought. But she didn’t say another word because she knew it might freak out her mother. Mom deserves a break, she decided.

 

On her way up to her bedroom, Faith came upon her younger sister Skye and Sasha, standing in the hallway, their heads very close together. As she drew abreast of Sasha, she whispered, “Keep it clean, Sasha. She’s my baby sister.”

 

Sasha raised an eyebrow imperiously, managing to do a fairly credible impression of Declan at his most intimidating.

 

Faith laughed and stuck out her tongue.

 

Skye cast a puzzled look at Sasha. “What was all that about?”

 

“Nothing, Ange. She’s just…crazy. You know Fee.”

 

Skye nodded agreeably. Sasha thought Skye missed all of the innuendo and flirtatious undercurrents that pervaded the relationships of the older children. But she knew more than he thought. She had seen Chris steal kisses from Emmy. She had seen Faith and Connor’s affectionate hugs.

 

She sighed. She wasn’t in a hurry to grow up, but there were times that she regretted the years separating her and Sasha. Recently she sensed a certain tension in Sasha whenever he was around her for more than five minutes, and though she was too young to feel desire, sometimes she was afraid that he would find someone else before she was old enough to show him just how much she loved him.

 

But his protective instincts were so much stronger than the strident call of his increasingly active hormones that she knew she had nothing to fear. She always felt safe with Sasha. He would rather die than hurt her.

 

Unfortunately, Skye’s ingenuous nature made her relatively oblivious to the way she inadvertently tantalized Sasha.

 

“I’d better go. Uncle Michael would have my head if he knew we were meeting up here.”

 

“Why? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

 

Sasha flushed under Skye’s renewed scrutiny. “I know, but—“

 

Skye felt Sasha’s discomfiture as if it were a physical thing. “It’s okay, Beast. I can keep a secret.”

 

“But you shouldn’t have to, Ange. There’s nothing wrong with us seeing each other. You’re right. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

 

But his nerves felt frayed. In the past few weeks, those wayward sensations he had described to his father grew more and more powerful. Not that they were directed at Skye. He kept a tight rein on his newfound libido at all times, but especially when he was alone with Skye.

 

It was worth it. Now that they were in separate schools, they rarely saw each other unless they were both home at the same time.

 

“Skye…” His breath wafted across her face, and Skye felt a surge of possessiveness sweep over her. Sasha was hers. “I gotta go. Da’ll ask questions.”

 

“He doesn’t want you to see me either?”

 

“No, Ange, he trusts me not to do anything stupid.”

 

Skye couldn’t help herself. “Do you have a girlfriend at school, Beast?”

 

“What?” She couldn’t possibly know about the 14-year old girl he lusted after. He hadn’t told anyone except Da.

 

“I mean…I’d understand if you couldn’t wait for me to grow up.” No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t believe she had actually uttered a complete lie.

 

“Ange…how can you--? Shit, you know how hard it is for me to admit how I feel, but…I love you. I don’t care how long I have to wait for us to be together.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but his heart overruled his incipient manhood.

 

Her light blue eyes danced merrily with this confirmation of how important she was. Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him as tight as she could. He looked momentarily nonplussed. She was so close. She felt so good. Damn, he had to move away from her now. Right now.

 

He took a deep breath. Jeez, that was the first time that had happened. It was very…disconcerting. Like he had no real control.

 

“I have to go now,” he whispered against her hair, inhaling the scent that was Skye.

 

She took him by surprise. Otherwise, he might have moved in time.

 

She kissed him just as he was turning his head, and their lips met. Sasha’s startled dark eyes met Skye’s fervent blue gaze. “You belong to me. Don’t forget.”

 

“I-I won’t.” I think I have your name tattooed inside my brain. It’s the first thing I think of in the morning, and it’s the last thing I think of at night.

 

He broke away from her then, not sure where he managed to find the strength or the will. God, she had no idea what she did to him. What would she be like when she was a few years older? A few…important…years older?

 

“G’nite.”

 

She waved tentatively, but inside she rejoiced, sensing that she alone had real power over Sasha. More than Declan, more than Sey. More than anyone.

 

He let her have that power.

 

Now if she only knew what to do with it.

 

 

Chapter 2—NC-17—Implied Underage Sex/Child Abuse

 

A low moan split the darkness. There was a sound, soft yet crisp. A zipper being pulled down. There was heat as flesh met flesh. Another groan. Then it was over all too quickly.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“I got shit to do.” The figure pulled out a bill and threw it casually in the direction of the other. Shadows swallowed it up.

 

“I thought—“

 

A bitter laugh cascaded through the air, striking the smaller figure like a well-deserved blow.

 

“You thought what? I was going to stay? Hold your hand? Hey, man, it was just a blow job! We didn’t get married here,” the figure snorted derisively.

 

For long seconds, there was nothing but silence. Not even the sound of breathing broke the deathly hush.

 

“See ya ‘round, kid.”

 

The figure departed. The boy stepped out of the shadows. There was a dim light over the stage door illuminating the alleyway. He zipped his leather pants and plunged both hands into his pockets. He was a good-looking boy. Accustomed to letting others use him, he wasn’t sure what he was really searching for. But he knew he hadn’t found it.

 

A hideous screech rent the night air. “Jazzzzzzzz!”

 

It wasn’t a comment on the loud music playing inside the club. It was his name.

 

***

 

She was drinking again. He hated the times when she drank. His mother wasn’t a kind person under the best of circumstances, and when she was drunk…she could be lethal.

 

“Jazz! You frigging queen! Get your ass in here!”

 

What did she want? What did she always want? He winced. His mother might have been beautiful once, but now she was a heartless caricature of a woman. Hard and brittle where she had been soft. Her tongue sharpened by alcohol and years of bitter disappointment.

 

He used to wish for parents who would love him. Or at the very least, someone who would take care of him, instead of leaving him with the burden of trying to eke out a life. Now he would settle for a ticket out of the hellhole he inhabited.

 

Abused physically, emotionally and sexually, over the course of his young lifetime, the fourteen-year old boy named Jazz studied his thirtysomething mother from the doorway of her dressing room. She was an exotic dancer who had seen better days. Alcohol was ravaging her once-beautiful body, and as a result, she worked less…and less.

 

“Mama?”

 

“I told you not to call me that, dammit!” Her hands shook as she tried to light a cigarette that dangled precariously from her trembling lips.

 

“Shit, you’re as useless as you are stupid! Where were you when I called you anyway? Out turning tricks in the alleyway again?”

 

“No,” he whispered, rationalizing that it couldn’t be a lie. Not when he needed to do whatever he had to to survive.

 

“You keep stealing my boyfriends and I’m gonna kill you yet!” she shrieked. Her nostrils flared with ill-disguised rage. This couldn’t be her son. This, this ragamuffin in black leather.

 

He was not overly tall, but he was slender, almost too slender. Sometimes it looked like a strong gust of wind would blow him away. His mixed heritage was most evident in his fine-boned face. His hair was golden-brown, not black, as one might expect. His skin tone was light tan. But it was his eyes that were extraordinary. Almond-shaped, as befit the son of a half-Vietnamese father, but neither brown nor black in color. Instead they were a light crystal green, a pale shade that threw the rest of his features into sharp relief against his darker skin.

 

He was beautiful.

 

And she had been beating the living daylights out of him since he was two.

 

As soon as he was old enough to walk and talk, his natural beauty became a magnet for the wrong type of attention. His mother led a virtual parade of men through the rough apartment they called home, and some of them were decidedly more attracted to the son than to the mother.

 

Preoccupied with herself, Sylvie allowed her son to become the sexual prey of these predators, either through neglect or spite. After a while, it no longer mattered. The die was cast. Sometimes Jazz thought that the only way he could escape was to die.

 

***

 

Smoke waved to the bartender. The stocky older man called him over. “Smoke, what are you up to? We haven’t seen you since…whenever the hell it was that you quit! I knew you’d come back here, sooner or later.”

 

Smoke gave him a noncommittal look. “Trust me, I have no plans to come back,” he said without a trace of bitterness.

 

It was true. The day he left the club was the day he began his new life. Despite the fact that his personal growth had not come without pain or a price, he would gladly do it again.

 

“So what brings you to our neck of the woods, then?” the bartender asked avuncularly.

 

“Money. Is there anything else?” Smoke commented dryly.

 

“That depends. Whose money? Yours?”

 

Smoke nodded. “Last paycheck.” He shrugged carelessly, the gesture making his long black hair bounce back and forth on his shoulders. “They keep promising to send it to me, but it never comes. I think they expect me to forget about it, but you know what? I earned it. With every shake of my ass. So I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

 

The bartender shook his head absently, sidling up to Smoke a moment later. He reached out to clasp the fine silver chain around Smoke’s neck, and Smoke slapped at his hand, rebuke in his light blue-gray eyes.

 

“Don’t touch that!”

 

“It’s beautiful work, Smoke. So…you got a new guy on the string?”

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

“Hey, it could be…if you play your cards right.”

 

Once Smoke might have gotten angry or even physically retaliated, but now he simply let the words pass over him and beyond. With a shake of his head, he started walking away. The bartender called out, but Smoke kept on going, heading toward the back of the club.

 

After a minor wrangle with what passed for a personnel department, Smoke contentedly sighed and pocketed his check. It was all there. Everything that was due him.

 

He didn’t know why, but he felt absurdly pleased. Maybe because he had been able to do this without anyone else’s help. As much as he loved James, he loved the way his struggle for independence was being respected.

 

On his way out, he decided to stop by and check on a few of his old friends, people he hadn’t seen since he left the club. His ears pricked up at the sound of shouting. It wasn’t a man’s voice, though, which took him by surprise. It was a woman. And it sounded familiar.

 

When he came around the corner, he could see quite plainly what was going on. He never would have recognized her, but for the voice. “Sylvie! What are you doing?”

 

She was obviously drunk. But what was worse was the way she was manhandling the teenaged boy in her grasp. This was no parental slap. This was a freaking beating taking place in full view of adults who blithely ignored the fracas, preferring to continue as if this sort of thing occurred everyday.

 

That brought Smoke up short. Maybe it did.

 

She glared at Smoke, but his interruption had the desired effect. It stopped the physical punishment she lavished on the boy as if it were just.

 

“You stay out of it!” she warned, her finger pointing vaguely in his direction.

 

“Leave the kid alone, Sylvie,” Smoke said in all seriousness. He had never meant anything more.

 

“Who’s gonna make me, you? Ha! You would take his side. Another freaking queer.”

 

“Sylvie!” Smoke’s gasping of her name demonstrated just how much that remark took him by surprise. The dancers in both clubs, male and female, were a tightknit group, and they knew better than to call names or blindside each other. They’d seen it all, and they could be amazingly supportive.

 

Suddenly Sylvie focused her bleary eyes on Smoke and gave the teenager a shove that sent him careening directly into Smoke. “You want him? Here! You take him! I wash my hands of him, once and for all!”

 

“Mama!” the boy whispered between numb lips. She was a soulless bitch, but she was his mother. Now that the moment had come for them to go their separate ways at last, Jazz didn’t understand why he felt so much pain and so little relief.

 

“I have no place to go,” he continued, the ragged sound of his breathing echoing loudly in the near-empty corridor.

