We keep swaying, his movements clumsy but endearing.
“You know th—” Steven starts, but the words die in his throat.
He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s staring past me. His voice is a low mutter in my ear: “Is this a fucking joke? Fuck... If it’s a joke, it’s not funny.”
His grip tightens. I turn to see what caught him. Maggie’s standing at the living room door, angry and on the phone. And beside her—Vincent.
He’s wearing worn jeans and a gray Nirvana T-shirt—his favorite band. He plays with the elastic band on his wrist, his curly hair more disheveled than usual.
I glance back at Steven, his face full of disbelief. I lace my fingers with his. “It’s okay,” I whisper.
He doesn’t look at me. “Did you know?”
I shrug, smiling faintly. “Maybe. Does it matter now?”
He shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I nudge him toward Vincent.
Maggie’s heels click as she walks into the room. She sits at a table, crossing her long legs, already back to fiddling with her phone. She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and mutters dryly, “You’ve got a pole up your ass. Go to your dickhead of a friend, you idiot.”
Vincent still hasn’t spoken or moved. He just stands there, eyes fixed on Steven, while he drops my hand and walks toward him. I pull his phone from my pocket, open Spotify, and selectBrotherby Kodaline. The song fills the room as the technicians scramble again.
I climb onto table with Maggie, legs swinging, watching the two boys a few steps apart.
Vincent shyly extends his hand and Steven stares at it without speaking. The music swells. Vincent turns as if to leave, whispering,I’m sorry.
But Steven surprises us both—grabbing his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. Vincent squeezes him back instantly.
Maggie squeezes my hand, intertwining our fingers. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”
I nod, blinking back tears. The two of them cling to each other, whispering words I can’t hear but already know by heart. Finally.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vincent Cooper
PAST (2012)
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"One good thing about music, when it hits you,
you feel no pain."
Bob Marley
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It has been almost a year now since I moved to San Francisco. Adjusting to a new life is not easy. It’s strange to wake up every morning with a caress on my face instead of being grabbed by the hair and kicked out of bed. No longer do I have to make breakfast while burning myself at the stove or cutting my fingers, nor do I have to sit at a table with children who are just as scared—or more scared—than I am.
My life has taken a completely different turn since Chris and Daniel Cooper adopted me. I’ve finally begun to feel less afraid, although I still struggle to trust them.
When they adopted me, I wasn’t angry. I was just terrified and maybe even dazed.
I didn’t understand what was happening or where the two kind men I had gotten to know over the past few months were taking me. I was afraid they were two of my father’s men, ready to take me back to him in Astrakhan. It seemed so strange that two strangers would treat me well for no reason.
The day I met them is only a vague memory. I hated life in the orphanage. At home with my father, I could at least hide in the garden or run away when he was too drunk to notice my absence and take refuge in the park.
