Promise (26 page)

When she wraps both her arms around her waist and goes quiet, I can’t take any more of whatever this is.

“Maybe now’s not the best time.” My voice is steady, level, and the hell if I’m dropping my eyes first.

Jeremy looks at Promise.

“Is now not a good time?” His question is a demand, and I think of all the ways I can make him die.

Fucking bully. I hate bullies. Putting her on the spot like that when she is clearly uncomfortable already.

“Now is
not
a good time,” I answer for everybody in the room, taking one step up, daring him to stand.

“Well,” Jeremy breaks into a playful, condescending smile like this is some fucking game for him. “Then I guess we won’t be seeing Jordan tomorrow.”

Promise darts forward, her eyes wide, moving from Jeremy to me, and her mouth is open like words are there, but she can’t decide in which order to put them.

“Babe, you okay?” I spin around, putting a wall between her and Jeremy, taking a mental note of the look Jeremy flashed at her when he heard me call her “babe.”

“Yeah. I just . . .” She blinks five times before she continues, then lowers her voice to a whisper, her eyes falling to the floor. “I kinda need to talk to him about something.”

At that moment, I realize just how little I know about her life. This girl that I feel some primal responsibility for is a near stranger in so many ways.

I run my hands over my head, back and forth, trying to get a grip on the moment and not let the darkness take over. She’s fucking scared; I can feel it like I can feel the pain in my neck as it starts up and jerks three times before I can take my next breath.

Promise’s eyes dart to mine, watching me intently as my head and neck do their thing.

There is so much we don’t know about each other, and I can see doubt cast over her face as she watches me finish my twitch.

That jerking, twitching shit started when I was around ten. At first, they said it was the stress of the fire and the ensuing shit storm that subsequently engulfed my life. But, a few years and hundreds of twitches a day later, they gave it a name with the added news that it was a lifelong condition.

It’s settled down. As you get older, it ebbs and flows more. Most people think I should be barfing out strings of obscenities in church when they hear the word “Tourettes.” But, it’s not that. That is just what comedians and movies show. It’s this.

A constant obsession, a pressure that needs to be relieved and never will. A tension that builds somewhere inside. You hold back as long as you can, but eventually, you have to make the motion.

“It’s important, Promise.” Jeremy chimes in like a bitch.

“Hey, step the fuck down, man.” I spin around, wishing the fire I feel inside could shoot out of my eyes and turn him into the flaming shitball he is.

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll go.”

Jeremy moves like he’s going to stand, but I see his pussy-ass glance at Promise.

“Anyone want popcorn? I feel like some popcorn.” Bruce snorts as he tosses back the last of a glass of red wine from his viewing position in the kitchen.

“Don’t leave.
Wait.
” Promise says, directing her plea toward Jeremy while laying her hand on my chest, drawing my eyes back to her. “I have to talk to him,” she whispers.

“You want me to leave?” I ask as my lips pull tight, and heat starts to radiate up my neck.

More than anything, my new favorite word is “
No,”
and I sure as shit hope it’s the next one that comes from her amazing lips.

“Yeah, I think you should go.”

I hate all of those words.

I suddenly feel like taking a seat at the table with shit-show Johnny and staking my fucking claim. But, something in her voice tells me there’s more here than I’m going to get to know tonight.

“Okay.” I lean right next to her ear. “But, I’m going to kiss you. Then I’ll leave. And tomorrow, I’m going to be standing outside this door by 6 AM to take you to work.” I point at the door and pin her with my eyes.

I’m on her mouth before she can finish whatever it was she was about to say. I make it quick. I’m not here to embarrass her. But, fuck if this asshole isn’t getting a little peek at just who belongs to whom in this little drama.

“See you in the morning,” I say to Promise as I give Poindexter one last stink eye.

I glance over and nod at Bruce, who has a huge smile on his face. He raises one hand and wiggles his fingers at me in a playful goodbye.

I’m out the door, but most of me is still inside that room.

Promise

I don’t know who I hate most right now.

Bruce is smiling and looking amused.

Jeremy has me ready to spit fire, showing up again without a call, like he lives here, then dangling the one thing he knows could hurt me the most in front of me like a carrot.

Beck.

Beckett.

I hate him most of all. Because he’s making me want something else and I don’t want to
want.

Mom always said, “Love and hate are two horns on the same goat.” And right now, I have a pretty good idea where I’d stick both of those horns if I could.

I’ve lost my mind—in a week. Less.
Five days
. I am not even sure who I am anymore.

“What are you doing with
him
?” Jeremy snaps.

I shake my head and squint as Jeremy tosses that out there like I’ve just come home three hours after curfew, and he’s waiting for me with a shotgun between his legs.

“What am I . . . ?” I’m so exasperated I can’t even finish my sentence, and then I look at Bruce with my hands raised. “
What
?
You
can just go eat your
popcorn
somewhere else.” My finger is an arrow, aiming right between Bruce’s eyes.

“Miss this?
Nooooo.
This is the most fun I’ve had in a month
.”
He snorts again then drops his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I like
that
one.” He exaggerates each word as he points toward the door where Beckett just exited, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows in feigned sympathy at Jeremy.

I sigh because it’s the only thing I can do right now.

Jeremy is picking at his fingernails and looking bored, but I can see the way his lips stay tight.

I muster up some contrite sweetness.

“I’m sorry about that.”
But I’m not telling you anything about ‘him’.
. “So, what’s going on?” I scoot over and take a seat at the table as I swallow my self-respect and pucker up to kiss some ass.