 

Smoke touched the silver locket that hung from his neck. The one that represented the commitment between him and James. The one that bonded them together forever. The one that never left his body.

 

He took a deep breath and prayed he was making the right decision.

 

“You do now.”

 

 

Chapter 3—NC-17 (for language)

 

At first, Smoke thought that the sullen teenager would refuse to get into the car. But then a considering look crept across the young boy’s face. He slid into the passenger seat, giving Smoke a sidelong glance that was almost seductive. Shit, who did the kid think he was fooling? Smoke knew where he was coming from. Christ, he’d been there himself at his age.

 

Smoke turned the key in the ignition, impatiently waiting for the kid to make his move. It was inevitable. This testing of the boundaries.

 

A hand smaller and softer than his own wound itself around Smoke’s arm. “So what do you want?”

 

“Excusez-moi?” Smoke had anticipated this, but the surge of anger that swirled restlessly through his veins at the thought of the abuse that triggered this type of behavior provoked his lapse into French.

 

“You know…what do you like?” At Smoke’s refusal to rise to the bait predictably, Jazz grew exasperated. “What do you want to do to me?”

 

Smoke looked pointedly at the teenager’s hand on his arm. “For one thing, you can take your hands off me.”

 

Jazz reluctantly released his grip on Smoke. “Oh, I get it. You don’t like to be touched. How do you get off then?”

 

Smoke counted to ten silently. This was just the beginning. “I don’t have those kinds of feelings for…young boys like you.”

 

“Ha!” Jazz grinned. “You don’t look straight to me.”

 

“Why don’t you sit over there like a nice little boy and keep your touchy-feely fingers to yourself? We can have a long talk when we get home.”

 

“I’m not a nice little boy! I’m 14! You dick!”

 

“I stand corrected. Your way with words fooled me for a second.”

 

“And what the hell do you mean by ‘home’? You’re taking me to your house?”

 

It seemed as though Jazz was experiencing a bit of denial regarding the breakdown of his relationship with his mother. “You have nowhere to go. I’m offering you a home.”

 

“You can’t just kidnap a kid off the street and take him somewhere! My mother—“

 

“Your mother is a bitter, destructive woman who can’t see that she’s destroying more than just her own life.”

 

“But she—“

 

“She doesn’t want you anymore.”

 

“She’ll change her mind. She says shit she doesn’t mean. She’ll get over it.”

 

“Not this time,” Smoke whispered, his light blue-gray eyes locking with the adolescent’s crystal green gaze. “She needs help. She can’t take care of you. Even if she wanted to.” And she doesn’t. I’m not imagining the untapped rage in Sylvie’s eyes. I’m not doing this for selfish reasons. Of course, I’ve always dreamed of giving James a child, but you wouldn’t have been my first choice. You’re too old, too angry, too…much like I was.

 

“But maybe…if I go back…right now….” Smoke saw the hope die in the boy’s eyes.

 

He wrapped his arms around himself and turned away from Smoke, suddenly staring a hole through the window, as if something fascinating lay just beyond the other side of the glass. Smoke didn’t expect to hear him speak again so soon. He appeared hopelessly lost in thought.

 

“So what do you want from me?” The words were flat, disconnected from any emotional context.

 

“I don’t expect anything from you.”

 

“Oh, come on…everybody wants something. Why should you be different?”

 

Smoke debated telling the truth for a moment or two. “I know that you don’t trust anyone. I’m not asking you to trust me. But I need to keep you safe.”

 

“What the fuck for?” the teenaged boy exploded. “You don’t even know me, man!”

 

Smoke visibly reacted, the first expression he let show since he got into the car with Jazz. “Yes, I do,” he rasped out, emotions he thought buried long ago making his throat ache.

 

“Someone eventually saved me. Or at least, I thought they did. At the time. In the end, it turned out to be a trap far worse than the one I’d been in.”

 

“And that’s not supposed to scare the shit out of me?”

 

“It’s good. Your fear. It’s kept you alive for a long time. But you can let it go now. I won’t hurt you. I want to help.”

 

“The way you were helped? I don’t want to be someone’s pet project, man! What happens when you finally get the idea that I’m not worth the trouble?”

 

“I think you are.”

 

“Like I said, you don’t know me! I don’t know you! I don’t even know who the fuck you are, man!”

 

The teenager was tearful now. Almost frantic. He would run if he were given half a chance. And then they would both lose.

 

“Give me a chance.” The words were soft, but they throbbed with unspoken emotion.

 

“Give me a reason.”

 

Smoke confessed, his lightly-accented voice breaking, “I can’t think of a single reason. But I need to do this. Please.”

 

No one had ever begged him for something like this before.  Oh, there were the occasional tricks who begged him to pleasure them. As if he had invented sex. But this was different. This was something that was in his power to give. He was in control here. He could determine his own fate…right now.

 

How much did he really want to live? Not just survive, day to day, but live.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Okay.” Jazz’s beautiful face creased in an unexpected smile, all the more heartbreaking because it was real.

 

“Now don’t cry on me, man. I don’t do tears. That’ll cost you extra.”

 

Smoke stared at the young adolescent.

 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sheesh, and here I was thinking, you’re not so bad for an old guy, y’know?”

 

Old? He thought Smoke was old? Maybe it was just the fact that he felt emotionally overwrought, but that struck him as funny.

 

Smoke pushed an errant strand of long black hair behind his ear, exposing the silver earring there. “We’re almost home.”

 

“Home….” Jazz looked pensive. “So what’s your name?”

 

“Smoke.”

 

Jazz blinked. “That can’t be your real name.”

 

Ignoring Jazz’s comment, Smoke asked, “What’s your name?”

 

“Jazz.”

 

“Guess we’re even, then,” Smoke said with a smile.

 

“So…uh…when do I get to meet the SO?”

 

“SO?”

 

“Significant other, man. You must have one, if I can’t even tempt you.”

 

Smoke unconsciously fingered the silver chain at his neck. Jazz’s eyes zeroed in unerringly. “*He* gave you that?”

 

Smoke merely nodded.

 

“Wow.” The comment was all the more powerful for its lack of effusiveness. “Must be love, huh?”

 

You have no idea.

 

But someday…if you’re really lucky…you will.

 

 

Chapter 4

 

“Um…I just remembered something. I can’t stay here. I don’t have any clothes.” Jazz turned to go out the way he came in, but Smoke grabbed him around the waist and stopped him.

 

“We’ll manage.”

 

If Smoke didn’t know better, he would swear that the teenager was discovering just how vulnerable he was to the vagaries of life. Never mind how long he had been living on the streets. That was intermittent at its worst. Jazz never had the opportunity to contemplate what real life might be like. He was too busy trying to survive.

 

James chose that moment to come out of the bedroom. His cobalt blue eyes flickered from Smoke to Jazz and back again, a question in them. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing home a…friend, Pete.”

 

Jazz turned to Smoke, genuine trepidation there now. “You said your name was Smoke!”

 

“It is.”

 

“But he called you Pete,” the boy protested.

 

“It’s a…pet name,” Smoke said, exchanging a meaningful look with his lover.

 

The slender adolescent frowned. “You mean like Honey or Sweetie or some shit like that?”

 

Before Smoke could answer, James stepped forward, his hand extended to shake hands with the teenager. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m James Elliott.”

 

Jazz looked down at James’ hand, and rather pointedly ignoring it, he said, “Hey, Jimmy.”

 

On the brink of snapping “That’s Mr. Elliott to you, kid”, James mouthed a surreptitious “I’ll get you for this” to Smoke. “Dinner’s almost ready, Pete. Will our new friend be joining us?”

 

Smoke glanced nervously at James and nodded. “Can I talk to you for a second, Jamie? In the kitchen?”

 

Jazz laughed. “Hey, don’t move it to another room on my account, man. I’m cool.”

 

Jazz winked at James. “Jamie, huh? Must be another…pet name. You guys are really cute.”

 

When they were safely away in the kitchen, James exclaimed, “Cute? We’re cute? There’s something frightening about having a kid half your age call you cute!”

 

Smoke shook his head slowly. “That beats what he called me before. He said I was pretty cool for an “old guy”, Jamie.”

 

“Who is this kid? And why are we inviting him to dinner?”

 

“It’s a long story, Jamie. I was so sure you would understand.”

 

“I’m trying, Pete. Just give it to me straight. We’re not spending a quiet evening at home tonight, are we?”

 

Smoke hesitated before whispering, “I don’t think so, no.”

 

James wasn’t angry. Far from it. He was just disappointed. He listened patiently to Smoke’s account of what happened at the club, and he came to the same conclusion as Smoke. Someone had to intervene. Someone had to try to rescue the boy. From his mother. From his environment. And at this point, probably from himself.

 

“You’re not mad, are you, Jamie?”

 

“No, Pete,” he said softly, realizing that it was true. “Just missed you, that’s all. Wanted to give you a great big kiss when you came home, but there was this…kid…standing there.” James stroked Smoke’s hair back from his face while he spoke, finding that touching his lover helped put things back into perspective.

 

“You can give me a big kiss now, Jamie,” Smoke whispered, his light eyes intent on his partner’s.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Smoke swept James into his arms, his mouth seeking James’ for an achingly tender kiss. They clung to each other for several moments before releasing one another. “I love you,” Smoke whispered against James’ ear, and James kissed Smoke’s cheek as he replied, “I love you, too, baby.”

 

A loud throat-clearing rendered the poignant moment a thing of the past. “Uh, hey, um…remember me?” Jazz waggled his fingers at the two men.

 

James attempted to move away from Smoke, but Smoke hooked an arm around his waist, preventing a quick getaway. James’ eyes widened enquiringly, but Smoke shook his head negatively, trying to convey with his eyes that this was their house, and the adolescent would have to adjust to them, not the other way around.

 

“Did you two get everything straight? I mean, if the SO wants me to take off, I can do that. No problem, man.”

 

Smoke looked unperturbed. “We’re going to sit down and have dinner. After dinner, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

 

Jazz sniffed. Something smelled wonderful. He rarely had an opportunity to eat a good meal. Suddenly staying here didn’t seem so bad. He just wondered what he might have to do to get along.

 

“You the cook, Jimbo?”

 

James gritted his teeth and managed to produce a fair imitation of his normal voice. “You can call me Uncle James.”

 

“Why would I do that, man? You aren’t my uncle.”

 

James continued as if he had not been interrupted. “Or you can call me Mr. Elliott. You pick.”

 

“Jeez, you sound like a real pain in the ass, man.”

 

James’ vivid blue eyes frosted over. “Maybe. But I’m the pain in the ass who runs this house, and that makes me your personal pain in the ass, kid.”

 

“Shit, you’re not half as soft as you look,” Jazz muttered under his breath. It would kill him to admit it, but he respected the fact that both Smoke and James cared enough to set some kind of preliminary boundaries, no matter how minor.

 

“Go wash your hands for dinner.”

 

Jazz frowned at the command. “Hey, they’re clean, man.”

 

Smoke snorted. “You forget. I know where you came from. Hit the bathroom now. And use soap.”

 

After the boy left the room, James gave his partner a considering look. Smoke blinked curiously. “What’s that for?”

