Hanging in there? I'm a broken record at this point but please keep your comments coming, I'm loving them all. So many of you were surprised by Bella in the last chapter but hopefully it wasn't an unpleasant surprise! Our boy is doing his best with a bad bunch of circumstances, and there will be times you'll want to kick him as well as hug him so just bear with, he's had a lot dropped in his lap and he's bound to fuck up at times.
Many thanks to the usual suspects annaharding, maplestyle, and hotteaforme for all their help and also to melcee for jumping in and joining the ride too!
On with the next one...
banks
5
"Say cheese, boys!"
Popping the baby's binky in her mouth, I take a moment to enjoy the silence—ish.
Today's Archie's first day of first grade. Or, as we found out a couple days ago, his first day of school in general. No preschool or kindergarten for this kid apparently.
It's taking everything in me not to lose my shit because there's nobody who can give me the answers. Nobody to answer the questions that keep building up.
I'm not gonna lie, I didn't enjoy school. It was an escape from the foster homes for a few hours a day, nothing more—it could have been an escape for Archie, too, but he never got that chance.
And Bree isn't here for me to ask why?
Esme had cried while Carl distracted Archie with the hand-me-down sneakers he'd brought over from his nephew, along with a few toys. This morning my sister woke me up exploding a fucking party popper over my head, and we've had party music playing all morning. Carl and I put up a 'first day of school' banner after Archie was in bed last night, and he's got a bunch of balloons that he's been obsessed with ever since Esme woke him up with them, so we're doing everything we can.
It's cute, to be fair. The kid deserves all this shit and way more. It's just…a lot.
"Another picture, Es?"
She sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her eyes. "Yes, Ed. Another picture! This is a momentous occasion!"
A momentous occasion Bree should be here for. She should be the one with the camera. She should be the one who got to give him the plate of waffles decorated with little funfetti sprinkles.
She should be here, period.
Swallowing hard, I pull a hand through my hair and watch Archie grab his backpack. Es managed to get most of the rest of the stuff he needed, so the bag is stuffed full of basically everything he owns now; he looks like a turtle. Flashing me a small grin, he hikes it up his back and comes to stand next to me.
"S'a li'l h-heavy," he admits, ears turning pink.
"That's because you put everything in there, silly!" Es laughs, booping his nose. "Okay, gimme some cheese, fellas!"
Gimme some cheese, Christ.
Crouching, I hesitate and then rest a hand on his shoulder, flashing him a smile when he looks up at me. For the first time today, I see a hint of nerves in his eyes—my eyes in his small face. The flash of Esme's phone camera goes off a few times, and then we escape the photoshoot when the baby starts wailing and I hear the binky hit the floor.
"All right, let's get outta here. You ready to roll, kiddo?"
"Ye-yep!"
Let's get this shitshow on the road.
- banks -
Archie's cool as a cucumber all the way to the school. He's chill when Es grabs him for a squeezy hug before she tells him good luck and runs down the street to work, already late.
Once I've grabbed the baby's seat out of the truck, thanking God she's asleep for a minute, I turn around to see why he's not following and realize he's not as calm as he seems.
Wide-eyed, he's staring at the kids running around and the big, sand-colored building in front of us. We toured it the other day, but it was quiet then. All the kids were in class.
"You okay, man?"
Archie's throat bobs. "N-no. I d-dont wanna g-g-go." He heaves in a sigh and growls, and it's not the first time I've noticed him getting pissed with his stutter, but what the fuck do I know about helping a kid with that? "I w-wanna stay with you a-and Charlotte."
Fuuuck. Where's Es when I need her? Shit.
His hands disappear in his hair. "The kids w-wont like me."
"The fuck? Sure they will. What's not to like?"
He rolls his eyes, and I almost smile. There's no doubt this kid is related to me. "Duh, I'm the n-new kid."
My stomach knots. I can talk a big game, but I know how he feels right now. I was the new kid more times than I can count, or even remember. It fucking blows.
But I can't say that to the frightened kid in front of me. Even I know that.
"Hey, you wanna know a secret?"
