The Torment of Two

Prologue

Tristan “Two” Sheridan (Nine Years Old)

Santa is real.

I hate Dax for lying and saying he isn’t. Dad always tells me you have to believe to get presents. Does Dax not want presents?

Stupid Dax said he could prove it. That if I went and dug around in my parents’ closet, I’d find them and all the candy that goes in the stocking.

I should have just ignored him, but I have to show him he’s wrong. My dads have never lied to me. They wouldn’t lie about Santa.

The garage door rumbles and then silence falls on our house. Dad said he had to run to the office to help Pops with something and that he’d be right back.

Usually that takes about fifteen minutes.

I’m going to have to hurry.

As soon as I’m sure Dad has left, I rush over to the front windows and peek out just in case. Dad’s SUV speeds away, leaving me to my mission.

Dax is going to feel so dumb when I tell him off when we play Xbox later. I can’t wait to laugh at him until my belly hurts.

Backing away from the window, I peek over at the decorated Christmas tree. There are so many gifts from my dads underneath, all of them wrapped perfectly with matching bows. There’s no way they’d also get me all the stuff Santa buys too. I’d be spoiled and Dad is always worried they’re spoiling me.

I’m telling you.

No freaking way.

I race out of the living room and go straight for my parents’ closet in their bedroom. Dad loves clothes. A lot. Pops built him a humongous closet for all his outfits a couple of years ago. Dax’s mom doesn’t have nearly as many outfits as Dad and she certainly doesn’t have a closet as big as my bedroom.

Dad really, really likes clothes.

I haven’t ever had a need to go into their closet much before. When Dad makes me help with laundry, it’s usually just to fold towels or put my own clothes away. Their closet is boring and filled with dad stuff like boots and ties.

Toys and candy too if Dax is right.

Which he’s totally not.

I flick on the light switch and take in all the clothes. Dad’s clothes take up most of the closet. Pops has a small section with the same ol’ blue jeans he always wears and his company T-shirts.

Ha!

No candy and toys!

Just as I’m about to leave, a small bulge behind Dad’s coats gets my attention. Slowly, I walk over to it, readying myself for toys to fall on top of my head. There’s not going to be toys behind these coats. There’s not.

I push one of the big leather coats aside and see a wooden trunk sitting on the floor up against the wall. It reminds me of one you’d find treasure in.

What if the treasure is Santa’s gifts?

My stomach twists at that thought. I’m going to be upset if Dax is right. He’s always right about everything and it’s so annoying.

Kneeling down in front of the chest, I notice my heartbeat is pounding so hard I can feel it echoing in my ears.

I have to know.

Is Santa real?

I hold my breath and force myself to open the trunk. Squinting, I try to shield my eyes from the truth.

Toys and candy galore.

Except…there’s neither.

It’s filled with papers and pictures.

A laugh bubbles out of me. I knew it! Stupid Dax is wrong! I’m about to close it when a picture catches my eye. It’s the window from my room. I love that window. Dad says it’s original to the house and really, really old. The stained glass is pretty to look at.

I pull the picture out from beneath some papers to inspect it closer. It’s not my room, though. Well, it is, but it’s missing the Legos on the shelves. And where are the model airplanes Pops helped me build? They’re usually hanging by dental floss from the ceiling.

My eyes leave the shelves in the picture and land on the color of the wall. Pink. Ew. Why is the wall pink? It’s supposed to be navy blue like it is now.

In the center of the room, my bed isn’t there like it is now. There’s a baby’s crib with frilly pink blankets instead.

Above the bed, it says, “Gemma.”

My stomach starts to ache. I don’t like the gross feeling I’m having. Something doesn’t feel right.

Maybe this picture belonged to the family before us who lived here.

Or maybe I had a sister and she died.

I don’t like that thought. There could be more pictures to give me clues. I set the picture down to dig in the trunk some more. I find the adoption papers from when my dads took me home when I was just two years old. Since I don’t care to learn anything about my birth mother, who clearly didn’t love me enough to keep me, I’m not interested in reading all those boring papers.

An envelope under the pile of papers sticks out. It’s pink and written in girly handwriting, addressed to Dad and Pops.

Dearest Leo and Grant,

I’m so sorry, but I’ve decided to keep the baby. I know you were so excited to start your family and this will ruin everything. I’m gutted for you. Believe me, I’ve cried a lot over this because I know how badly the two of you want to be parents.

When we started this whole process, I didn’t think Nathan would choose to stay with me if he knew I was pregnant. But he did, and we’re planning to get married. I’m going to be the best mom, I promise. I believe you’ll find a different baby to love and care for that was meant to be.

Please find it in your heart to forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. If it will make you feel any better, I decided to keep the name you chose for her to honor you both if it turns out to be a girl like Leo’s psychic said it would be.

As sad as this is, I think it’s best if we don’t contact each other again. It’s too painful for everyone involved.

Sincerely,

Jamie Booker

They were going to adopt a baby girl before me? I was their second choice. Dad and Pops always tell me I’m their entire world. But I almost didn’t get to be a part of it.

When they adopted me, I was no longer a baby. I was young, though. So young, I didn’t even know my own name. The only word I’d say was “two” at the time of my adoption, which is how I came to get the nickname Two.

Did all the families before my dads want a baby? Why else would I be fixated on that word? Was I asked my age a lot? Did my dads feel sorry for me and adopt me even though I wasn’t the baby they wanted?

This is much worse than discovering Santa isn’t real. All the loving, happy stories my dads told me about the magical creation of our family was more of a fairy tale than Santa.

They lied to me.

They didn’t tell me there was a girl before me who they wanted badly enough to decorate an entire room for her.

I’m going to be sick.

My cheeks grow wet with tears and I shrivel inside. Dax never cries, but I cry over the stupidest stuff. This certainly feels stupid.

I’m second best.

Two seems fitting of a name for a kid no one ever wanted.

The sound of the garage door opening has me jolting. I quickly shove everything back into the trunk, close the lid, and move the coats to hide it once more. By the time I exit their bedroom, Dad is coming through the garage door into the house. I swipe all the tears off my face and force a neutral expression.

“Two, buddy, grab your coat and hat. Pops is taking us for pizza and then we’re going to look at a house we’re going to restore. Maybe you’ll find some cool treasures. The owner said we can take whatever we want.”

I stare at my smiling dad, feeling a stabbing, burning pain deep inside my chest. It’s so easy for him to pretend that I almost wasn’t their son. They almost had Gemma. Their perfect, precious baby girl.

“Everything okay?” Dad asks, coming to stand in front of me. He cradles my cheeks with his cold palms and studies my face. “You look sad.”

Not sad.

Destroyed.

There’s a difference, Dad.

“I’m good. Can I get Pepsi?”

Dad purses his lips, clearly biting back what he’s really thinking before he nods once. “Just one and you can have it with dinner, not before.” He drops his forehead to mine and grins at me. “Love you, Two.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know.”

He’s not the only liar in this family.