 

“I’m pretty proud of what you did, Pete. Not everyone would care about what happened to this kid.”

 

Suddenly Smoke looked shy. “You know how much I want to give you a child, Jamie. But that’s not why I did it. I just thought…what if no one had saved me? I wouldn’t have met you, and you would still be unhappy, and…” Smoke brushed at his eyes briskly. “I did do it for you, Jamie. But I did it for me, too. And for him. Do you think that’s okay?”

 

“Yeah, Pete. I think it’s okay.” James swayed towards his lover and gently kissed him again. His deep blue eyes focused on the locket at the end of the silver chain adorning Smoke’s neck. His lips touched the locket before he dropped his head to nuzzle Smoke’s neck.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Jazz stopped on the other side of the door and listened avidly. The people he knew didn’t say such things to each other. In his world, it wasn’t about love. Or even friendship.

 

He had thought about running away, but somewhere between the bathroom and hearing those words spoken with such genuine emotion, Jazz changed his mind. If there was truly no hope of finding love in the world he came from, perhaps this new world would be different.

 

 

Chapter 5

 

“Time to get up!”

 

Jazz jumped up in bed, his long hair swinging back and forth like a silken curtain. “Jeez! What the hell time is it anyway?”

 

“6 am,” James replied calmly.

 

“6 am!” Jazz rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. James ambled easily around the bed and grabbed hold of the pillow, abruptly yanking it out from under him.

 

“Hey!” Jazz yelled, unable to focus his bleary eyes. James was an indistinct shape that seemed to loom over him.

 

“Time to get up,” James repeated.

 

“What for, man?”

 

“To get washed, dressed, eat breakfast….”

 

“I washed last night, man.”

 

“Your body can stand another shower, trust me.”

 

“Well, I’ll do it later. When I get up.”

 

“You’ll do it now,” James insisted.

 

“What the hell for, man?” Jazz asked grumpily.

 

“What do you think you’re going to do today?”

 

Jazz opened his eyes a little bit wider and studied the man in front of him. No longer the congenial host of last night, James had a disturbingly stubborn look on his face, one that said “test me on this at your own peril.”

 

“I dunno,” the teenager responded sulkily. “Watch TV, I guess.”

 

James shook his head. “When was the last time you went to school?”

 

“*School*? Oh, shit, man, don’t hassle me about school.”

 

“I take it that it’s been awhile.”

 

“I don’t need school. Been there, done that. Now can I go back to sleep?”

 

“No.” James proceeded to tear the blankets off the bed, starting with those immediately covering the boy. Jazz stared at James in stony silence for several seconds before giving in.

 

Pushing himself into a sitting position, the teenager clipped out, “I’m not wearing much under this last sheet, so if you don’t mind, I’d like a little privacy. Unless you’d enjoy the show, maybe.”

 

James didn’t betray his feelings with so much as a flicker of an eyelid. “You’re not my type.”

 

“With a little work, I could be,” the adolescent quipped flirtatiously.

 

“I’m old enough to be your father.”

 

“I like older men.”

 

“I’m sure you do, but where you’re going, you’ll find someone your own age.”

 

“Huh? Where am I going?”

 

“School. Remember that?”

 

“Shit, you’re like a junkyard dog. I’ve never seen anyone who couldn’t be distracted with a little slap and tickle.”

 

“Careful, kid, that sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”

 

“I’m not a kid. I’m 14.”

 

“Right. Why don’t you start acting like it?”

 

“Why don’t you call me by my name?” Jazz countered.

 

“You never introduced yourself,” James reminded, thinking of the way the teenager avoided shaking hands.

 

“My name’s Jazz.”

 

“Jazz, huh? Interesting. What’s the rest of it?”

 

“Don’t you mean what’s your real name?” Jazz sneered. “*Everyone* asks that.”

 

“No. I just need your last name.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To register you for school.”

 

“I’m not going.”

 

“Then you’re not staying,” James said, knowing he was taking a calculated risk. The boy could blow out the door, never to return, or worse, go back to his abusive mother, and that would be a pity.

 

But James was sure that Jazz had already weighed his options. Otherwise, he would already be gone.

 

There was a long pause as Jazz and James literally faced off. Jazz blinked first. “Okay, man. Okay. I’ll probably flunk out anyway.”

 

“Sorry, I have a reputation to uphold.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m a teacher.”

 

“Damn.” Jazz sank back against the bed. “The Borg made you, right?”

 

“The Borg?” James queried with a puzzled look.

 

“You know. Star Trek. The Borg. Resistance is futile.”

 

“It is. And failure’s not on the program either, kid.”

 

“Don’t call me kid.”

 

“Sorry. Jazz.” James waited expectantly. Capitulation had never felt so good.

 

With a huge sigh, Jazz stood up, clad only in his shorts. He was painfully slender. And his need for privacy was not born out of modesty, but out of fear that someone would see the way his own mother had marked him. His body was a mixture of fresh and fading bruises, not to mention scars.

 

“Satisfied?” Jazz whispered.

 

James shook his head mutely. No, he was horrified. Some people were only alive because it was illegal to kill them.

 

“There are clean clothes in the bathroom. After you take your shower, you can put them on. They shouldn’t be too big.” James took refuge in the routine details, taking great care to keep his ongoing sense of horror at Jazz’s obvious violation out of his voice and off his face. The kid didn’t need pity; he needed support and practical help.

 

“Who do they belong to?”

 

The question caught James by surprise. He was so preoccupied, it actually took him a minute to realize that Jazz had spoken.

 

“Oh, the clothes. They belong to Sasha. You can meet him if you like. Thank him.”

 

Jazz’s face clearly said “why would I want to do that?” but he refrained from saying so.

 

“When you come out, you’ll have time to grab some breakfast.”

 

“How do you know I’m hungry, man?” Jazz asked rhetorically, but his stomach growled loudly, giving him away.

 

“I’m not going to sign you up for school and then leave you there, Jazz. I can tutor you here at home to get you up to speed,” James added sympathetically.

 

“You’d do that for me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But you don’t even know me, man. Why do you care if I fit in or not? Because it reflects on you?” he asked, bitterness seizing him by the throat.

 

“No…because it reflects on you.”

 

“Get dressed.” James turned to go, but Jazz’s voice stopped him.

 

“Thanks…*James*.”  James’ deep blue eyes flickered in surprise.

 

“I ain’t calling you Uncle, man. Cause you’re not. But…you’re not a bad guy.”

 

“Thanks…*Jazz*,” James returned softly.

 

“It’s Verlaine. Like the poet.”

 

“What?”

 

“My name. Verlaine. Nicolas Verlaine.”

 

For a moment, James thought, what is it that makes some people feel compelled to admit things to me that they can’t even admit to themselves? He smiled. “Nice name.”

 

“Thanks,” Jazz said almost shyly. “Um…can you ask this guy Sasha to wait for me? I’d…um…like to meet him.”

 

James nodded. It looked like it was going to be a good day.

 

 

Chapter 6

 

“So how does he seem to you, Sasha?” Faith asked. They were supposed to leave for school any minute now, but Faith was too curious to let an opportunity like this go by. The middle school and the high school were actually closer than the elementary school, and Sasha walked the distance easily everyday. But Faith and the younger children were still relying on bus transportation carefully supervised and supplemented as necessary by Walter. As Walter put it, “No one’s grabbing Little Sugar on my watch.”

 

Faith hovered restlessly by the doorway, knowing Connor was probably wondering where she had disappeared to.

 

“He seems okay,” Sasha answered with a shrug. “Why?”

 

“Just wondered.” Faith’s tone was carefree, but Sasha knew Faith. She knew something.

 

“Okay, spill it, Fee. What’s the big mystery?”

 

“Nothing.” Faith evaded Sasha’s dark-eyed scrutiny with the ease that came from long practice.

 

“What kind of nothing?”

 

“Just that…” she drawled, then abruptly sped up until it was nearly impossible to make out what she was saying.

 

“…he’sgayandhismombeathimupandhe’sbeenworkingonthestreets.”

 

“On the streets? Doing what?”

 

“Sa-sha…” Faith said, rolling her eyes.

 

“Ohhh…” Sasha grinned.

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“Jazz.”

 

“What kind of name is that?” Faith wrinkled her nose.

 

“It’s a nickname,” said Jazz, coming into the living room to join them. His golden brown hair was still wet from the shower, but combed neatly, falling straight to his shoulders. Dressed in an oversized white T-shirt and faded jeans that clung to his legs, Jazz made a very attractive picture of male youth.

 

Faith’s eyes glowed verdant green. “He’s cute,” Faith whispered, giving Sasha a nudge. “You didn’t tell me how cute he was.”

 

Sasha blinked owlishly, looking like his father Sey. “I didn’t notice.”

 

“Hi, I’m Fee,” Faith said, offering her hand.

 

Jazz smiled, and it transformed him into a completely different person. “Hi.”

 

Faith was dazzled by the brilliance of that smile, and thoughts of Connor fell by the wayside. Here was an older boy, a good-looking older boy, and Faith totally forgot what she’d just told Sasha about Jazz being gay.

 

“What grade will you be in at school?”

 

“I don’t know yet.” He shrugged. “I’m 14. But I haven’t been to school for a couple of years. So I’m not sure. James said he would help me…you know…catch up.”

 

Jazz couldn’t believe that he was admitting this to people he’d only just met, but their interest seemed as genuine as it was refreshing. No one ever asked him personal questions. At least, not unless they wanted something. But those two actually seemed to care about the answers, too.

 

Sasha smiled. “I’m 12. I’m in 7th grade. Maybe you’ll be in my class, then, instead of with the other 9th graders.”

 

Jazz frowned. He didn’t want to be the oldest kid in a lower class. That sounded…humiliating. Suddenly some of the newfound glow that surrounded the idea of attending school faded.

 

But for some reason, he didn’t voice this to Sasha or Faith. He’d never had friends before. Maybe these two would be his first real friends.

 

Sasha saw his frown and said kindly, “Uncle James is a great teacher. He taught all of us before we went to school. But hey, I’m pretty good in school. So if you want, maybe I could help, too.”

 

“I’d like that,” said Jazz.

 

Faith felt the older boy’s shift in interest to Sasha and sighed.

 

“I wanted to thank you for the clothes. That was nice of you.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Everyone fell silent, and the longer it went on, the more uncomfortable it became. Faith said, “Well, I have to get to school. Grandpa’ll have my head if I’m late again.”

 

Sasha waved. When Sasha didn’t immediately follow Faith, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the door, hissing “Sasha, aren’t you coming?”

 

“In a few minutes, Fee,” said Sasha, wondering at her fervor to get him away from Jazz.

 

“Sasha, I swear you took stupid pills today,” she whispered, her eyes still on Jazz. “Can’t you see that Jazz likes you?”

 

“So?”

 

“Duh. Sasha! I mean he likes you.”

 

In her effort to make Sasha understand, she inadvertently raised her voice and Jazz clearly heard every word.

 

He flushed deep red, but it was hard to tell if he was angry or upset.

