“All cured,” I lied with my palms in the air.
His shoulders rolled back. “Good. I was beginning to think it was psychological.”
I lifted a brow in the air. “Psychological?”
“Well, yes. The brain is very complex. I can do my best to balance the chemicals, but childhood trauma can’t be undone. I’m going to make you an appointment with Dr. Conway.”
“I’m good.”
“It’s not an option.”
I shook my head and raised from the chair. “Sounds fantastic, mate.”
“Great,” he bit back with stone features. “Tomorrow it is. Be there at two.”
I threw a thumb in the air before heading toward the door.
“And Oliver?” Pausing with my hand on the doorknob, I waited without turning to meet his gaze. “Don’t be late.”
Cracking open another can of Schweppes, I laid back over Zeke’s mattress with my eyes glued to the back of his head and my ears pinned to the telly.
The poor kid had been hard at work piecing back together the destroyed origami rose. I told him it didn’t matter anymore, but stubborn Zeke was determined to fix my mistakes.
I threw a pillow at the back of his head to get his attention. Zeke’s head snapped back to face me with his brows knitted together. “Let it go, mate. Relax. WatchThe Office,” I suggested with my hand pointed toward the telly. Zeke shook his head and returned to the puzzle before him at his desk. “Your loss.”
The Schweppes hit the back of my throat, bubbly and kindling the mint in my gum.
Crazy to think just a year ago I had planned to take the kid home with me.
Oscar had told me what happened. Said he’d overheard Zeke’s story in the breakroom, and how Zeke had been here since he was no older than seven or eight, abandoned on Dolor property like an unwanted pet. Instantly, I took to the kid. Got to know him, learned his language. Zeke had a heart of gold, and an old soul mine related to. Somehow, we clicked. He didn’t remember much of his past and made a home here.
I’d made a promise to Zeke. As soon as I’d graduate, I’d adopt him and show him what it should feel like to have a real home. We could find out together. An actual birthday. A real Christmas. A real family—a family consisting of Zeke and myself.
A family both of us wanted yet never had.
The only way to accomplish the adoption was to make sure I would be financially inclined upon our departure. Before the school year started last year, I had sent my work to an agent. The agent had stated she liked my style, signed with me, and dispersed my poetry to a handful of publishers. But by the time a publisher agreed on me, I had been arrested for the rape of Bria and had been thrown into solitary.
Turns out, through my time in jail, the publisher had pursued our contract. A proper check had been mailed to the jail, and I’d decided to make a deal with Travis, my only friend from my seven months outside of Dolor. Since he was leaving before me at the time, I’d made him agree to staying away from the gang he had been associated with, the Links, if he’d work for me and become my assistant.
I trusted Travis, and he agreed.
The only thing left to do, other than leave here with a clean record, would be to find a roof for over our heads. Then, I would submit the paperwork for adoption for Zeke. Legally, I’d become his guardian. Zeke was excited about the idea and joked he would start calling me “Dad.”
I’d told him no fucking way.
We were mates.
Mates to always have a home to go back to.
Amidst it all, Mia had come along, my little plot twist. She only fueled my desire of becoming someone. I’d never wanted anything more than to make something of myself for her. Everything had been perfect. Mia and I had grown closer and closer the same time Mia and Zeke were growing closer. Mia had accepted Zeke with an open heart. The day the storm had passed over Dolor, and Mia held scared Zeke in her arms, it was as if everything had fallen into place. I’d always known, from the first day I met her, she was the one, but that single moment left me in awe of the way God moved his chess pieces across the board, making everything I’d ever wanted within reach.
The plans for Zeke and I had turned into Zeke, Mia, and I, and not once had I clued her in on my promise to Zeke, or this life I had been planning for the three of us. Mia still has no clue about any of this. Perhaps it was every artist’s fear of rejection—from her, Zeke, the publishing house, the world—and the fear of failure.
This time, I was a failure.
I’d failed Mia.
I’d failed Zeke.