His eyes slide over from the playground to me as he shrugs his shoulders. All right then.
"Me and Es, we went to a lot of new schools. A lot, a lot. So I know what it's like bein' the new kid. It's normal to be nervous, okay? But you're gonna ace it. You met your teacher already and you know where your class—"
The shrill sound of the bell cuts through my freaking head and makes Archie jump, shoulders up by his ears. Every time he does that, it makes me wanna kill something. Or someone. Preferably whoever made this kid a scared shitless bag of bones.
"Hey, look at me, kiddo."
The fear in his eyes when he finally does hits me like a sledgehammer to the gut. "What i-if people m-make fun of m-my st-st—" He cuts himself off with another growl, pulling hard on his hair with one hand and white-knuckling the strap of his backpack with the other.
I don't know how to do this.
It's not the first time I've thought that. Definitely won't be the last. But I have no fucking idea how to be a parent. I had zero role models to rely on, but now somehow I'm supposed to raise a kid who's scared of his own shadow and a baby girl who can't tell me how to do any of the shit she needs me to.
"Deep breaths. You got this."
I don't know if I'm talking to Archie or myself, honestly.
He sucks in a big breath, blowing it out slowly, his floppy hair hanging over his forehead. Es mentioned bringing him to the salon for a haircut; maybe we'll do that this weekend.
"Wh-who's gonna get me a-after?" he finally asks, looking at the school where kids are rapidly disappearing into the building. I can feel the curious looks we're getting from parents as they head out, but I ignore them. I've been ignoring judgmental eyes all my life, not gonna stop now.
I'm also ignoring the voice tellin' me Boss is gonna kick my ass when I tell him I've gotta run out on an errand later. He's already gonna be mad when I show up late, but it is what it is, so I'll drop Charlotte at the daycare Es found and hustle.
"Me and your sister will be right here when you get out, 'kay?"
"'Kay." He eyes me like he doesn't fully believe me, suspicion thick in his voice.
Looking at where he's tugging his hair so hard I'm a little worried he's actually gonna pull it out, I take my ball cap off my head and switch it for his hand. It's obviously way too big, but maybe it'll stop him ripping his hair out from the roots.
I test out a smile and twist the hat backwards so I can see his small grin. "I'll be back for my hat, too, aight? This is just for today."
"Okay." He visibly steels himself, hands wrapped around the straps again, and shakes his head when I offer to walk him in. "I'm goin' in. I c-can do it."
"You got this, kiddo. You're gonna ace it," I repeat, wincing when Charlotte starts fussing. She's gonna want a bottle, stat; I wasn't expecting this to take so long. "I'll see you later."
He's one of the last inside but I wait until I can't see his Spiderman backpack anymore, knowing his classroom is the first on the right so he doesn't have to go far. Grabbing the handle of the car seat, I swing the baby a few times and rub over the ache in my chest as I haul ass.
Fucking heartburn.
- banks -
"That's comin' outta your paycheck!"
Fuck my life.
The closest thing to me is an empty bucket, so I kick that. It skids across the yard and lands in a pile of weeds as Boss yells, "So is that if it's broke!"
The scratch I just put in the fender of a sweet Mustang is gonna add a day to the time it's gotta stay in the garage. I'm not surprised Boss is gonna make me comp it since the owner is an old buddy of his, and it was a stupid fucking mistake.
Across the garage, I can hear Boss mutterin' about good-for-nothin' employees and I can't disagree; I've been useless all day and I don't know why.
Checking the time a-fucking-gain, I wipe a rag across my forehead and huff a sigh. It's barely noon, and the antacids I took after droppin' Charlotte off have done nothing. I better not be getting sick. I can't afford shit as it is.
"I'm goin' on lunch," I call toward Boss, surprised when he just waves a hand in my general direction. I'd expected some spiel about working through since I'm behind on everything I was meant to do today, but I guess he's sick of my shit too. Fair enough.
The sandwich I made from the leftovers of Archie's lunch is in my truck with a few random snacks I grabbed outta the cupboard this morning, so I grab my hoodie from the bench and head over there, cranking the heat because it's freakin' cold here this week. It's starting to get warmer, but slowly. This cold snap can kiss my ass I'm so sick of it.