 

A guilty look on her face, Faith clapped both hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Jazz. I didn’t mean—“

 

“Yeah, you did.” Now Faith could see. He wasn’t so much angry as he was hurt. “Guess it never occurred to you that gay people need friends, too, huh? Just because—“

 

“I didn’t mean—“

 

Jazz continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “—I talk to someone or even like someone, it doesn’t mean that I feel that way about him.”

 

Sasha had been listening intently and he finally found his voice. “Hey, you don’t have anything to prove to me. My parents are gay.”

 

Jazz stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t have to make fun of me, man.”

 

“I’m not making fun of you, Jazz. I’ve been around gay people over half my life, and I’m not stupid enough to think that just because a gay guy likes me, he wants to sleep with me.”

 

Jazz nodded. “How do you know I don’t want to sleep with you? You’re kinda cute, y’know.”

 

To Jazz’s surprise, Sasha laughed. Far from threatened by the possibility, he was amused. “You could try, Jazz, but you wouldn’t get very far. I’m definitely straight.” So straight, it hurts sometimes, Sasha finished in his head, thinking of the 14-year old girl he still lusted after.

 

Sasha reached out and placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. Though Jazz was older by two years, Sasha was clearly the taller and the broader of the two. “I’ll be your friend, Jazz. I’m not worried about you coming on to me.”

 

Jazz smiled gratefully. “Up till now, I’ve never had any friends,” he confessed. “Everybody either ignores me or they want something. I bet you can guess what they want, too.”

 

“Jazz, just say no.”

 

“It’s not that easy, Sasha. No one’s ever liked me for me. But I keep…*hoping*.”

 

“Well, screwing around isn’t going to get you friends, Jazz. It’s just plain dumb. With all the stuff that’s out there, it’s a good way to end up dead.”

 

Sasha’s dark eyes lost their fierce gleam and grew sad. “I know we just met, and God knows you don’t have to listen to me, but I’d hate to see you end up that way, Jazz. Really.”

 

James listened from the other room. Sasha had said some insightful things in his short life, but this took the prize. Jazz was at an age where peer pressure meant more than authority. They’d made inroads already, but James was well aware that at least part of the reason it was working was because Jazz was cooperating. Sasha’s help in the meantime was positively invaluable.

 

His mind made up, he joined the trio, noting Faith’s frozen posture near the door before anything else. “Fee? What’s wrong, honey?”

 

Faith met his cobalt blue gaze with wide-eyed anxiety. “I made a terrible mistake, Uncle James.”

 

“You did?” he asked.

 

Jazz looked on with interest, Sasha at his side. Faith nodded. She looked almost tearful.

 

Without looking at Jazz, she unburdened herself. Her heart a mass of conflicting emotions, she poured it all out. “I talked about Jazz like he wasn’t even here, and everyone knows how much I hate being treated like that,” she said, her speech rambling but not disorganized in the least.

 

“I assumed that he was after Sasha, and the only excuse I have is that I was mad. Mad because I wanted him to like me, too. Only I knew that could never happen. Not if he’s gay. And I just—I just…I’m sorry.” Faith did cry then, silently, tears tracing silvery trails down both cheeks.

 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Jazz,” she said with conviction, finally struggling to meet his eyes. “I should know better.”

 

Jazz was mesmerized by the amount of attention he was getting. If this was how his new life was going to be, he could get used to this. People, even people his own age, actually cared about what he thought and felt.

 

“I hope you can forgive me.”

 

Jazz smiled. “I already have.”

 

 

Chapter 7

 

Walter raced his motorcycle up the driveway that led to Davenport’s property. It was a long dirt road that Davenport inherited from the previous owner, and it remained unpaved, thanks to the multitude of other tasks that took top priority in Davenport’s life. To be honest, Walter loved taking the Harley up that road, wind stinging his cheeks till they were stained as red as the bandanna around his head.

 

Davenport heard the engine and came outside to greet the older man. “Walter! Everything okay in your neck o’ the woods?”

 

Walter slung his still limber frame off the Harley and carefully balanced it against the side of the house. “Pretty much. Sugar sent me.”

 

Davenport smiled apologetically. “Derry and I haven’t seen much of you guys lately…between work and the kids and….”

 

Walter shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Dav. I live in the house that Spyboy and Sugar built, remember?” He laughed and Davenport grinned back at him.

 

“In other words, life is good.”

 

“That it is, Dav. That it is.”

 

“So what does Nikita want?” Davenport inquired.

 

“She wants to throw something together for the new kid. So the rest of the family can meet him and all.”

 

“Ohhh…” Davenport replied. “Well, I haven’t actually had more than a couple of words with him myself.”

 

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

 

“What? That he’s here? Hey, we’ve got enough people here now to form a small army. How can I complain?”

 

“No, I mean…first Smoke moved in…and then James. And now this kid. That bother you? Losing your privacy?”

 

Davenport laughed, a merry light dancing in his midnight black eyes. “What privacy? Walter, you live with Michael and Nikita. Is there such a thing as privacy once you have kids?”

 

“Now that you mention it, no.” Walter removed his leather gloves and smacked them together restlessly. “So…you’ve met the kid, at least. What do you think?”

 

“About what? He’s a nice kid.” At Walter’s studious look, Davenport continued, “What? You think he should have horns and a tail? He’s a teenager.”

 

“You think he’d enjoy a party then?”

 

“Probably. Don’t most kids?”

 

“Yeah. But this one’s not like most kids.”

 

Davenport frowned. “Don’t tell me this is about him being gay. I never expected you to be bothered by something like that.”

 

Walter’s bright blue eyes narrowed. “You mean because I’m an aging hippie? Free love and all that?”

 

“Well…no, Walter. I just never pegged you as an elitist of any kind.”

 

Walter relaxed against the Harley, his leather-encased legs still muscular enough to kick start the cycle instead of relying on the ignition. “I’m not, Dav. I’m more concerned about the fact that the kid is a teenager than anything else. We don’t know jack about what he does, if he’s sexually active, if he’s into drugs. All those things that make him an irresistible role model to the younger kids we’ve got.”

 

“This is not about hate at all. This is about how much I love my grandkids and what I’d do to protect them, Dav.”

 

Walter spoke quickly and fiercely, and when he was finished, Davenport could see that, contrary to what Walter said about Nikita sending him, he was here on his own. In a very real sense, the kids were Walter’s mission. They always had been. From the birth of the Samuelle twins to the birth of the Davenport twins, Walter cared. He might be gruff and he might very well be the unchallenged champion when it came to acting like a cranky old man. But he cared. That was just the way he was.

 

Davenport gave him a considering look before his face was transformed by a blindingly bright smile. “Let’s go meet him then.”

 

***

 

James was in the process of flying out the door when Davenport stopped him. “Hi, James,” Davenport said softly. “You’re in a hurry, huh?”

 

James took one look at Walter, who was standing impatiently behind Davenport, and shook his head. “I can make up the time. What’s up?”

 

“We really haven’t had a chance to meet the new kid. Just thought we could come in and get to know him a little. If that’s okay with you.”

 

James nodded, but when he spoke, it was to say, “He’s not here. Sasha took him to school. We thought that since the two of them hit it off right away, Jazz might adjust better to going back to school if he had someone closer to his own age to ease him through the transition.”

 

Walter sighed. “You trust him, James?”

 

“Which one? Sasha or Jazz?” James regarded the older man with a sardonic smile. “If you’re worried about Jazz acting out, stop. He’s a good kid. I’d bet money on it.”

 

Smoke entered the room at breakneck pace, slowing only to pull on his jacket. The edge of a brown paper bag clenched between his teeth, he struggled with the zipper of the jacket, giving his lover an exasperated look. James smiled briefly at Walter and Davenport, then turned to face Smoke. His hands automatically working the zipper into a closed position, he pulled the zipper up all the way to Smoke’s neck, feeling like a proud mother getting her little boy ready for a big day at the playground. “What’s that?”

 

“Breakfast,” Smoke said after taking the paper out of his mouth.

 

“Pete, you need to eat better than this.”

 

“No time for the lecture, Jamie. I don’t want to be late.”

 

“You’d better not be. I’m subbing for your professor this morning,” James countered, unable to keep from smiling. He loved moments like these. Smoke was never certain how to act in that context. James loved it when Smoke became all shy and flustered. It was so at odds with both his appearance and the way Smoke presented himself.

 

“Ahh, Jamie, there’s a quiz,” Smoke said, almost pleading with his light blue-gray eyes. “Do you grade on a curve?”

 

“Do I have to?” James chuckled. He tucked a long wayward strand of black hair behind Smoke’s ear. It was a familiar gesture to Smoke, but one that never failed to convince him of how deeply he was loved.

 

His light eyes warming themselves on the face he called beloved, Smoke said, “No, I studied.”

 

“Good.”

 

Smoke bent his head to kiss James and then with a wave, he was gone. James turned back to the two older men, only to find them regarding him with something akin to amusement. “You two are just so good together, James,” said Davenport.

 

James smiled almost shyly. “We’re happy,” he said simply. “I thought I would take a run by the high school—“

 

James saw the interested look creep into Walter’s eyes and silenced him with a sharp glance. “Not because I don’t trust him, Walter. I just wanted to see how he was making out. He’s not all that used to…people. Or at least, not to people treating him decently.”

 

“Yeah,” Davenport agreed. “He reminds me of a dog I saw once. Whipped and beaten so often, it didn’t know how to react to someone nice.”

 

Davenport absently rubbed the back of his left wrist. He was so deep in thought for a moment, he didn’t realize that both James and Walter were staring at him. “Oh, that,” he said, shrugging off their compassion. He rubbed the scar again. He was only a boy when it happened. The dog was so abused, it couldn’t be blamed for biting the very next person that approached it.

 

He never gave up on that dog.

 

He wouldn’t give up on this kid either.

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Sasha gave his newfound friend an unabashed grin of monumental proportions. “No way, man!”

 

“Yes! I did!” Jazz chuckled. He liked Sasha. Maybe a little too much. But he could control himself. Infatuation had a lot to do with the pure joy he felt at having freedom, real freedom, for the first time in his young life, and much less to do with Sasha himself. But in a way, he did feel something special for Sasha because Sasha was his first real friend.

 

“You’re pretty cool, Jazz.”

 

Jazz flushed with pride at the compliment. Sasha wasn’t easy to impress. He’d seen a lot, done almost as much, in his short lifetime. One of Sasha’s best qualities, though, was his animation, his enthusiasm for life. Any life. They were like brothers who were separated at birth, only to find each other and recognize one another in ways others could only guess at.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Jazz acted totally on instinct when he patted Sasha on the shoulder. Sasha looked down at the older boy’s hand, then at Jazz himself. He wasn’t confused. He very well could have been. But he wasn’t. He didn’t mistake the affection of a friend for the desire of a would-be lover. Despite his age, Sasha’s level of perception was remarkable. It wasn’t just that he was kind. But he was intuitive, too. Like his actual father, Sey, and strangely enough, like his adoptive father, Declan, as well.

 

Afraid that Sasha might misunderstand his intentions, Jazz dropped his hand. “I didn’t mean anything by—“

 

“I know.”

 

“It doesn’t bother you? Really?”

 

Sasha shook his head. “I’m your friend.”

 

“I’ve been told that before,” Jazz said with a trace of bitterness he couldn’t keep from showing. “By people who wanted something.”

