30. Chapter 30 #2
Before I can second-guess myself, I lean across the center console and wrap my arms around him. He smells like soap and warmth and something that feels like home.
For a second, he seems startled. Then one hand comes up to my arm.
I press my face into his shoulder and close my eyes.
Boston parks the car in front of a modest two-story house on a quiet street. I glance around, struck by how much older the homes look—and how far this world feels from mine.
Boston gives my knee a soft squeeze. “Be right back,” he says, already halfway out of the car.
I watch him stride up the walkway, purposeful and sure.
He knocks, and a woman I recognize as Cassie and Bronx’s new foster mom answers the door.
She barely gets a greeting out before two small bodies launch themselves at Boston.
I can hear the giggles and shrieks of laughter even from here.
Boston crouches down, helps them with their shoes, and then effortlessly lifts one into each arm.
There’s a bright smile on his lips, which honestly lights up the whole damn world. I don’t see that smile often, but when I do it’s devastating.
Boston sets his siblings down beside the car and opens the back door with ease. “Alright, in you go.”
They scramble in, chattering a mile a minute as they buckle themselves in. Their voices rise and fall in joyful bursts, their energy filling every corner of the car.
Boston slides back into the driver’s seat beside me, eyebrows raised with amusement. The volume in the back drops for a fraction of a second before both Bronx and Cassie screech with delight. “Skye!”
Cassie’s tiny arms wrapped around my throat from behind, clearly meant as a hug, but it feels like I’m being strangled by an enthusiastic squirrel.
I laugh, untangling myself from her, then turn in my seat. “Hey, guys. Ooh, Bronx, new shoes?”
“Boss gave them to me,” he says proudly, wrapping his own little t-rex arms around Boston’s broad frame.
“That was really sweet of him.” I say.
“He’s the best big brother ever,” Bronx says matter-of-factly.
I glance over at Boston as he starts the car again. The smile on his lips is content, like he’s never received a bigger compliment in his life.
“So what are we doing today?” Boston asks.
The question sets off a flurry of suggestions from the backseat.
“Okay, okay, slow down,” Boston laughs. “We have two hours, tops. How about we hit the park, and then go get some ice cream?”
The shriek of approval startles me, and Boston just laughs again.
But then Cassie’s voice cuts through the giddy hum. “Bronx had another accident last night.”
“Hey!” Bronx yelps, glaring at his sister.
Boston’s smile dims, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Did you have a bad dream again?”
Bronx nods, his fingers playing nervously with the hem of his shorts.
“You want to tell me what it was about?”
“I dunno,” Bronx whispers.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry you had a rough night.”
There’s a pause. Then, even softer, Bronx says, “I want to live with you. And I miss Mommy.”
My heart cracks. I see the flash of pain in Boston’s face.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I’m working on it. I promise.” The words sound simple, but now that I know about the hurdles Boston’s facing, I hear the strain in his voice.
We spend an hour at a small neighborhood park. Boston helps Bronx cross the monkey bars, hoisting him up with easy strength while Bronx giggles. Cassie and I play some clumsy rounds of hopscotch drawn in sidewalk chalk, her sneakers thudding beside mine as she laughs every time I miss a square.
Boston calls over to me, “I’m gonna take Bronx to the bathroom. Mind keeping an eye on Cass for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” I say.
Cassie tugs at my hand as Boston walks off with Bronx. “I really like you,” she says out of nowhere.
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely touched. “I really like you, too.”
“You should be Boston’s girlfriend,” she declares. “Because he really, really likes you.”
“Oh, really?” I stammer. My heart has no business doing somersaults like this.
“Yep.”
“How… how do you know?”
She shrugs. “He told me. But I had to promise to never say anything, so… don’t tell him.”
I laugh despite myself. “Well, I already have a boyfriend.”
“The guy who picked you up after you got hit in the head the other day?”
I nod.
Cassie looks unimpressed. “I have two boyfriends. Ezekial and Bobby.”
That makes me laugh harder. “Oh yeah? And how do Ezekial and Bobby feel about that?”
“We all play together, so they don’t mind,” she says nonchalantly.
“Smart girl.”
She nods seriously. “How long have you had your boyfriend?”
“Umm… about two and a half years.”
Cassie’s eyes go wide. “Oh, wow. That’s like a really long time.”
“It is.”
“But Boston has liked you longer than that,” she says, her expression more solemn now.
“He… he has, huh?”
Cassie nods. “Since, like, forever.” She looks down at her sneakers, scuffing one against the pavement. “I wish he hadn’t left.”
I nod because, same sis. “How old were you when Boston left?”
“Six,” she says, like the memory is carved into her bones. “Eddie said it was because Boston didn’t want to be with us anymore, but I know that wasn’t true.” Her little chin lifts, full of conviction.
“Who’s Eddie?”
“My mommy’s friend.” Her voice lowers. “He hurt Boss.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean?”
Cassie nods. “He hit him really bad. Boston slept for a long time after that.” She pauses, looking down at the chalk drawings as my stomach bottoms out.
“He slept for a long time?”
She nods. “Like a whole night and day. And then later, when Boss left, Eddie made us move to another place. I was so scared that Boss wouldn’t find us.”
Her words lodge deep in my chest.
“I don’t like Eddie,” she adds after a beat, her voice small.
I don’t blame her. I’ve only heard two things about the guy and already want to scream.
“Where’s Eddie now?” I ask cautiously.
Cassie shrugs. “He had to go with the police the night they all came to our house and took my mom. And a lot of Eddie’s friends, too.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, bracing myself for the answer to my next question. “Has Eddie… has he ever hurt you or Bronx?”
Cassie shakes her head. “No. But he hurts my mommy.” Anger reddens her little face. “That’s why he hurt Boss. Because Boss came to stop him from hurting my mommy, so Eddie hurt Boss instead. I don’t like Eddie,” she repeats.
Tears burn hotly at the back of my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Cassie,” I say. “But you have such a good big brother. He loves you and Bronx so much.”
“I know. And he goes and visits my mom every Sunday. He always gives us messages from her and her messages from us.”
“He visits her? On Sundays?”
She nods. “In jail. I wish she could come home, but Boss doesn’t know when she’ll be allowed to leave. He says the police say she did some really bad things and that it could be a long time before we can see her again.”
I don’t know what to say.
“I wish we could stay with Boss. I don’t want to be in foster care anymore.” Her words make my heart lurch so violently in my chest it’s as if it’s trying to find a way out of my body.
Bronx barrels out of the restroom and launches himself at the hopscotch squares, nearly shoving his sister aside. “Can we play soccer?”
“Absolutely not,” Boston calls, trailing a few feet behind, that beautiful, content smile still residing in his features. He’s looked so much lighter since we picked up Cassie and Bronx.
“Aww, why not?” Bronx whines.
“Because I prefer Skye conscious. Besides, it’s almost time to go,” Boston says and is met with dismayed groans. “You got five more minutes.”
I watch them play, trying to suffocate the burn in my chest.
All I've ever seen is Boston taking care of other people, sacrificing pieces of himself to make sure the people he loves are safe and sound.
But who takes care of Boston?