Chapter 23 #3
Aaaaand, there it went, as William jumped up and bolted towards the back door. He wrenched it, unable to work out how to detach the old-fashioned farmhouse lock. Johnny sighed, walked over, gripped his shoulder and deposited him back on his stool.
“Willy,” Janine said, patting his hair as she rubbed her rough face all over his cheek. She kissed his forehead, but it didn’t look like affection that came easily.
“No!” William cried, burying his face in her shoulder. “No, Mum, I want us to be together. I don’t want to go back into foster care, please!”
“I’ve already—” Janine sucked in a breath, gripping the table. “I’ve already signed the paperwork, Will. M-Mr and Mrs A-Ateba will look after you. It won’t be forever.”
Johnny gave his mother a withering look, because she and Papa did not have the time or space for any more kids. Temporary or otherwise.
Johnny clenched his jaw as he reached for Maman’s hands. “Mum, what are you doing? When did you speak to Kat about this?” He spoke in hurried French, trying not to let frustration seep into his tone but failing miserably.
Maman rubbed the back of his hand. “Yesterday evening, after you called. It is my choice, John-Paul. It’s only temporary until something permanent comes up.”
Johnny shook his head, turning her so he had his back to the rest of the group. “Was Taylor temporary? Did they ever find a permanent place for him? Come on, Maman. Don’t be na?ve.”
She crossed her arms, setting her jaw. “Papa and I chose to keep Tay, and so did you. And anyway, that was fifteen years ago, the foster scheme is—”
“Things are worse, Maman. Considerably worse. He won’t get another placement, he—”
“He will—”
“He won’t,” Johnny stepped towards her, planting himself in her personal space. “He won’t. The foster system is fucked.”
Maman growled, pushing up onto the balls of her feet. “Do not try to intimate me, John-Paul.”
Johnny flinched as something thumped the kitchen window. It was Taylor, shirtless and sweating, looking in at them with obvious concern. “I’m sorry,” Johnny whispered, kissing the top of her head and stepping back.
The sound of the key in the door had all of them looking round, making William clutch his mum even tighter. Taylor was there, bare chested, with his shorts all twisted up like he’d barely had time to pull them on.
“Maman?” Gabriella said, pushing past him and going straight to her. Of course they came back, they’d have sensed the tension over the pack bond.
Maman shushed her and Clementine as she took both girls into her arms. They weren’t even teenagers, yet they were already close to overtaking her in height. They looked at William and his mum, both of them softening a little when they saw William was crying.
Johnny swallowed as Taylor pulled him to his side. “What happened?” he said, face damp as he ran his nose through the side of Johnny’s hair. “Why is Janine here? Jesus, don’t tell me—”
“Maman’s taking him in,” Johnny said, loud enough for the girls to hear.
He’d expected World War III to erupt right there in the kitchen, but instead the girls just glared at William, then at Johnny and Taylor. Maman soothed the girls as best she could, and eventually Papa came home after the morning shift and made everyone enchiladas.
Janine stayed for a while, shaking badly by the time she and Kat made to leave. Whilst Johnny didn’t agree with most of Janine’s life choices, he did admire her for battling through the pain of withdrawal for William’s sake. Maybe she would make it, if she could stick it out in rehab.
By eight o’clock the simmering tension in the house was fucking unbearable. The girls refused to speak to Maman, Maman refused to speak to Johnny, and for some God unknown reason Marty decided he was in a huff with Taylor.
Although William had taken Marty’s room for the night, Maman not-so-subtly hinted that Johnny and Taylor would need to vacate their old room in T-minus two days, because he would need a room of his own.
By nine o’clock, Johnny was about done. Being within the safety of the pack house and having Taylor glued to his side was making his body’s accelerated healing kick into hyperdrive.
It made him so fucking tired. Like, falling asleep standing up tired, and as he flopped onto the single bed in his and Taylor’s loft conversion he fell almost immediately into sleep.
At some point during the night he woke up, groggy and confused. Taylor’s old West Ham United duvet was thrown over him and the bed was moving. The floor scraped and it took his tired brain a second to realise that Taylor was pulling their two single beds together.
“What are you doing?” he groaned, falling back onto his pillow as Taylor gave his bed one final tug.
“What does it look like?” he said, arranging the blanket back over Johnny’s body. “I’m not sleeping all the way across the room from you.”
Johnny huffed, pressing his face into the pillow as he watched Taylor peel off his T-shirt and slip into the bed next to him. “What happened to acting normal?”
Taylor waved the comment away, turning Johnny over so he had his back pressed to his chest. “When do they ever come up here?” He slung an arm around Johnny’s waist, letting out a contented sigh as he nuzzled into his neck. “Gonna cuddle the shit out of you, JP.”
Johnny was pretty certain he’d died two days ago, and he was actually in his own version of heaven.
Granted, his idea of heaven was less wholesome and involved far fewer clothes, but having Taylor at his back, face pressed into his hair whilst he made those needy fucking noises made him feel pretty close to giddy.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” Taylor murmured, planting a kiss over the nape of Johnny’s neck.
Johnny shivered, his eyes drifting shut. “Is it too late for a hand shandy?”
Taylor snorted, squeezing him gently. “Sleep, JP. The bar will still be open tomorrow.”