 

“Yeah, but Jazz, with me…what you see is what you get. I don’t want anything from you. I’m just…your friend.”

 

“Why?” For Jazz, who wanted desperately to believe in something very much like friendship, it was hard to come to terms with what other people saw in him. Surrounded by ugliness most of his life, he had no reason to believe in his own beauty.

 

Sasha smiled. “It’s not that complicated, Jazz. I like you.”

 

Before Jazz could acknowledge that, something caught his attention across the athletic field.

 

The trio of older teenage boys eyed the couple like the predators they were. All of them were in a public area. In plain sight. But that didn’t stop the trio from treating the two younger boys like prey.

 

“Hey, look what we got here!” said the ringleader. Sasha glanced quickly at the three boys, then at Jazz. He tried valiantly to ignore the boys, but something warned him that things were going to get tense. In fact, there was something almost familiar about the leader of the three. Sasha just couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

As the older teens moved closer, Sasha started to back up, one arm flung protectively across Jazz’s chest. “What are we doing?” Jazz hissed.

 

“Trying to get away from the inevitable,” Sasha quipped dryly.

 

“This happen to you a lot?” Jazz asked, nervously eyeing the oncoming group.

 

“Not really. Not for years.”

 

“Then how do you know something’s going to happen?”

 

“Sometimes you just…*know*.” And Sasha thought of his father, Declan, and his sixth sense for trouble. He wondered if it was possible to inherit a trait like that from someone he didn’t share a blood tie with. Nevertheless, he felt like he and Declan were related.

 

Suddenly an image flashed into Sasha’s mind and he knew. “Claude!”

 

“Who’s Claude?”

 

“I am,” said the ringleader, who was nearly toe to toe now with Sasha and Jazz.

 

I remember you, thought Sasha. You were the ten-year old bully who tried to attack Skye.

 

I remember you, thought Claude. You were the six-year old kid who made me lose face in front of my buddies.

 

“I can still defend myself, you know,” said Sasha, never taking his eyes off Claude.

 

“I bet you can. But the last time, you had that yummy little blonde with you. What was her name again?” Claude’s mouth formed a wicked grin that was meant to be intimidating.

 

Sasha gritted his teeth at the older boy’s description of his beloved. Claude licked his lips as only a sixteen-year old boy bent on thwarting a rival can do. “I’ve been waiting for that one to grow up just a little bit more.”

 

Resisting the urge to yell, “Leave her alone!”, Sasha practiced the control he’d learned from Declan, even as the emotions that he’d inherited from Sey seethed within.

 

Jazz leaned close enough to whisper, “Who’s he talking about?”

 

Sasha’s breath whistled in and out one more time before he answered. “Skye.”

 

“That’s right! Skye! What a delicious little piece of—“

 

His hand planted firmly in the middle of Sasha’s back, Jazz felt the twelve-year old’s body shudder in reaction. “Don’t!” Sasha shouted, beginning to feel his control erode.

 

“Who’s Skye?” Jazz whispered.

 

“My girl.” Only two words. But the heartfelt emotion packed into those syllables was palpable. Sasha could have answered any of a hundred different ways. My soul, my heart, the best part of me…but when he said, “My girl,” Jazz knew exactly how he meant it.

 

Claude snickered. “You long-haired hippie boy…guess it figures you would find the prettiest little fag to hang out with. You doing both of ‘em?”

 

“Why? You afraid you’ll miss your turn?” Sasha countered, a steely glint in his dark eyes that should have warned Claude.

 

“You frigging—“ One of the nameless, faceless boys that called Claude friend grabbed him by the arm, ostensibly to hold him back.

 

That’s when Jazz stepped forward. His entire body swaying seductively, he epitomized everything that Claude thought he hated. Right before Sasha’s eyes, Jazz began running his hand lightly up and down Claude’s arm, his lambent crystal green eyes sparking as they traveled audaciously over Claude’s broad frame.

 

What are you doing? Sasha wanted to scream. He wasn’t sure if Jazz was trying to make things worse or if he really thought that seducing the enemy was a viable alternative to getting beaten up until they graduated.

 

Claude’s hormone-laden sixteen-year old brain couldn’t handle the sensual way that Jazz touched him. He would have moved away, but in a stunning turnabout, Jazz seized control of the situation. His hand slid over Claude’s arousal one moment, his fingernails digging in sharply the next.

 

Gripping Claude’s genitals tightly with one hand, Jazz struck with a clenched fist before Claude could even begin to react. As Claude howled with pain and doubled over, Jazz elbowed him in the face, effectively breaking his nose. His leg then shot out, catching the older teenager behind the knee to pull him forward and off-balance. Seconds later, Claude found himself sitting flat on his butt, alternately clutching his genitals and his nose.

 

His eyes blurred by tears, Claude shouted, “You’re dead, fag! You’re freaking dead!”

 

Sasha glanced at Jazz admiringly. “You gotta show me that move! Where’d you learn it?”

 

“On the street. Same place I learned everything else. The hard way.”

 

The other two teenagers advanced on Sasha and Jazz. Sasha was far too quick for either boy to land a punch on him. Trained in the more traditional martial arts, Sasha leaped into the air, his right foot connecting solidly with one teenager’s chest. The force was enough to knock him off his feet. The older boy gasped as pain shot through him when he tried to move again.

 

Sasha and Jazz instinctively stood back to back, forcing the other member of the trio to come to them without a hope of touching either one. Blocking the punches with his arm, Sasha looked for an opening. He finally found one and pointed it out to Jazz, who smiled enigmatically. They double-teamed the remaining boy, who seemed strangely grateful to be lying on the ground.

 

Brushing the leaves and grass from their clothing, they watched as two of the three older teenagers scattered to the four corners of the Earth. Claude would have glared at the victorious couple, but he was still trying to catch his breath.

 

That was when Walter, Davenport, and James showed up. Sasha prayed for Declan’s forgiveness when he found out. He knew he shouldn’t be fighting. With anyone, but certainly not the bully he had bested as a rebellious first-grader. I hope you understand, Da. I didn’t do it cause I love fighting. I did it cause you taught me that it’s right to defend yourself, if you have no other options. And Da? Sasha continued in his head. I just couldn’t let them hurt Jazz.

 

To say that Davenport was suspicious would be a terrible understatement. But he had no proof. He wasn’t even sure he would look for any. “What happened here?”

 

Sasha hated lying, but he would do it again. For friendship. For Skye. For Jazz. “He…um…tripped and fell. Broke his nose. Didn’t you, Claude?”

 

Claude’s eyes gleamed, but hurt as he was, he knew when he was finally beaten. Shit, maybe if he was really lucky, no one would find out that it had been the same kid as last time. Not to mention his friend, who obviously found better things to do than polish his fingernails. “Yeah…that’s right. I…uh…tripped.”

 

Davenport looked from Claude to Sasha to Jazz. He shook his head when he finally met Walter’s eyes. Dammit all to Hell and back, Walter looked pleased. Like he’d discovered something unexpected in the new kid.

 

Walter smiled to himself. He had. If the kid was willing to defend himself as well as Sasha, there was definitely something worth saving there.

 

James traded glances with Jazz. You will tell me all about this after school, he said silently. Be glad to…*Dad*, Jazz answered back without saying a word.

 

 

Chapter 9

 

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. The feeling of exhilaration lasted for hours. Jazz felt like he could do anything, positively anything, and he knew that it wasn’t the adrenaline high that came from fighting. This was different.

 

Acceptance.

 

He could feel its balm pouring over his internal wounds, soothing them, healing them. He had never really belonged anywhere. But now he did. If he had said any of this to Sasha, Sasha could have told him that he knew exactly how he felt. No one had ever risked as much for him. No one had ever wanted him in their lives for more than a minute…or an hour.

 

Somehow, James had understood. He didn’t press Jazz for details, though he was undoubtedly entitled to ask for them. That too caught Jazz’s attention. The way that the family closed its ranks around its own. They trusted each other. And once you were accepted inside its confines, they trusted you, too.

 

For once, he looked forward to the rest of his life.

 

***

 

Chris listened to his mother. Nikita was in full planning mode. In an effort to make Jazz feel at home, she decided to have a large-scale barbecue on the back lawn. Everyone was coming. Everyone was contributing something. Whether it was homemade potato salad or quiche.

 

Nikita laughed at the thought of that last one. Michael liked quiche, but he preferred to cook it himself. He claimed that even Declan could not cook quiche as well as he did. She didn’t know whether it was sheer vanity or not, but she couldn’t deny him anything. Turning to her twelve-year old son, she chuckled huskily and said, “Whoever said that real men don’t eat quiche never met your father.”

 

“Mom?”

 

“Yes, sweetie?” she responded without looking up.

 

Chris shuffled his feet a few times before uttering a heartfelt sigh. Nikita’s head came up sharply. If there was one thing she had a nose for, it was angst. “What’s wrong, Chris?”

 

“Do I have to come to the cookout on Saturday?”

 

“Don’t you want to?”

 

Chris stared at his impatient feet for several moments. They wanted to whisk him away. Right now. Before he embarrassed himself.

 

When Chris didn’t answer, Nikita searched for a clue to what might be bothering him. Her first choice was always Emmy. “Emmy’s going to be there, Chris.”

 

“I know,” he said morosely.

 

“Don’t you want to see her?”

 

“Maybe she won’t want to see me,” Chris said, his blue eyes turned black with pain.

 

“Did you two have a fight?”

 

“Not exactly,” he hedged.

 

Suddenly he blurted out, “It’s not my fault!”

 

“What’s not your fault, sweetie?”

 

“I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Well, try, honey.”

 

“No, I mean, that’s the problem, Mom. I never know what to say.” Chris’ face looked bleaker than she had ever seen it. His anguish was genuine.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Emmy was…um…wearing that pale pink dress. The one that makes her hair look so pretty. I love the way her hair looks when it falls across her shoulders. Almost like a real princess.” Chris couldn’t believe he had actually said what came into his mind. And to his mother.

 

Nikita smiled. She had a feeling that she knew where this might be going.

 

“Did you tell her that?”

 

“No! I mean…I wanted to. I always want to. But I couldn’t find the right words, Mom. Why can’t I tell her how I feel? I used to.”

 

“You’re both growing up, Chris. It’s not that it’s harder to feel those things, but sometimes it gets harder to say them. Maybe you’re afraid that she doesn’t feel the same way anymore. Or maybe you’re afraid that she’ll laugh at you.” Nikita stroked Chris’ blond hair, so like her own.

 

“Emmy wouldn’t do that,” Chris said with complete certainty. “But….”

 

“Suppose she likes someone else, Mom? Suppose he can tell her that kind of stuff? And she…*likes* it?” Suddenly Chris reached out for Nikita, hugging her in a totally uncharacteristic way, burying his face against her chest. He inhaled the scent of her, her Mom-scent, and it helped, it truly did.

 

“*Is* there someone else, Chris?”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

Chris pulled away from his mother, mildly embarrassed by his loss of control. “I  met that new kid, Mom. Jazz.”

 

When Chris didn’t continue right away, Nikita prompted him. “What’s that got to do with Emmy?”

