I just want to quickly say, I am loooving your theories and reading your thoughts on this one. Somebody mentioned this being a Brokenward and I kind of agree, he's definitely not the put-together, sure of himself kind of Edward I see quite a lot of. Anyway, enough of my waffle.
As always, massive thank yous to annaharding, maplestyle, and hotteaforme for their help! I have tinkered so any mistakes are all mine. Catch you at the bottom.
banks
3
The world goddamn ending wakes me up the next morning.
Okay, not the world ending. My sister using a blender she must've brought over from her place, 'cause I know I don't own one.
"The fuck?" I grumble, rubbing my eyes with my fist as I stagger into the kitchen. Coffee. I need coffee. "Mornin'."
Carl tries, very fucking poorly, to hide his grin behind his mug. "Morning, Daddy."
"Fuck off."
Grunting as my fist half heartedly hits his bicep, Carl plasters a fake-as-shit innocent expression on his face for my sister. Esme rolls her eyes and pours one of her gross green smoothie concoctions into a glass.
"You, stop being an ass," she says to Carl. "And you need a shower. You stink and you look like shit. I turned the water on an hour ago so it should be hot enough. I'll make some breakfast for us all and then when you smell less like an armpit, we can make a plan."
"Es—"
"Nope, don't get all mushy on me now. Shower, then food, then plan. Go."
Rounding the counter, she tugs me down by my ear and plants a kiss on my cheek, grimacing when she pulls back. "Add shaving to that list. You're all spiky."
"Yes, Ma'am."
When I rejoin Carl and Esme, smelling much nicer and feeling a whole lot better too, they're sitting side-by-side on the couch whispering to each other.
"Care to share?" I drawl, leaning against the counter, grinning when they spring apart like teens getting busted by a parent.
If I hadn't seen him looking at her like she hung the moon and all the stars a million times over, I'd hate the guy for snatching up my baby sister barely out of high school. Her two previous boyfriends were asshats, but then I guess she'd say the same about my highschool hookups, too.
Esme beams. "You look like a human again. Congrats."
"Mmhmm."
I've gotta admit, some time under the shower until the water started to get cold has helped me feel more like me.
It also gave me time to think.
"I need to go to Bree's place. Talk to her neighbors."
Esme's smile evaporates. "Do you think that's a good idea?"
"How else am I gonna get answers?"
"By talking to the police? You can't just go rushing down there and asking around about a murder, Edward. For one, it'll look really weird. And for two…" Blowing out a big breath, she hesitates. "You already missed two calls from DCFS." Pointing at my cell on the coffee table, she adds, "She left a message just now while you were in the shower."
Crossing the room to get my phone, I realize the place is a lot tidier than when I went to bed last night. Cleaner, too. I had called Tanya and told her to clear the place out while I waited for Esme but it was a shithole when we finally got back in the early hours of this morning.
"Did you tidy up?"
Scrunching her nose, Esme grabs two empty plates from the table to carry them to the kitchen. "Did you think I was gonna sleep in here without tidying up a little? Yes, brother. We're going to have a conversation about that once we've dealt with the more important stuff."
'The more important stuff' being Bree's kids, I'm guessing.
Just like she said, I have two missed calls and a voicemail.
Biting the bullet, a bad fucking analogy considering, I listen to it before I call back.
"Hello, Mr. Masen. This is Victoria Clements with Nevada DCFS. If you could give me a call back as soon as possible, I'd appreciate it. I'm forwarding a few things to the email address you provided me with yesterday. If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know when you call me shortly."
Sure enough, when I switch over to my email app, there are a handful waiting for me.
The subject line of the first one pushes me down into the nearest seat; a stool by the counter.
Paternity test appointment
"What is it?" Esme murmurs, squeezing my shoulder as she reads over it. "Oh. That was fast."
Not as fast as the results, as it turns out.
I'm handing the keys to a sweet Merc back to its owner when my phone pings. It's only been twenty-four hours since I went to the clinic and had my cheek swabbed, so it doesn't even cross my mind that it might be the DNA results. I forget all about it, distracted by Boss hollering at me to bring him a wrench.