I barely get to eat half of my lunch before a familiar car rolls into the lot and pulls up alongside me. My pathetic appetite disappears altogether as I dump my food on the seat next to me and roll down the window in time for Tan to lean against my door, arms folded over her tits, brows raised in question.
"Long time no see."
She's not wrong. It's been a couple weeks since I saw her last, when I bumped into her at the grocery store. Es was helping Archie pick something for dinner and had Charlotte in the baby carrier, so I managed to avoid the introductions. My luck there won't last forever. At some point, I'll have to tell her about Bree. About the kids.
I feel my lungs seize when I remember Archie's car seat is buckled in next to me and Charlotte's is in the back; shifting to face Tan, I hope my body blocks Archie's at least, and that she doesn't look on the backseat.
"It's been a sec," I agree, glancing toward Boss, hoping he calls her over. He doesn't seem to have noticed her yet though, body half hidden under the truck he's working on. Fuck. "What're you doin' here, anyway? Not workin' today?"
Her eyes narrow a little, and I tell myself to play it cool. She's suspicious, that much is obvious. "You haven't called me since the cops dragged you away that night, you never told me what even happened, and don't even get me started on the grocery store! You couldn't get away from me fast enough." Straightening up, Tanya frowns and cocks her head. "You're seeing someone, aren't you? Who is it? Do I know her?"
My brows furrow. "Of course I—" Wait. That's not a bad cover… Clearing my throat, I slide a hand in my hair and grimace. "I guess I am, yeah."
Tan's eyes narrow. "Do I know her?"
"No, I…she's not from around here," I bullshit.
"Well, what's her name? How did you meet her?"
Fuck. Think, think…
The woman from the store the other day randomly pops into my head.
"Bella!" I blurt, instantly cursing myself. "Bella, her name's Bella. I met her at Target."
I can see the wheels turning in Tan's head as she tries to place the name. Meanwhile I could kick myself. "Target?" she repeats doubtfully, and I'm fuckin' itching to get outta this hole I just dug myself.
"Yeah. So, look, uh…I'm sorry I've been kinda…AWOL. It's just been busy."
"Hey, darl! You gonna come say 'hi' to your dad, or no?" Boss finally yells across the lot, saving my ass. He's watching us from his spot by the truck, hands in his pockets, and I can feel the intensity of his stare. He's not the snooping type, but I bet he's been dying to ask what's going on with me lately, why I haven't mentioned his daughter, and why my work performance fucking sucks.
Tanya flashes him a quick smile that doesn't reach her eyes and a wave. "I'll be right over, Daddy!" To me, she says, "Looking forward to meeting Bella, Edward. Don't be a stranger. Everyone's been wondering where you are." She only gets a few feet away before she turns to look back at me over her shoulder, flipping long blonde hair I've had wrapped around my hand or spread over my pillows too many times to count. I feel bad for lying. She's always been good to me; we've been good to each other. But the thought of telling her the truth…
Swallowing hard, I manage a weak smile and a ridiculous two-finger salute, half-eaten lunch sitting like lead in my stomach as she shakes her head and stomps off toward her pop.
I can't keep the kids a secret forever. Someone's gonna see us out. I'm eventually gonna have to tell Boss why I can't come in as early as I usually do and why I need to dip out just before three every weekday. The people in my life aren't exactly the most kid-friendly bunch. None'a them are bad. My life's just not set up for this. For parenthood.
For Archie and Charlotte.
But as Es keeps reminding me, that doesn't matter now. They're here, and I'll be damned if they end up in foster care. The thought of them going through what we did makes me sick to my stomach. Picturing Archie in my shoes, protecting Charlotte from the dangers that pop up fucking everywhere, kills me.
But all that said…
It's only a matter of time before my lies come back to bite me on the ass.
- banks -
"Last one in, last one out," I mumble, checking my watch for the tenth time while I bounce Charlotte in my other arm. It's almost three-thirty, and I've seen approximately a million kids run out of the school. But no Archie. "C'mon, kid…"
Boss finally told me to get outta there when I lost my shit with a wrench and put a fresh dent in one of the garage walls. I'm lucky he didn't fire me to be fair, but fuck, I need to get my shit together.