 

“He kept telling me how pretty she was,” Chris said, his eyes filling with tears. “He likes her, Mom. I can tell. And why would Emmy look at me that way when I can never tell her nice things like he does?”

 

“Oh, Chris,” Nikita sighed. “You’re jealous.”

 

“But I don’t want to be.”

 

“Sweetie, I don’t think you have a choice right now. But when you get older, you won’t be. Cause you’ll know you can trust her not to love anyone else the way she loves you.”

 

She could have told him that Jazz had no romantic interest in Emmy or anyone like her. But that would have seemed like a violation of Jazz’s right to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. Besides, the threat was real to Chris, no matter who stood in Jazz’s place.

 

“Oh, and Chris? The words will come to you someday. When the time is right for you and Emmy to be together.”

 

“Then you believe it, too, Mom?” Chris looked so hopeful, light shining out of his blue eyes again.

 

“That you two will be together someday? If that’s what you and Emmy want, Chris, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”

 

That was his Mom. Sometimes it was so clear to him why his father loved her so much.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

It was a beautiful day. Sunny. Warm. Not the usual Spring weather. Not a hint of clouds lurked in the calm blue sky.

 

Nikita gave the bright red tablecloth on the oversized picnic table one last tug before pronouncing her preparations were at an end. “Done.”

 

Michael wrapped his arms around his wife, staring out over the back lawn to survey the results of all their hard work. “Should be a nice day, Kita.”

 

Nikita pulled his arms more tightly around her waist. Lately she had such a craving for the slightest bit of affection Michael showed her. At first, she thought she might be pregnant again. But no, it wasn’t that. The feelings that first drew them together seemed to grow more intense with each passing year. The certainty that they belonged together, the ways that they completed one another…made her think that they would truly love forever. Nikita knew how lucky she was. No matter how she might have hated her years in Section, she could not wish them away. Without them, she might never have found the other half of her heart and soul.

 

She smiled and leaned back against him, contentment washing over her in a great wave. “I love this,” she said, waving a hand at the landscape before them.

 

“What?” he asked softly, his breath wafting across the nape of her neck.

 

“What we have. Our house. Our children. Our lives.”

 

“Oh, doucette, I don’t thank you nearly enough,” Michael breathed into her ear.

 

“For what?”

 

“For loving me. For staying with me. For making my dream real.”

 

Oh, my. That was a veritable speech for Michael. And the poetry of what her strong, sometimes silent, sometimes inarticulate husband said made her heart ache.

 

Curling into his arms with feline grace, Nikita murmured “I love you, Michael.” She snuggled under his chin, and he gratefully entwined their hands.

 

He was content just to stand there, holding her in his arms. He was not a man who expected much from life. Section had seen to that. But more and more, he was thankful for what (he believed) God had seen fit to give him.

 

For half his life, he lived as if the next day didn’t matter, and for the most part, it didn’t. Till he met an impulsive, headstrong street kid with nothing left to lose but her humanity. Again and again, Section forced him to challenge her. And against all odds, she refused to surrender.

 

He buried his face in her pale, jasmine-scented hair, loving the feel of her hair. Loving the feel of her. Loving her. His bright angel.

 

***

 

He might have thought her asleep. Her sapphire eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even. But her lips parted, and she whispered, “Make love to me….”

 

“We’re about to be descended upon by a pack of ravenous relatives and their children, doucette,” Michael protested, albeit rather weakly.

 

“Please….”

 

“Yes….”

 

He bent her over the table, his mouth taking hers in a kiss that was more tender than sensual. Nikita offered up a soft sigh, and quickly, he captured that, too.

 

They were so preoccupied that they never registered the addition of another person to the equation.

 

“Daaadd…jeeez…I mean really…you’re not going to do this when everybody else gets here, are you?”

 

Michael whirled to face her, surprise written across his face. “Faith!”

 

“Yeah, Dad, it’s me. I mean, I know you guys love each other and all, but sheesh, what if someone else saw you? What would they think?”

 

“They’d think your father and I are in love, Fee,” Nikita said, a bit more sharply than she intended.

 

“No kidding, Mom,” said Faith, rolling her eyes. “At your age, too.”

 

Faith grabbed a potato chip from the table and chomped hungrily on it. Michael’s arm never left Nikita’s waist, but he regarded his oldest daughter impassively. “Faith?”

 

“Yes, Dad?” she said, surprisingly oblivious to the undercurrents emanating from Michael’s direction.

 

“You should never be ashamed of your parents loving each other. It’s what brought you into this world.”

 

Faith blinked. “Wow, Dad. That was pretty good.” Faith selected another potato chip from the bowl on the table, eyeing it carefully, her attention on the chip instead of on him.

 

Michael turned to his wife and hid his face against her neck. For a moment, Nikita wasn’t sure whether he was taking up where he left off, which would not only impress Faith, but Nikita, too, or trying desperately hard not to laugh.

 

When Nikita felt Michael’s tongue on her neck, she almost lost her grip on him. She dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter, made even more uncontrollable by feeling her husband’s shoulders silently shaking. “Mi-chael!” she sputtered, playfully batting at him.

 

“Ssh,” Michael managed to whisper. “I think Faith is losing her healthy respect for authority.”

 

“I hate to tell you this, Michael, but I don’t think she ever had one to begin with.”

 

The loud crunch of a potato chip caught the attention of both of them. “Ummm…maybe you guys should take a break or something? Upstairs?”

 

“Well, okay,” Nikita grudgingly conceded, her light blue eyes still filled with laughter. “If you think so, Faith.”

 

“Yeah, Mom, you two definitely need a break. You work way too hard for normal people.”

 

Michael raised an eyebrow at his daughter, but Nikita swatted gently at his arm, warning him to let it go. “Don’t—“ Michael narrowed his eyes, giving his wife a look that said “I’m giving in, but don’t push your luck.”

 

Faith paused in the middle of eating another chip, her hand halfway to her mouth. Michael nodded imperceptibly at her.

 

“Don’t eat all the potato chips.”

 

Good advice, Dad. Words to live by. Boy, has Mom got you under control or what? Must be love, Dad. She doesn’t know voodoo.

 

 

Chapter 11

 

“It feels like Christmas all over again, Jamie.”

 

“Better, Pete. Cause you gave me something no one else could.”

 

Smoke sighed happily, no longer reluctant to openly hug James in front of everyone. “Jazz looks like he’s going to fit in, Jamie.”

 

James smiled warmly at his lover, his hands lightly caressing Smoke’s face. “I think what he did the other day went a long way towards making that happen, Pete. Walter can’t stop talking about what a great kid he is.”

 

Smoke chuckled. “Anyone who stands up for his Sasha must be okay.”

 

James agreed. “You’re right. Must be that bond between him and Sey, Sasha being his kid and all.”

 

“Speaking of Sasha, where is he?”

 

“He’s over there. With Skye.”

 

***

 

Sasha couldn’t keep his hands off Skye. He was constantly in motion, touching her hair, her shoulder, her hands, as if he couldn’t help himself. But he was careful to keep things appropriate. Sometimes it was hard to stay on this side of the line. But he made the effort because this was Skye.

 

“You ever think about…you know?”

 

Skye shook her head, setting her long fall of pale blonde hair into motion. Though she was unquestionably adept at reading his mind, she didn’t know what he meant this time. “About what?”

 

“The…um…future? You…and me….” Sasha felt his mouth go dry. “Together,” he finished hoarsely.

 

“You mean like when we can go out on a date and stuff?”

 

Sasha flushed. An image of himself and Skye, four or five years from now, standing so close together, they were almost touching, came into his mind. He tried to stop the image right there, but it was too powerful and he wanted it too badly. This…image…had no dreamlike quality to it. It felt real. He saw his older self kissing Skye goodnight. All at once, he couldn’t breathe. This was dangerous territory, territory they still had years to explore.

 

“Sasha?” Skye queried, a puzzled look on her face. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m great,” he whispered without really meaning it.

 

“So? Is that what you were thinking?” she asked in all innocence.

 

“Sorta. I was…wondering if you ever…um….”

 

Skye reached out with her small, slender fingers and stroked Sasha’s cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He fought with his hormones for control and won.

 

His dark chocolate eyes flew open abruptly, fixing on her beloved face. “Do you ever think about us getting married?” he blurted out before he lost what was left of his nerve.

 

She did. But she was astounded that Sasha did. She didn’t think boys ever admitted to those kinds of things. It was too…romantic. And God knows, few boys were interested in romance.

 

She nodded silently, and Sasha absorbed the picture she made, feeling as though he wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his life. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t a big moment in the overall scheme of things. But he cherished it just the same. Almost breathless, though this time not with excitement, Sasha realized that it felt like he had proposed…and she had accepted.

 

Sasha played with a long strand of Skye’s hair, twisting it around and around his finger nervously. “You’re going to be so beautiful, Ange.”

 

“So are you,” Skye whispered, knowing it was true. He was beautiful, her Sasha, cast in all the various shades of the Earth. His hair, his eyes, even the way his skin lightly tanned.

 

She stared intently into his eyes for long moments before coming to a decision. Glancing around quickly, she felt her heart speed up as she realized that no one was looking in their direction. “Beast…if you hurry…,” she bit her lip anxiously, “…you can kiss me.”

 

That rocked Sasha’s world. He didn’t hesitate for more than a fraction of a second. Gingerly he touched his lips to hers. Her mouth felt warm and dry, the kiss itself as chaste as church. It didn’t last long, and it was nothing to worry their parents. But it filled Sasha’s heart to overflowing. He would live off this kiss for weeks. Months, even.

 

He hugged her briefly, just so he could whisper in her ear, “I love you, Ange.” And she held onto him for a few moments, just so she could whisper back, “I love you, too, Beast.”

 

***

 

Sey poked Declan in the ribs, directing his attention to their son. “What?”

 

“Look at Sasha, Dec.”

 

Declan rapidly took note of how close Sasha and Skye were to one another. Within a minute or two, he registered Sasha’s heightened color, not to mention his ragged breathing and the possessive way he held Skye’s hand. “Tell me I’m not going to have to beat that kid within an inch of his life,” Declan muttered.

 

“He won’t hurt her, Dec. He loves her,” Sey urged his lover to understand.

 

“Kids get carried away every day, Sey,” Declan replied.

 

“You don’t see it, do you, Dec? Shit, I thought the romantic in you would get it right away.”

 

Declan frowned. “Help me out here, baby. What do you see that I don’t?”

 

“He’s got her on a pedestal every bit as high as the one Chris keeps Emmy on.”

 

“No way, Sey. You’re wrong. Look at how excited he is.”

 

“I’m not saying he’s not reacting to her, Dec. I’m saying he won’t step over the line. Cause he loves her. He’s got it bad. He wants the whole thing. The white wedding, the music, the works.”

 

“You’re serious.”

 

“Damn straight I am, Dec.” At Declan’s wry look, Sey had the grace to look mildly embarrassed. “Okay, poor choice of words.”

 

Declan ruffled Sey’s long brown hair, anchoring his fingers in the dark silk so he could pull Sey into his arms more easily. “I love you, acushla.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

 

Chapter 12

 

Jazz turned out to be surprisingly adept at soccer. Something else he had in common with Sasha. For a child who had been raised almost entirely within the city’s confines, Jazz possessed true athletic skill. “Comes from running away from the drug dealers and the chickenhawks,” he laughed.

