Thank you so much for the love on the first chapter. You're right, it's gonna be a bumpy one, but I've got you. And I always always promise a HEA unless otherwise specified and this will have a happy ending, even if it doesn't look likely sometimes.

I know you probably don't care what I have to say rn so I'll let you get on with it lol. As always, massive thanks to am a harding, maplestyle, and hotteaforme for their support!

banks

2

"Just those and the usual, bud."

Jed nods, grabbing my smokes and tossing them onto the counter with my Jack and hot Cheetos. He glances over at the monitors as he turns toward the register and then his head snaps back toward the doors. "That'll be—hey! Get back here!"

I catch a quick glimpse at the skinny kid legging it out of the store before they're gone. Jed doesn't stand a chance catching him on his bum leg, so I sigh and shove my wallet into my pocket as I start running. The kid's dirty gray sweater sticks out a mile against the orange dirt surrounding the gas station, no buildings for at least a mile, probably more like two.

Where he thinks he's gonna get without being caught, I don't know.

"Hey, wait up! No point runnin', kid!"

Sweat beads on my forehead instantly. It's hot as balls out here, upper-nineties at least, and I'll give the kid something—he's quick on his feet.

"Fuck," I growl, pushing my legs harder, torn between anger and sympathy when I finally catch up and my hand wraps around a bony shoulder, pulling the kid to a stop. "I fucking said—oh, motherfuck…"

Grabbing the elbow they popped me with, I reach up with the other hand to pull down the kid's hood so I can beat his—

Aw, hell.

The narrow face of a fucking girl glares up at me between black bangs. Shrugging off my hand, she spits at my feet and hugs the bottle of soda to her chest. I hear the crinkle of a chip packet and spy a bag of Lays poking out of her hoodie pocket.

"I'm not takin' it back."

Smirking, I rake a hand through my hair. She's a tiny little thing. I'm six-two and the top of her head barely hits the middle of my chest.

"You gonna pay for it, at least?"

She rolls dark eyes and shuffles in her battered sneakers. "If I had the money don't you think I'd'a used it in the first place?"

"Guess that's fair." Looking back over my shoulder at Jed watching us from the gas station, I sigh. "Look, tell you what...come back and apologize to my buddy over there, and I'll pay." Eyeing the way her clothes sag off her and her narrowed eyes sit above hollow cheeks, I try out a grin even though I kinda want to find whoever let this kid get into this state and pummel them into the ground. "I'll even spring for something hot. You like burgers? There's a burger truck a little bit that way."

Her suspicious glare follows my gaze as I nod toward the horizon and Old Billy's truck sitting waaaay in the distance. It's just over a mile, but the heat makes everything wavy, the lines of the truck blurred.

"Why would you do that?"

"'Cause I'm not an asshole." Cocking my head, I grin a little wider. "And because even mentioning a burger made you drool a little."

She growls and swipes at her face with the too-long sleeve of her hoodie.

"C'mon. I swear I don't bite. All you gotta do is say 'sorry' to my buddy and you get a free meal. I'll drop you anywhere you wanna go after that. Name's Edward, what's yours?"

"I don't tell strangers my name," she says, but her eyes dart toward the truck on the horizon again and I watch her tense shoulders sag a little.

Holding out a closed fist, I almost laugh when she eyes it for a while before tentatively bumping hers against it.

"Bree."

- banks -

Swallowing hard, I pull on my hair and listen to the clock ticking across the room.

'Anywhere' turned into my place, and Bree slept on my couch for six months after that. I found out she wasn't a kid at all, just short as fuck. She had nowhere else to go and I couldn't exactly just dump her on the side of the road. I managed to hook her up with a job at the diner Boss's brother owns and between us, we eventually managed to afford a bigger trailer.

Then she met Riley at the diner, and things started to go to shit.

"Mr. Masen?"

Officer Hodges is standing in the doorway of the waiting room when I drag my gaze up from my feet.

"Your sister is here. Would you like me to—"

"Is he in there? Move. Uh, please."

Lifting up onto shaky legs, I almost smile as my five-foot-nothing sister shoves Hodges out of the way, barging past him to barrel right into my chest.

Another short little shit whose personality more than makes up for her lack of height.

"Christ, Edward...I was so scared when they called and said you were here." Pulling back enough to reach up and palm my cheek, Esme's green eyes narrow, searching my face. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? I don't understand...they said you're here but you're not in trouble?"

"Deep breath, sis," I tell her gently, blowing out a big breath myself and tugging her down onto a chair. Hodges leaves us alone, the door clicking shut behind him. "This...it's a long fucking story."

"Language, Timothy," she breathes on autopilot—a throwback to one of our shitty foster mom's obsession with British eighties tv—smirking a little at herself even though she looks exhausted. I realize she's in pajamas; Pusheen print, with purple slides on her feet and her hair thrown up into a messy ponytail.

"Shit, it's late, isn't it? How did you get here?"