"Bababaaaah," Charlotte babbles, drooling all over a pudgy fist. It's kinda hard not to smile when she blows bubbles around her fingers, kicking her legs when I use her bib to wipe some of the drool off her face before switching arms. She's gaining weight like a champ; Es says she's gonna need to switch to the next clothes size soon. Which makes sense, I guess—she's almost five months old now, but fuck. I just spent a shit ton of money on Archie's school stuff, now I gotta buy a whole new wardrobe for Charlotte?
"Mr. Masen?"
My head pops up, and my stomach falls to my feet. Archie's teacher is walking toward me with Archie's hand wrapped in one of hers, his bag in the other. I can't see his face all that well with it hanging down and my hat turned the right way around, but the quick glimpse I get is enough to know he's been crying.
"What happened, is he okay?" Crouching, I reach out to turn my cap backwards so I can see his red face better, squeezing his shoulder. He's tense as a rock, poor little shit. "Hey, talk to me, Ace."
Ace?
The nickname comes outta nowhere, but it makes him look up at me. His eyes are glassy but he tests out a wobbly, tiny smile. "Y-you're here."
Frowning, I glance up at the teacher. She doesn't seem half as confused as I am. It'd be nice of somebody to fill me in, for fuck's sake. Rubbing my chest, I make a mental note to grab some stronger antacids for this freakin' heartburn. "I said I was gonna getchu, didn't I?" Gently knocking on the top of my hat on his head, I remind him, "I need my hat back, right?"
He snorts softly, aaaalmost a laugh, and nods. "R-right." Blowing out a big breath, he looks up at his teacher and slips his hand out of hers. "S-sorry, Miss Lauren."
"Oh, sweetheart, don't be sorry! First days are hard, okay? Tomorrow is a new day, and we're going to have so much fun. Why don't you have one last go on the swings over there, and I'll just have a quick chat with your daddy?"
Fucking hell.
Daddy.
Archie blinks up at her, as wide-eyed as I probably am, before nodding and taking off.
"What happened? He seemed okay when I dropped him off."
Once Archie's out of sight, Miss Lauren admits he's had a tough first day. He did all right at first, though she could tell he was out of his element. She'd paired him up with a little boy who'd be his buddy while he settled in and they'd gotten on 'like a house on fire.' Then it had all gone to shit when one of the boys in second grade picked on his stutter on the playground at lunch.
She shoots a sympathetic look over at Archie propelling himself slowly on the swings, sneakers kicking at the floor. "He wouldn't tell me what happened, but Henry—that's the little boy he's shadowing—did. I had a chat with Archie and he seemed to calm down until the final bell rang and he started to worry that you wouldn't be here to pick him up."
It's wrong to want to hurt a second grader. That's like, six years old, right? Seven?
"Fuck. I mean—shit, sorry, I—ugh."
Her smile widens, and I can only offer her a rueful grin when she reaches out to squeeze my arm. "I see apologizing needlessly runs in the family. Look, I hope I'm not speaking out of turn here, but I know this is a little new—"
My scoff makes her laugh, and she smiles wider. "We're a small school with a third of the facilities a bigger, better funded school might have, but we do have an incredible speech therapist who comes in once a month to read with the children. I hope I'm not overstepping here, but I've written her details on a card for you—it's in the front of Archie's backpack. I've also written down the number for the school counselor and my email. We want Archie to thrive here, and he won't do that unless he and you are comfortable, so please feel free to reach out and let us know if there's anything we can do to help."
I blow out a big, relieved sigh as she reaches out to touch Charlotte's flailing foot, her smile cautious now. She doesn't need to be worried. "Thank you, that's…that's really great. I mean, I'm sure it's obvious that I have absolutely no fucking—freaking, idea what I'm doing here."
It's her turn to snort at me as she tries to stifle a laugh. "You're doing a great job. Don't put yourself down."