 

“What’s a chickenhawk?” Sasha asked with a puzzled frown.

 

Smoke glanced at James, who traded a meaningful look with Declan, but it was Sey who eventually answered. “A man who preys on young boys, Sash.” Though his tone was casual, Sey was sweating bullets inside. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with his son.

 

True to form, Sasha reacted with blatant distaste. “Ugh.” When he saw the amused look Jazz gave him, Sasha shrugged and added, “Sorry, but even the thought squicks me, man.”

 

“Then you’d be faster than me by now,” Jazz said with an impudent snort.

 

Sasha shook his head, sending his long brown hair flying in several different directions. “I’d be freaking invisible,” he said vehemently.

 

With a bounce of his head, he was onto a new topic, much to Sey’s relief. “Hey, man. Let’s play Da and Smoke.”

 

Declan started to decline politely, but Sasha’s next remark made him contemplate revenge on the young. “Unless you’re too old to play, Da. Huh? You too old to get it up for a good game?”

 

Declan glared at his son and wrenched the ball away from him with a low snarl of “Watch my dust, boyo.”

 

Jazz whistled as Declan kicked the ball so far past him, it could no longer be seen. “Wow, you move pretty good.” For an old man. Declan could almost hear Jazz thinking it. I’m not old. I’m just on the wrong side of mumblesnarfkle. Shit, when did that happen?

 

Sey’s hand found his partner’s and squeezed. Standing on tiptoe to whisper into Declan’s ear, Sey said, “You’ll always be my hero, Dec. No matter what.”

 

Declan’s storm-grey eyes searched his lover’s. “How do you always know the right thing to say, acushla?”

 

“That’s my job.” Sey waggled his eyebrows at Declan, and Declan caught him in a hug to give him a quick kiss.

 

***

 

The two boys found that it wasn’t all that easy keeping up with Declan and Smoke. What the older couple might lack in stamina, they compensated for with experience and inventive moves. But there was one thing everyone could agree on. It was hard work. Declan played every bit as hard as he worked, and he was determined to give the boys a run for their money.

 

Jogging back and forth, Sasha waited impatiently for the ball to come his way. When it flew by his head, he pursed his lips and said, “You’re trying to cheat again, aren’t you, Da?”

 

“I don’t need to cheat, boyo. I’m that good.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”

 

A moment later, Declan swiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. His T-shirt was saturated, and he was giving off a wonderfully musky scent that probably only Sey truly appreciated. All at once Declan grabbed the ends of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing a fine chest and a rock-hard abdomen.

 

Everyone took a good look. Jazz grinned at Sasha. “Without his shirt, your father doesn’t look half bad.”

 

Sasha’s dark chocolate eyes widened. “Jazz, have a heart. That’s my Da we’re talking about.”

 

James administered a fair impression of the Vulcan nerve pinch to Jazz’s shoulder. “What did I tell you about being a wiseass, Jazz?”

 

Jazz protested, “But Sasha gets away with it!”

 

“I must have potatoes in my ears, Jazz, cause it sounded like you just gave me the wrong answer.”

 

Jazz shook his head mutely. “No? Did I imagine it then?”

 

“Sorry, Mr. McLaren,” Jazz said almost too quietly to be heard.

 

But it was a good starting place, and James accepted it. Smoke gave James a curious look, but said nothing. Declan murmured his approval. But as predicted, Sasha had something else to say.

 

“Aw, come on, Da, you’re going to make Jazz call you Mr. McLaren? How lame is that?”

 

“Keep sassing me, boyo, and you can call me Mr. McLaren.”

 

Sasha rolled his eyes. “You are so not funny, Da.”

 

Declan winked to take the sting out of his words. Truth to tell, he wasn’t sure what Jazz should call him. They were hardly close enough to call each other uncle and nephew. Yet Mr. Anything didn’t sound right either.

 

After knotting his T-shirt around his waist, Declan pulled the long softly curling tendrils of wet red hair off his face and into a ponytail that flowed down his back. Christ, he looked like something out of Braveheart, like some magnificent Celtic warrior come to life, all bare-chested and glistening with liquid sun.

 

Sey swallowed hard. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. He just couldn’t help but notice how Smoke was appraising his lover. Sey glanced quickly at James and almost giggled at James’ reaction. James beckoned Smoke closer with a crook of his index finger. “C’mere, Pete. I want to show you something.”

 

“What, Jamie?” asked Smoke, blindly falling into James’ trap.

 

“This.” A few seconds later, James captured Smoke’s mouth in a kiss that gave no quarter and expected none in return.

 

“Oh,” Smoke responded dumbly, the heat in James’ mouth obviously transferred to Smoke’s pale eyes.

 

Now that was a heck of a way to get someone’s attention. And damn, if it didn’t make James look good, too.

 

Sey turned back to face Declan, who seemed to be scrutinizing Sey’s reaction to all this, too. Drifting closer in an apparently aimless way, Sey managed to hook his arm through Declan’s. Pausing to gaze helplessly at his lover’s bare chest, Sey said, “I’m not jealous, Dec,” heaving a great sigh immediately afterwards.

 

“Yeah, you are,” Declan whispered.

 

“I-I’m not…it’s just—“

 

“What, baby?”

 

“Maybe you could play the rest of the game with your shirt on?”

 

Declan bit back a bubble of laughter, experience having taught him that Sey still needed the odd bit of reassurance now and then. “But Sey,” he whispered into his lover’s ear, making sure to kiss his cheek on the way there, “they can look all they want, but they can’t touch.”

 

Sey buried his face against Declan’s chest, savoring the scent of him, the texture of him. “Mine,” he whispered for Declan’s ears only.

 

“Always.”

 

 

Chapter 13

 

“The men are all outside playing soccer, Nikita,” whispered Derry conspiratorially, even though there was no earthly reason to whisper. “This would be a great time.”

 

Nikita grinned unabashedly. “I love it when a plan comes together,” she said with a waggle of her pale eyebrows.

 

Faith saw the women straggle into the living room, one at a time, and soon wondered what they were up to. She peered into the room, now filled with alternately chattering and cheering women, and it finally dawned on her what was missing. Daddy, Uncle Dec, Uncle Sey, and…and…all the other men. Including her brothers Chris and Luc. What on Earth was so fascinating?

 

She soon had her answer.

 

The television was on. Except for the kids, there was rarely anyone watching TV in the Samuelle household. It had been true years ago when the twins were but a couple of heartbeats beneath Nikita’s breast, and it was still true. But it was on now. What were they watching?

 

Nikita was sitting cross-legged on the floor directly in front of the television, munching popcorn. Derry was on her knees next to her, her hand reaching in to steal a kernel or two now and then. Close in age, she and Nikita had become fast friends. Madeline sat regally in an overstuffed chair to their left, while Miranda perched impertinently on the arm of the chair.

 

Emmy seemed to be avidly taking notes on something, and Faith figured that perhaps the program was school-related. No way. Faith’s mouth dropped open. Thank God Skye was off tormenting Sasha or something. Faith didn’t think she was ready for what she saw. She was all of 12, and she wasn’t sure that she was.

 

“Mom?”

 

Nikita jerked guiltily, her hand nearly dropping the container of popcorn. A fiery red blush stained her pale cheeks. “Yes, sweetie?”

 

“Why are you watching wrestling?”

 

Derry cut in with an excited chirp, “It’s WWF Raw, Fee!”

 

Faith rolled her eyes. “Oh, that makes all the difference.” She made her way to the TV and crept into Nikita’s lap, which was no easy feat considering how tall she’d grown. She popped a couple of pieces of popcorn into her mouth.

 

Nikita laughed and shook her head. “Guess our secret is out, eh?”

 

“What secret? That you like to watch men with long hair and tight butts deck each other?” Faith asked.

 

“Just what do you know about tight butts, young lady?” Nikita fussed. But Faith merely smiled. “We watch it for the action, honey. The adrenaline rush.” She didn’t need to add that part of her missed that feeling, that ball of excitement hot and nervous in the pit of her stomach. She knew Derry understood. It had been her way of life, too.

 

“Let me get this straight. You’d rather watch them fight and kick and bite and hurt each other than…you know…*admire* how hot they look.”

 

Nikita frowned. “I’m not sure I like you knowing what “hot” means, Faith.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Mom. You’ll get over it,” Faith said blithely. Emmy covered her mouth and snickered as quietly as possible.

 

Nikita ruffled her daughter’s auburn hair. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dear.” She traded looks with Derry as if to say, You just wait till yours get to be this age.

 

Even Faith had to laugh to see her imperious grandmother cheering wildly, but she loved Miranda’s heartfelt reaction when her chosen champion won. She put two fingers in her mouth and issued an ear-splitting whistle. “Woohoo! Go, Rock!” she shouted shortly afterwards.

 

Faith giggled as Nikita clapped her approval. “Mom!”

 

“Yes, sweetie?”

 

“I don’t understand why it takes so long to bring a guy down, Mom.”

 

“Well, honey, there’s a lot of skill involved.”

 

Derry snorted impolitely. “*Sometimes*. Sometimes they’re just putting on a show for the fans.”

 

“Why? Don’t they have any sense of honor?”

 

Nikita’s eyes widened at that particular insight. She and Michael had imparted their values to their children and here was the living proof.

 

“I don’t think this kind of wrestling is about honor, Fee. It’s just for fun.”

 

Faith looked dubious. “Why would anyone let someone beat the crap out of them for fun, Mom?”

 

“I dunno, Faith. That’s an interesting question,” Nikita chuckled.

 

They watched another slim-hipped, tight Spandex-clad wrestler climb into the ring with his counterpart. A minute later, Faith shook her head. “See? That’s what I don’t get, Mom. Why doesn’t he just kick him in the balls and end it, Mom?”

 

“That’s not allowed.”

 

“*Why*?” Faith exclaimed incredulously.

 

“It’s a man thing, honey,” Nikita said by way of explanation, expertly tabling that subject with a click of the remote.

 

Miranda groaned. Madeline peeked between the fingers of one well-manicured hand. Derry, on the other hand, felt no compunction about asking Nikita point-blank why she switched the channel.

 

“She’s a little girl, Derry.”

 

Derry grabbed the remote away from Nikita and changed the channel back. “She’s 12. That’s almost a bloody teenager.”

 

“She shouldn’t be watching something that—“

 

“That what? That provokes questions? You’re right here with her, Nik. In fact, you can answer them better than most of us here, I’ll bet.”

 

“When I was 12, I was practically living on the streets—“

 

“When I was 12, I was building bombs that freaking killed people.”

 

Derry didn’t know who was more shocked. Herself for saying it. Or Nikita for having to hear it.

 

“I’m sorry, Nik,” Derry said in a low, subdued tone.

 

She clicked the remote, switching the TV off, and quickly clambered to a standing position. Once up, she lost no time in leaving the room.

 

Nikita sighed. Faith looked after Derry for a moment, then stared intently into her mother’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to get Aunt Derry upset, Mom.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault, honey. Just…bad memories. That’s all.”

