He dragged his eyes to me, his expression ragged. It was a rare thing I’d only seen a handful of times when he was a boy. At first, he’d refused to talk about his father. He would show up at our apartment in the middle of the night with his backpack. Mom had made a ritual of preparing him a spot on the floor with a bunch of blankets while casting him an all-knowing look the grown-ups were privy to.
One night when Jere and I were lying in bed, he’d asked me if my father liked to drink as much as his did. Eventually he’d told me his father went on drunken rampages where he’d put holes in the wall, break his self-made toys for his own entertainment, and scream horrible things at Jere. As a child, I had no experience with a drunk father, but I knew what it was like to miss my dad after he’d left my mother.
The way Jere looked now reflected that boyhood pain of being abandoned by his father. It was a tornado of anger and sadness, two currents of wind tugging at each other and fighting for dominance—kind of like the whirlwind raging inside me.
I was completely defeated, unable to see a path forward to getting my life back on track, the way it was before I’d been bashed. I silently cursed whatever God existed. Hadn’t I been good? Wasn’t I doing the right thing by helping my kids and trying to repair the Earth? Why did I deserve what had happened to me? I seriously wanted to speak to the universe’s manager and request a refund.
He took a deep breath that made his shoulders tremble. “Anger issues are common in people with…brain damage.”
Pinching my eyes closed, I let the words echo in my mind for a moment. “I’m sorry I broke my promise.”
“You’ve always kept your promises to me. Are you going to stop now?” he inquired.
I reached out and took his hand, noting a faint scar over one of his knuckles. I wondered how he’d gotten it and reckoned it was the result of putting some bully or asshole in their place. My superhero. “No. I don’t want to. I’m sorry.”
He moved his thumb around my knuckles, the touch of his rough fingers sending a zinger through me. He touched me so easily I couldn’t help thinking if I’d asked him to, he wouldn’t deny my more intimate contact. But I wasn’t going to put him in that position.
I released him and tucked my hand between my thighs. “Will you eat this food? It was expensive and I’d hate it to go to waste. It doesn’t have much life left in it.”
“And you’re going to promise not to buy me expensive meals,” he said, and pulled the container closer so he could eat.
“I promise. But if I miraculously win the lottery, I’m going to treat you to extravagant dinners and magnificent entertainment until you puke from culture overload.”
His lips ticked up in a smirk. “Deal.”
I watched him eat, his jaw moving as he devoured the meal. He made appreciative sounds, but I knew the reheated steak wasn’t good enough for him. He deserved more, he deserved everything. Jere had always been there for me no matter what I needed. I hoped I could repay him one day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jere
A scream ripped me from sleep, and I shot off the couch.Danny.
I hit my shoulder on the door jamb on my way to him, the haziness of sleep and lack of light throwing me off balance. Danny was on the floor next to his bed, pillows scattered everywhere, the sheet tangled around him as he fought with unseen enemies.
I gathered him in my arms to keep him from flailing and hurting himself. “Wake up, Danny.”
“Jere?” He gasped as if his lungs weren’t working right.
“Yeah. You were having a bad dream. Just breathe, you’re safe. Cross my heart.”
His nails dug into my skin as I held him, the tremble in his hands made worse by the nightmare. As he settled, I searched him for injuries.
“Did you bump your head?”
“No, I don’t think so. Jere, I—Ronnie!” He made a strangled sound as if he couldn’t bear to relive the nightmare.
“It’s all right, it was just a bad dream.”
It took him a while to relax, his breathing eventually returning to normal. I didn’t have to ask what the bad dream had been about. Those assholes were still haunting him. And no doubt, his emotional outburst last night had aggravated his mood. I should have never left him by himself. I was angry about not sleeping in bed with him, but I thought he might be more comfortable if he had more room. I could take up a lot of space and steal the sheets. This wasn’t going to happen again, however. Next time, I’d be there to pull him out of the bad dream.
He whimpered and rubbed his head over the scar.
“Headache?” I inquired.
He nodded and made another one of those sounds that renewed my quest for vengeance.
I got him settled back in bed and said, “Let me get you some meds. Be right back.”