"Almost two," she confirms, waving her hand. "Carl drove me, but it doesn't matter. Talk to me, brother. What's going on?"

I can't even think the words 'Bree's dead,' let alone say them. They get stuck in my throat and as my eyes start to burn, my sister's widen.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

Dipping my chin in a nod, I grit my teeth. Get it together.

"Is it...is it Mom? Or...or Dad?"

"No, Es, no."

Not this time.

"It's...Bree."

"Oh. Is she okay? Is she the one in trouble?"

You could say that.

"She's dead."

Esme blinks a few times. Licks her lips and fidgets on the plastic seat. Then… "H-how?"

I picture Bree's ashen face. Bullet hole still bleeding between her brows.

"Shot."

"Oh…"

Her fingers work their way between mine, squeezing hard. For my benefit or hers, I'm not sure. Either way, it helps. It grounds me a little. She's my baby sister but she's always been the mothering type—ever since we were little kids, four and eight and left to figure out the stove by ourselves. I burnt my fingers so many times; Esme would patch me up with the little first aid kit one of our few friendly neighbors gave her.

"Was it, umm...Robert? No, Riley? Was it him?"

"I think so. Cops won't tell me anything, really."

Except that DCFS are waiting to talk to me.

My throat bobs as I drag my gaze to my sister's face, watching her reaction when I admit, "Bree has...had, kids. Two. Apparently...they're mine."

Esme's eyes almost bug out of her head. Choking on a strained laugh, her grip on my hand tightens. "You've got to be joking. Tell me you're kidding. Edward Anthony—"

"I'm not kidding, Essie. I'm...fuck. I wish I was."

There's a sharp knock on the door before it swings open. This time it's Taylor, but my chest squeezes when he enters with the woman in a suit behind him.

The DCFS woman.

"Are you ready?"

I held them off by asking to have my sister here with me. They're obviously not going to let me stall any longer.

"What's going on?" Esme looks between me, the officer, and the suit. "Ready for what?"

"They want to talk to me, figure out if I'm the...the dad of the kids."

"Of course you're not!" My sister stands quickly. "How could you be? You and Bree haven't...you weren't in…"

The sheepish expression on my face and the way my hand disappears back into my hair answers her unspoken question, I guess. Negates what she was about to say. Esme's shoulders slump.

"Oh, Christ. But you, you used…"

Wincing, I nod, but it's not certain. I'm not certain.

I've been wracking my brain for two hours, trying to think, trying to remember the times Bree and I...that we…

It feels weird to think the times that we fucked now I know she's dead. Wrong.

And the truth is, for every time I remember, there's probably one more I don't. The only times we ever hooked up were when we were high or drunk.

Is there a chance I didn't put a rubber on one, or I guess two, of those times?

As much as it freaks me the fuck out, yes.

"Mr. Masen, if there are uncertainties around your paternity of Miss Tanner's children, we can, of course, run tests. But you are the named father of both Archie and Charlotte, and your surname is listed on their records."

Fucking...hell.

I hear Esme's breath hitch as mine stutters out of me in a curse.

Archie and Charlotte.

I know what Esme is thinking. Archie was the name of our first pet—the scruffy brown stray mutt we snuck in at night and out again before Dad woke up every morning. I told Bree that story once, out on the lawn chairs by the trailer when we saw a stray dog picking through my neighbor's trash. She wanted to take him in, but he was gone the next day. Never saw him again.

And Charlotte…

My knuckles turn white, my grip on the arm of the chair too tight.

Charlotte was—

"We'll place the children somewhere safe for the night, until we can piece together more information." My head jerks up, blurred vision finding the DCFS woman.

She's watching me with narrowed eyes.

No, not just watching, judging me.

Don't get me wrong, I know what I look like. Mussed hair, worn tee, sweatshorts with a ripped pocket, and the spare sneakers I grabbed from the bed of my truck on the way to the cops' car earlier. They're stained with grease and red desert dirt, but they were a better option than the vomit-soaked pair I was wearing.

I look as shit as I feel I'm sure, and if she got close enough, she'd probably smell the weed on me, too. Thankfully, she seems disgusted enough to loiter in the doorway, bag clutched tight at her hip.

"Where will you put them?" Esme asks, voice soft.

"We have emergency foster homes we can call to see if one of them can take the children in."

My stomach rolls. "Foster care?"

Memories of sitting at the foot of Esme's bed while she slept, baseball bat draped across my knees as my eyelids drooped and I waited for the rattle of the doorknob, flit through my mind. "They'll be perfectly safe, I assure you."

Glancing at Esme, I wonder if she remembers a social worker telling us that. If she felt relieved, like I did, and whether she blames me for not being able to keep her safe.

I do, so she should.

We both learned the hard way that shit wasn't as rosy as the social workers said. Not all foster caretakers were in it to help the kids. A lot of 'em were in it for the cash, and the kids dumped on their doorsteps were just the unfortunate byproduct.

"Of course, we won't be able to just hand over the children. You'll need to show us that you're a fit parent."