 

Faith looked as if she didn’t quite believe that, but she wisely said nothing. She knew very little about the lives her mother and her father left behind, and even less about their lives before that. She used to wish she did. Now she realized that what they didn’t say about those times wasn’t meant to hurt her, but to protect her.

 

Suddenly she threw her arms around Nikita’s neck and hugged her tight.

 

“What was that for?”

 

“Oh, nothing.” I’m just lucky to have you and Daddy. That’s all.

 

 

Chapter 14

 

Faith followed Emmy, unconsciously stalking her, apparently without her awareness. But all at once, Emmy stopped. So suddenly that Faith nearly collided with her. Without turning her head, Emmy addressed the older girl. “What are you trying to do? Scare me to death?”

 

Faith shrugged, a sheepish grin frozen in place. “I wasn’t trying to scare you, Em. Honest. I just wanted to ask you something.”

 

“Must be important.”

 

“It is.”

 

Emmy inclined her head towards the soccer game, still being conducted quite loudly by what now seemed to be every available male. “They look busy. Should give us a little privacy.”

 

She pulled off her heather-grey sweatshirt jacket, folding it into a cushion to sit on. With a soft sigh, she sat on the grass, keeping something of an eye on the men yelling and flailing on the back lawn.

 

“What’s up?” Emmy was certain that she knew. She was a very intuitive little girl, not to mention precocious, a trait that seemed to run in the family.

 

“Before…in the living room…what Aunt Derry said….” Faith scrunched up her face in fervent concentration. This was hard.

 

“You want to know if it’s true?”

 

Faith breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah.”

 

“Well…Aunt Derry doesn’t talk much about…before.” Neither did anyone else, Emmy wanted to point out, but she decided that wasn’t exactly pertinent.

 

Faith hung on every word. She had never realized just how much she wanted to understand where her family came from. “What about Uncle Dav?”

 

“I think Uncle Dav and Aunt Derry….” There was an extremely long pause. Maybe Emmy had changed her mind about confiding in Faith.

 

“I think they almost didn’t make it out,” Emmy said, speaking so quickly, the words fairly blurred together.

 

“From the bad place?” None of the kids seemed to know what Section was called. But they all knew what they were referring to when they spoke of “the bad place”.

 

Emmy nodded. “Sasha told me stuff. But I can’t repeat what he said. I gave my word.” She crossed her heart with her index finger.

 

“I thought he didn’t remember.” Faith was more than surprised. She was stunned. She wasn’t the only one who would be stunned to learn that Sasha remembered more than he let on. For a long time, it came to him in bits and pieces, in dreams. Fragments that were almost indecipherable. Then he started to fit the bits and pieces together. Into a recognizable pattern. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t.

 

“He does.” Emmy’s lovely face creased into an unbecoming frown. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes, he has nightmares.”

 

“Ohh….”

 

“Does Uncle Sey ever talk about it, Em? Or your Da?”

 

Emmy glanced nervously over her shoulder at the men playing soccer. Declan was still actively participating in the game, his partner Sey clearly acting as referee now. Emmy almost laughed at the idea of Sey being objective enough to rule against his significant other. Now that would be funny, she thought.

 

“Daddy never mentions it. Never. Sometimes Da gets a funny look on his face, like he’s remembering stuff….”

 

“Like Sasha?”

 

“Yeah, now that you mention it.”

 

“Do you think that your Da killed people, Em?” Faith whispered. Just thinking the words was enough to give Faith an uncharacteristic anxiety attack.

 

Emmy’s face grew shuttered, her pale-grey eyes, normally the color of smoke, turning the color of sooty doves. “How can you ask me that?”

 

Faith’s breath caught in her throat. It was true then. She felt tears begin to gather in her eyes, and she was afraid. Afraid of what this meant. If Declan had…then her Dad…her Mom… Shit. All the color drained from Faith’s face, leaving her ashen, her eyes a vivid blaze of green against a pale backdrop.

 

It explained so much. The overprotective scrutiny of their parents. Connor’s abduction. That man in black. All of it.

 

And yet…. Faith continued to ponder. There was morality here. Honor. Valor. Humanity. She was more certain of that than anything else.

 

“Things are never black or white, but different shades of grey,” Faith murmured.

 

Emmy gazed at Faith in wide-eyed wonder. “Da says that.”

 

“So does my Dad,” Faith replied. “I think he means there is no such thing as  good or bad. The reasons get all mixed up in there someplace, and sometimes, good people are forced to do bad things.”

 

Emmy smiled shyly at the older girl. “Then you believe that your Mom and Dad are good people?”

 

“Seriously? In their heart of hearts?”

 

Emmy bit her lip as she nodded. More than anything, she needed to believe in the sanctity of the family.

 

“Absolutely. My Mom is so sweet. I mean, she tries to be tough and all, but she can’t help being the way she is. She always sees the good in other people. Even when the rest of us don’t.” Faith’s face softened as she thought about her father. “But Dad... I could believe that he had a tragic past or something…but something must have changed him. Maybe meeting my Mom. Cause Mom sometimes calls him her dark knight. And knights have to be honorable.”

 

Emmy’s pale eyes lit up. “Like Chris.”

 

“Yeah. Chris is just like Dad.” Faith smiled. “But don’t you tell him I said so.”

 

Emmy giggled. She could keep a secret.

 

 

Chapter 15

 

Derry collapsed against the wall, sobbing. She was so sorry. So terribly sorry. How could she have said something like that? In front of the children? The children must be protected at all times. It was an unwritten law. You joined the Samuelle extended family, and you learned their code of ethics.

 

Though it was bright outside, it was dark in the hallway. This particular hallway cut through the middle of the house, with doors opening into the various other rooms. There were no windows within the hallway itself to let in the light, so even during the sunniest afternoon, the hallway remained shadowy. Somehow that suited Derry’s mood.

 

“You get a hold of yourself right now, Daragh Cassidy! Do you hear me?” Derry addressed herself quite sternly. But unlike other times when this had worked its magic and restored her sense of control, it failed to have the desired effect. Instead, Derry buried her face in her hands, not realizing that someone was coming.

 

“Jake!”  She nearly screamed her husband’s name when he came upon her.

 

“Derry! Why are you crying, darlin’?” A huge frown appeared, but even that could not mar Davenport’s handsome visage.

 

“I-I…oh, Jake, I did something terrible. Terrible.” Derry continued to weep, but Davenport gathered the slender young woman into his arms. For all her considerable height, she felt strangely fragile in his embrace. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

 

Nearly choking on the words, she managed to stammer out an explanation of sorts, too upset to notice the alarmed expression on her husband’s face. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, Jake. But there’s no way to take back the words! I wish I could!”

 

“Aw, darlin’, I wish there was some way to fix this, too. But when your brother finds out, he’s going to be—“

 

A muffled shout called the anxious couple’s attention to the two men ambling down the hall. Declan’s shirt was tied around his waist, his bare chest still beaded with fine droplets of sweat. His lover, Sey, laughed as he looked up and into Declan’s beloved face. Declan, having no idea what his sister and his brother-in-law were talking about, stumbled right into the fray.

 

“I’m going to be what?”

 

“Nothing, nothing, Declan.”

 

“That’s a whole lot of nothing, Dav,” Declan said good-humoredly, not immediately grasping that anything was wrong.

 

Suddenly Declan turned and got a closer look at his sister’s tear-drenched face. Derry looked quite a bit worse for wear, especially since her mascara started running down her face, leaving her to do a fair impression of a raccoon.

 

“What’d you do to her?” Declan asked Davenport, feeling more than a little protective of his sister.

 

“*I* didn’t do anything to her! She said something that—“

 

“That what, Dav? That pissed you off? Bloody hell, I ought to pound you right into next week for touching her!”

 

“You don’t understand, Declan!” Derry protested.

 

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try, you freaking—“

 

Sey practically jumped between the two men, who were glowering at each other with palpable fury now. “Hey, hey, maybe nothing happened, Dec. Maybe you ought to listen to what Dav has to say!”

 

“Maybe you ought to stay out of this, Sey!”

 

Both men moved closer to one another, and Sey could feel the animosity coming off them in waves.

 

“She’s my sister!”

 

“She’s my wife!”

 

“Get away from her!”

 

“Fuck off!”

 

Sey was too light to withstand the tugging and shoving that was starting to escalate on either side of him. His body was pulled first one way, then another, and he found it increasingly difficult to stay on his feet.

 

“Come on, guys, we can—“ Sey’s words were cut off by a sharp cry. A fist connected with his nose, bloodying it. “Owww!”

 

Sey held his nose, doubling over as both the pain and the scent of blood began to combine in some awful way. “Jeez, I was just trying to help!”

 

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Declan asked rhetorically, a positively evil glint in his silver-grey eyes.

 

Derry grabbed Declan’s arm, trying to pull him back. He would have shaken her off easily enough, but Sey added his own plea for cooler heads. Declan turned to speak to Sey, his pale eyes darkening when they saw the damage that Davenport’s fist had done. “You’re bleeding,” Declan said, looking very much like he was in shock. He reached out a finger as if to touch the blood, but Sey grabbed his hand and anchored it to his chest.

 

“I’m okay, Dec,” Sey said firmly, looking directly into Declan’s eyes, willing him to let this go.

 

Davenport struggled against his wife’s increasingly tense grip on his arm, aware that it would take little enough to break free, but knowing that he would not.

 

For long moments, there was only silence. Silence and then the soft sounds of erratic breathing coming under control and tears being held back.

 

Sey blinked as Declan took a deep breath. Without a word, he wrenched the shirt from around his waist, bunching it up to mop his face and his chest. His nostrils flared, the only expression he’d shown since he realized that Sey was hurt. Facing his sister, he said hoarsely, “Are you all right, Derry?”

 

She nodded mutely, her own face ashen in the aftermath. Davenport felt her fingers dig into his arm, daring him to say otherwise.

 

“That’s it, then.” Declan barely glanced at Davenport as he shouldered past the older man. Sey gave Derry a helpless look and a shrug before he left to catch up with Declan.

 

Davenport’s dark eyes apologized to Derry. “I—“

 

“Not one word out of you, Jake. Not one.”

 

“But darlin’, he was practically accusing me of abusing you. Do you know how crazy that makes me?”

 

“Do you know what it’s like to be abused, Jake?”

 

Davenport shook his head sadly.

 

“He does. What he saw…well, let’s just say, I can understand why he’d jump to the wrong conclusion.” Derry almost smiled through the tears in her eyes. “And dammit, Jake, I love him for that. No one but you has ever defended me before.”

 

Davenport lowered his head to kiss her, his mouth repeatedly brushing hers, so lightly, it was apparent that he was making amends for his earlier behavior. “I love you, darlin’. Can you forgive me for acting like a freaking caveman?”

 

Derry beamed. “Of course. You’re my caveman, Jake. And don’t you ever forget it.”

 

A couple of fond kisses later, Derry mused aloud, “I dunno if Sey’s going to forgive you too soon for what you did to his poor nose, though.”

 

Davenport sighed. “I’m going to have to grovel at Declan’s feet, aren’t I?”

 

“Groveling’s good,” Derry agreed, giggling before she placed another affectionate kiss on her husband’s cheek. “But begging’s better.”

 

 

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