Archie lopes over before I can point out I'm fucking up daily, bashful as he admits he needs the bathroom.
"All right, let's get outta Miss Lauren's hair," I tell him with a smile, heading toward the school 'cause I don't wanna risk him not making it home. "Say 'bye,' kiddo."
"Bye, kiddo," he repeats quickly with a flash of a dimpled grin, blushing hard when his teacher and I both crack up. It takes longer than it should for me to recover, but fuck, am I proud of his quick answer.
So's Esme when I tell her about it later, Archie tucked up in bed with his new favorite toy—a Captain America action figure Es picked up from the secondhand store next door to her work—and Charlotte sleeping happily in my sister's arms out under the stars, door propped open just a little so we can hear if Archie wakes up.
"I'm glad he's got a great teacher. That helps." She sighs, leaning back in her chair. Charlotte's wrapped in a blanket, but her hand is sticking out, pudgy fist wrapped around some of Es's hair that's fallen out of her ponytail. For a second, I picture that hair being jet black, imagining Bree's face superimposed over my sister's. It's hard to see Bree as a mom; she hid that side of herself from me. Turning burning eyes away, I blink hard and scrub a hand over my face.
"Yeah, me too."
We had our first visit from the social worker right after school today. A 'settling in' visit, or some bullshit. It was fucking horrible: Charlotte cried the entire time and Archie refused to come out of the bedroom until Es promised him the social worker wasn't there to take him and Charlotte away. I guess I should feel good about him wanting to stay.
All I feel is tired.
I should've been making a start on my porch right around now so it'd be ready for summer, but the pile of materials I started accumulating sits untouched over by the gas tanks, so that's where my gaze falls. Another of my failures.
The smoke from my cigarette drifts up into the night sky, my outstretched fingers moving through it before it disappears completely.
Like Bree.
Clearing my throat, I toss it into the can by my feet and wander over to join Es and the baby, dropping down into my chair with a grunt. "It's a month today."
Esme breathes a soft "I know" without me having to elaborate, and in the corner of my eye, I see her hug Charlotte a little tighter.
One month ago today, Bree was shot in the head.
I've heard exactly nothin' from the cops supposedly trying to catch her killer, even though I told them who did it. They're releasing her body next week, and Es is calling around to figure out a funeral home. I'm letting her deal with all that. It's selfish, but fuck if I know what I'm doing.
Looking up at the stars, I have vague memories of our ma tellin' us that our grandpa was up there. He died from an overdose. Heroin, I think.
Are you up there, Bree? Can you see me fucking this up?
The night air closes in on me. My chest is tight, stomach a knotted ball of fucking dread as I picture myself doing this day in, day out. The rest of my life…it was decided for me by someone who's dead. Someone I'll never be able to ask why. Someone who probably had her reasons but decided not to fucking have the courtesy of sharing them with me.
"Ed…"
"Don't, Es, please." Leaning forward, I bury both hands in my hair and rest my elbows on my knees, wishing she and the kids weren't here so I could drown my sorrows properly. So I could open the Bart Simpson jar I buried a couple hundred yards away from the steps. Drugs aren't the answer, I know that. But they sure feel like it sometimes. "Don't tell me what a good job I'm doin'. Don't tell me it's gonna get better." My voice gets louder, harder, as I tell myself Bree isn't in the stars. She's nowhere. It feels like ants are crawling under my skin, the itch to go setting me alight. "Don't ask how I've been. Don't make me play pretend. I can't fucking do this, Es! I'm not a dad. I can't…I'm not this."
Standing so quickly the chair flies over on the dirt, I can't breathe. My heart is goddamn pounding, and when I look at my sister watching me with glassy eyes, the baby in her arms and Archie's night-light glowing in the window over her shoulder, I just…
"I need to get outta here," I grit out.
I can tell she wants to stop me—or try, at least. She hates when I walk away from her, the plea to stay all over her face.
I've never promised I would, I can't, because when shit hits the fan, I always leave. I'll apologize for that tomorrow.
"Don't do anything stupid."
I can't promise that, either.
Are we lining up to kick his shin, or are we leaning more for a squeezy hug?