The sour look on her face and the way she's looking at me say it all. She doesn't think I am.

My brows knit together and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from telling her to fuck off, but even as that thought crosses my mind, I realize she's right. I'm so far from being a good idea for those kids, it's goddamn laughable.

"What do we need to do?" Es asks, squeezing my shoulder.

"For starters, we'll need DNA tests to confirm that Archie and Charlotte are, indeed, Edward's. The next step would be to assess your home situation to make sure it's suitable for them." She looks me up and down, pouty lips pursed like she already knows she's going to hate the answer to her next question. She probably is, to be fair. "Where do you live?"

"The trailer park off main street, near Jed's gas station."

I can see the loathing dripping off her. "Of course, you do. Well, like I said, we'll need to assess it and make sure that we're not moving the children from one unsafe situation to another."

My eyes shift to Taylor, wondering if he or Hodges told her what they found when they rocked up tonight. Nobody tested me but weed doesn't exactly carry a subtle aroma.

It'd be an easy out, the thought comes fast and laced with cloying guilt. They'd never let them come back to the trailer if they knew it sees more drugs than the nearest pharmacy.

Esme has a different idea of how this is gonna go, I guess. "We can do all that," she says with a confidence I don't feel. "Just tell us what we need to do and we'll do it. Won't we, brother?"

I hesitate too long.

Esme's eyes burn a hole in the side of my face. DCFS lady's manicured-to-within-an-inch eyebrows lift higher on her lined forehead, and Taylor shuffles by the door, awkward.

Clearing my throat, I finally nod. "Yeah. Uh, yeah, just…just let us know."

After reluctantly taking my contact information, DCFS lady hands me a card and tells us goodnight, heels clicking as she leaves the room like she can't get away from me fast enough.

The feeling's mutual, lady.

Taylor offers me a small smile and jerks his chin toward the door. "Want to get out of here? We'll call you if we need anything else."

Every bone in my body fucking aches. There are so many things I want right now—a beer, a smoke, and my bed. Not necessarily in that order, but...yeah.

Patting my pockets to locate my keys, I nod. "Yeah. Can I borrow a phone to call a cab?"

"We'll have someone take you home, Mr. Masen, don't worry."

"It's okay, I'll call my boyfriend, he'll take us," Esme tells him, wiggling her cell in the air. "I'll call him now. Thank you, though."

My sister's current boyfriend is the best of the three she's had. He agrees to come get us right away even though he's probably only been home thirty minutes or so. Leading us through halls that all look the damn same, we almost make it to the reception area when I realize I'm not going to make it home without pissing my pants.

"Uh, restrooms?"

"Right down that hall, there. Third door on the right."

"I'll meet you out front, Edward," Esme murmurs, arms wrapped around herself, and I could kick myself for making her stay here another second. She hates police stations as much as I do. More, maybe.

"I'll be quick."

She smiles and nods, slipping through the door Taylor is holding open for her, so I turn and stride down the hall.

I can hear someone moving around in a cubicle while I use the urinal; the door swings open with a creak just as I turn.

Shit.

The boy doesn't even glance at me, heading toward the sinks. The lump lodged in my throat seems to get bigger as I notice more about him.

He's small, maybe five or six, wearing clothes at least a size too big. He pushes the sleeves of his hoodie up past his elbows but they fall right back down. Growling under his breath, he gives up and reaches toward the faucet, stretching onto tiptoes in his dirty sneakers.

"C-can you he-help, Mister? I can't r-reach."

It takes me a second to realize he's talking to me.

"Uh...sure."

My hands shake as I make my way over, hesitating before crouching a little to wrap an arm around his waist and lift him up.

He grunts his thanks and meticulously washes his tiny hands. Water, soap, scrub, water, until every bubble is gone. Shaking them, he mumbles that I can put him down and offers me a quick glance from under his mop of dark hair. "Th-thanks."

"Yeah, you're welcome."

Wiping his hands on his pants, he trudges toward the door with his head and shoulders drooping like a sad little puppy dog.

"Hey, uh, wait a sec."

Crouching a little, I swallow hard and tell myself this is stupid. The boy turns his head to face me, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets now. "You're Archie, right?"

Frowning, he straightens up. "I'm n-not supposed to tell strangers my n-name."

Fucking...Christ. Bree, this kid is so you.

"That's okay, I'm not a, uh, a stranger. I know your mom."

His eyes instantly fill up with tears and I realize what a damn idiot I am.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I...fuck. Look, I...I'm Edward. Your mom's friend."

Archie's brows are furrowed tight as he wipes his face with a balled-up fist.

I don't know what I was hoping for. Recognition, maybe. For him to say that she told him about me, or at least mentioned my name. I still can't understand how this kid has been out there and I never knew. There are so many questions clogging up my brain but I have no idea how to deal with them.

Bree is gone, the answers with her.

Resignation settles in my aching bones as I sigh and rub my jaw. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"

Still with me? Buckle in tight. I promise we'll get more answers as we go.