When I climb into my truck a couple of hours later and pull my phone out to toss it onto the dash, I see the flashing green light and remember the alert.
The phone drops out of my hand into the footwell as soon as I open it and see the clinic logo at the top.
When I pull the truck into the parking lot outside the salon where Esme works five minutes later, it only takes her spotting me through the window before she's rushing out to meet me. My legs shake, feet like lead on the rust red dirt.
Holding the phone out toward her, I mumble some bullshit about not being able to look and stare at her as she takes it from me with trembling hands.
Esme's jaw snaps shut, eyes immediately filling with tears, and I know. I fucking know.
It's impossible but…somehow it's not.
"Ed-Edward...oh my god…"
Just days after Bree's life was taken, my life as I know it ends, too.
- banks -
"Fucking stupid," I huff, tugging at the cuffs of the shirt Esme shoved at me when I walked out of the bathroom this morning.
It's blue and new, still with the fold lines from being in the plastic wrap because I don't own an iron and there wasn't time to go buy one this morning.
Looking up at the building in front of me, I freeze on the sidewalk, black Chucks against gray concrete.
Family court.
Glancing sideways at my sister leaning into Carl's side, I reach over to squeeze her shoulder. We spent too much time here as kids, being swapped from one house to another to another. One foster family after another once they finally got sick of shuffling us between our shit excuse for parents and temporary foster placements.
"You okay?"
Esme plasters a smile on her face and smoothes down her hair. She looks pretty. Her blouse is the same color as our eyes, and she borrowed a pair of black pants from her friend at the salon to 'look smart.'
"It's important to make a good first impression," she told me when I asked where her jeans and tee shirt went.
I wish I hadn't started that conversation since it's what landed me with this stiff shirt and dress pants instead of my usual sweatshorts.
"Okay, let's do this." Twisting the fingers of her free hand, the one not wrapped around Carl's arm, around mine, she smiles up at me. "You ready?"
"No," I scoff, blowing a big breath through my nose. "Not even fucking close."
It's been a week since the paternity test results.
Six days since I got hammered and told Esme the kids would be better off without me.
Five days since Esme woke me up with a bucket of water over me and my bed, then a long lecture about how fucking stupid I am before I had to go and convince DCFS that I'm a good idea when I don't even believe it myself. That my history is just that, history, and I'm a stand-up citizen.
Four days since Victoria Clements came out to the trailer to 'assess its suitability.' Even I know it's almost as far from suitable as you can get, but I guess the foster family taking care of Bree's kids is going on vacation soon so they need to get rid of them asap, or something. Es did a bang-up job of making the trailer look presentable at least, and we spent two days with all the doors and windows to air out the 'stench'. My sister's word, not mine.
Three days since Esme dragged me round IKEA picking out the baby shit we couldn't get from friends. One of Esme's neighbors gave us a crib and a client dropped off a bunch of clothes and toys.
It's been two days since I called out sick from work and spent the day in training—first aid, parenting, the works. As if you can learn everything in a rented room at City Hall. If that were true, Es and I would have had a way different childhood than we did. I left with a paper folder full of certificates anyway and made sure to take pictures to send to DCFS.
Raking a hand through my hair, I wince as a sharp pain shoots down my arm. Yesterday, Carl and I spent hours moving shit around the trailer, landing me with a bum shoulder.
I'm still rubbing the ache when I spot them. The boy, the baby, the suit, and the lawyer from the state.
Even though I'm nervous as hell, and I still think this is a dumb fucking idea, the ache in my shoulder becomes secondary to the gutwrenching ache in my chest when I get a closer look at the boy.
Archie's mop of black hair can't fully hide his red-rimmed eyes or the misery all over his face when he glances up at me, Esme, and Carl. If I didn't feel like shit I might have smiled at the suspicious look in his eyes. That's Bree all over.
"You're late," Victoria points out, standing with the baby in her arms, hip cocked.