I lean elbows on the table and clear my throat. It’s hard to imagine that no one else can sense what I’ve been doing for the last couple of hours. My hair is still damp from the shower, and a shiver runs from up the backs of my legs and wraps around all the parts of me that are still thumping.

And I am taking each step slowly trying not to give away the very special discomfort I have going on.

Jeremy stops his disgusting fingernail obsession and stares at me like a disappointed father, then shakes his head, making a little
tsk
-
tsk
sound.

“You know I’m here to help you, don’t you?”

I open my mouth to answer, and he starts talking over me.

“You know you do.” His tongue licks his upper teeth, and he stares at me in silence for a second before going on. “I’m the only one that
can
help you. The only one that has been here for you all these years. I remember when you sat down in front of my desk with your hair chopped off around your ears. You were a handful back then. Knew how to get attention.”

I hear Bruce’s dramatic sigh from the kitchen, and I give him a glare as he raises a glass of wine to me behind Jeremy’s back.

“You need some?”
Bruce silently mouths the words, pointing to his glass, and I look away before my lips betray me with a smile.

“What’s the news?” I force cheerfulness into my voice.

Jeremy lets out another exasperated sound to show just how far out of his way he is going for me, then he looks at his watch far longer than it should take a grown man to determine the time.

“Well, it’s a good thing you got home when you did. I was getting ready to call Lydia and call off the visit.”

“What?
Are you kidding me?
” I’m on my feet faster than a flea on a hound, and I can feel the tendons in my neck standing up. “Why the hell didn’t you call or text me or something? What if I didn’t come back in time?”

My head is spinning. Everything that has happened to me in the last few hours hits me like a cannonball to the gut.

Now this? Oh my god, how could he not tell me?

“Maybe I was trying to see if you’re sticking to a routine. Showing me how stable you are.”

“It’s like 7:30. How did you convince Lydia—”

“I just
did
.” He snaps, his pencil-thin lips turning white. “Now, listen for once. You know I’m the one that wants this for you. So, get ready. Jordan will be here in fifteen minutes. I arranged for a visit. Lydia took him to his pre-adoption appointment with the psychologist and said she would stop by on their way home.”

If there is a word I never want to hear again, it’s adoption. My next breath sticks in my chest like it’s covered in thorns.

I ride the emotional slingshot, forcing myself to forget that Jeremy just mentioned
that
word, and the fact that Jordan is coming here—tonight—hit’s me.

“Here? Fifteen? What—” My head swivels like a pendulum on staccato before I catch a glimpse of Bruce downing three-quarters of a glass of Malbec in one gulp as he showers the back of Jeremy’s head with poison arrows from his eyes.

He glances my way, and I can almost see steam rising from his shiny head.

I don’t have time for his drama. Whatever it is he would like to contribute right now will have to wait. I break our eye contact and muster up my best Pollyanna smile.

“Gosh, I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe it.
Thank you
. I don’t know how you did it but,
thank you.
”

I even go so far as to walk over to where Jeremy is sitting and give him a quick side hug.

Because the truth is I
am
thankful. There are few things I wouldn’t do for my brother. As I hug Jeremy I realize even after all these years, he feels a bit foreign to me. He’s like that uncle you know you should like, but there’s an underlying creep factor that seizes you up when you get close.

Jeremy’s arms dart up my back, pulling me into him before I can retreat. His face is buried in my chest, and he takes a long, deep breath as he smashes his nose into my boobs.

I give myself a quick, silent lecture about being grateful. Jeremy has been here for me, and now he’s trying to be there for Jordan. That is the number one priority in my life, and I will do anything to convince the court that I am the best person for him.

Still I can’t help but into marble as his arms clutch around me. That’s all I am—a bent over statue unable to decide if standing up or letting him continue to make my boob his new face pillow is the right move.

I pray that this awkward moment will end in the next three seconds
.

My silent prayer is answered when Jeremy shifts his head because he’s unable to breathe, and I take the opportunity to pull away.

“Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair-club hair and gives me a smile. “So,
he
should not be here.” Jeremy nods toward Bruce.

“I can
heeeeear
you.” Bruce does not hide his rightful annoyance. But, I give him a pleading look, and he rolls his eyes. “
Fine.
I need some air. Some far-away-from-here kind of air.”

Bruce grabs his coat off the back of the chair next to Jeremy and then leans down, his mouth inches from Jeremy’s ear.

“
Bye.
” Bruce hits the “B” in a loud, stage-worthy voice. Jeremy jumps, and I almost bust out a laugh.

“Bye.” Jeremy shifts, trying to salvage some of his pride.

Bruce sticks his tongue out at me on his way to the door, then just as quickly gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze “Good luck.” His last words as he saunters out the door are more imbued with pity than I would like.

“Okay. So, aren’t you excited?” Jeremy asks once Bruce is out the door.

“Of course. Does this mean things might be looking up for me?”

“Well, let’s just say with the right moves, things could start leaning our way.”

He puts a little too much emphasis on the word “our.”

“You never went to that lawyer, did you?” Jeremy starts clicking his nails on the tabletop again.

“No, you told me not to.” Lying is a mandatory skill when you grow up in the system and, good or bad, I excel at it.

“Good. Because if you did, it would not work in your favor. Lydia would interpret that as aggressive.”

Lydia Sewell is the Nurse Ratchett of the Southeast Office of Child Protective Services for the City of Cleveland.

A cold sweat covers my arms and back at the sound of her name. I remember her from when I was six. Her box-cropped hair looked as though she’d hacked it off with a pair of medieval sheep sheers, adding to that the wardrobe of a female guard from a Russian Gulag.

And, she
hated
me.