"Got caught in traffic, sue—"
"What my brother means to say is that we're really sorry," Esme interjects, squeezing my hand hard. Dropping into a crouch with a gentle smile, she holds up a hand toward the baby, touching her blanket-covered foot reverently. To Archie, she says, "Hi, cutie. You must be Archie. I'm your Auntie Esme."
I flinch, rubbing my jaw. Should she have gone in like that? I don't know, it feels weird to just…'hi, 8 know you've never met me but we're related.' Or maybe I'm over thinking.
I catch DCFS lady's calculating eyes and sniff, dropping my focus back to my sister and the boy.
Archie scrunches up his face, eyes flicking toward me. "R-right, 'cause he's my d-d-dad," he almost growls the word 'dad,' seemingly frustrated by his stutter. It's not the first time I've noticed that it seems to piss him off when he can't get his words out; he was the same at the station the other day.
I flinch again, and ignore the suspicious look Victoria shoots me.
She doesn't think I can do this.
I don't either, for the record.
"That's right," Esme breathes as someone steps out of the room just down from us, calling Victoria's name.
It's go-time, I guess.
- banks -
An hour and a half later, we stroll out onto the stone steps into the bright sunshine, this time without Victoria and the lawyer.
For a minute I'm frozen, the judge's face in my mind as he signed whatever he had to sign and congratulated me on my family. I've never felt less like a family, two kids I've spent all of an hour with suddenly my responsibility.
Esme bounces the baby in her arms, the boy hovering beside me, hands stuffed in worn sweatpant pockets. Carl has a baby bag over his arm but we've already been warned we'll need to pick up more diapers and formula. I have the brands written on a post-it so I get the right kind.
"Okay, the car's this way," Esme says cheerily, leading the way. She and Carl walk in front, babbling at the baby, while I amble along with a sense of foreboding creeping through my bloodstream.
This is so fucked up. I jumped through the hoops, did everything DCFS asked, answered a ton of questions about my 'relationship' with drugs and alcohol—all of which I lied about, by the way—but I was convinced they'd see through it all. How could they not? What sort of goddamn moron could look at me and think it would be a good idea to hand over two kids? I was confident they'd never fall for it.
Raking a hand through my hair, I play catch up to the last couple hours. Between their desperation to get the kids out of their hands and Esme's efforts to make me look less like the bottom-of-the-barrel dickhead I am, they've been fooled.
I'm half expecting cops and the DCFS lady to come running after us any second.
"Uh, S-sir?"
"It's 'Edward,'" I mumble automatically, eyes shooting down to the kid at my side.
Should I have said 'Dad?'
I can't help but balk at the idea.
This kid and his sister deserve so much better than this. Than me.
"Wh-where are we goin'?"
"Back to my—our place."
He nods, pulling at his ear. "'Kay. Does, um...d-does your sister live there also?"
"No, but she's gonna stay with us for a little bit. Help us…"
Get our shit together? That sounds about right. Not something I can say to him, though, I don't think.
My sister slows to smile brightly. "I'll help you get all settled in, and then even when I go home, I'm only a phone call away."
The kid nods at Esme, dropping his head, staring at the sidewalk the rest of the way to the car, and I can't help but feel like I'm fucking this up already.
- banks -
My bed and the crib now take up almost the whole bedroom, along with a dresser Carl spotted in a thrift store window. The rail I nailed to the wall to hang my clothes on has been replaced by a picture of a bunny Es found and framed.
Archie eyes the fucking awful set-up, expression giving nothing away.
Standing behind him in the doorway, I rake a hand through my hair. "Is this okay?"
His throat bobs with a hard swallow. "The be-bed is for m-me?"
"Uh-huh, and your sister gets the crib." Nudging the black trash bag Victoria handed me after giving the baby to Esme, I tell him, "You can put your shi—stuff in the dresser over there, if you want."
The silence is fucking excruciating. I'm not sure whether he's just a quiet kid or what.
Sighing, I decide he probably needs some space to process and shit, but as I step away, the kid lands me with a blow that makes me realize just how out of my depth I really am.
"Th-thank you, Sir. I mean, E-Edward." Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he turns just enough to offer me a glimpse of his glassy eyes. "I never had a bed before."
How are we holding up, hanging in there?