Chapter 3
JACE
I put my phone back in my jacket pocket and continue my never-ending wait for some news on my father.
The phone call last night was not one that I was expecting.
Toby and Lucky ganged up on me earlier this year and convinced me to take one of those ancestry DNA tests with them.
I humored them because I love them and wanted to make them smile.
I like to make everyone smile. When they’re smiling, they’re less likely to hurt me.
Okay, so maybe I still have a bit of trauma from my time in the foster care system. Not all of the homes were bad. In fact, most of them were wonderful – especially Mama Sue’s house at the end. But the ones that were bad were catastrophically bad.
“Family for David Whitetower?”
I wince at the name. It still feels weird to hear my legal surname spoken in a public place.
Usually, it only goes on legal documents and no one except my accountant, bosses, and landlords have even seen it.
In high school, Mama Sue’s kids – as we were called – were just given her last name of Franklin to make things easier on everyone, but names weren’t legally changed.
Some kids did change theirs on their own when they aged out.
Jackson changed his as soon as he turned eighteen, but I never got around to it.
The nurse calls out my name again, so I slowly get up from the seat in the waiting room.
I’ve learned that fast movements with my size tend to scare people.
It’s bad enough that I haven’t shaved today and the rent-a-cop at the desk keeps eyeing me up, so I don’t need to put anyone further on edge.
I guess I didn’t need to worry too much because the nurse barely glances at me before heading back into the emergency department.
Considering what I’ve seen during my two hours in the waiting room, I’m sure she’s dealt with worse than a giant man who is really regretting his teddy at home. Gosh, I could really use Sox right now.
“We’re getting him ready for surgery,” she tells me as soon as the doors close behind me and we’re walking through the department, past the nurse’s station.
“He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but the scans show he’s mostly stable.
He would have gone to surgery earlier, but we had to call in a neurosurgeon from another hospital. ”
Her words wash over me as it registers slowly in my mind. I just found my father and will likely lose him before I ever get to talk to him. I guess Mom was right about me. I’m a fucking jinx.
Had I not taken that test, he wouldn’t have made the drive across the state and gotten into an accident to come meet me.
That’s the only reason I got the call in the first place.
He had hired a private investigator to find me thanks to that DNA test. The report was in his bag that was brought in with him, and he had saved my number into his phone already.
The nurses assumed we already knew each other, and the little boy in me just wanted to meet the man who contributed half of my DNA.
“… don’t want to scare you, but it is risky. Is there anyone to call who can sit with you?”
I shake my head as I stare at the man on the bed.
I obviously didn’t get my size from him, but I can see the resemblance in the shape of his face, especially his chin.
Since I don’t have Mom’s blue eyes, I can only assume my eyes take after my father’s as well.
He’ll have to wake up for me to know for certain.
The nurse gives me a soft smile and there’s a knock at the door.
The orderly tells us that they’re here to take him up to surgery.
Someone else hands me a tablet to sign. As his next of kin, despite not even knowing he existed before today, it’s suddenly my responsibility to give permission for a doctor to cut into his brain.
As soon as I hand the tablet back, they rush my father out of the room. I’m frozen, staring at the wires and equipment left behind until someone gently places a hand on my shoulder. Despite the surprise, I can’t bring myself to react more than tilting my head in their general direction.
“If you’ll grab his things, Mr. Whitetower, I’ll show you where you can wait while he’s in surgery.”
Nodding, I gather up everything that was brought in with the man who I may never get to know and follow the nurse down another sterile hallway to more uncomfortable chairs that were made for people half my size.
After about fifteen minutes of sitting in the silence, the only thing running through my mind is that I picked a bad time to try to give up my teddy.
The ratty old bear is the only thing that has been there for me my whole life.
He’s the only reminder of the good memories with Mom – before she got hooked on the booze and drugs.
When Spencer finally tracked her down for me a while back, I didn’t know how to handle the fact that she left this world without my even knowing.
Even if my mommy is gone forever now, Sox is still here…
Well, he’s at home on the bed right now, but he’s still in my life.
Hours pass. Finally, the door to the waiting area opens, but it’s not a doctor that approaches me.
I’ve seen enough social workers in my life to recognize the lady approaching me.
A part of me will always flinch in their presence, but I am far beyond the age where they should have any sway in my life.
“Mister Whitetower? I am Regina Stokes, the social worker for the hospital. I just have a few questions for you while your father is in surgery.”
Palming my face for a second, I try to relax.
Jackson always questioned why I went and got the tattoos and work out as much as I do since it makes me look scary, but he never faced the kind of shit I did in the foster care system.
He was never the tiniest kid in the group home with the addict mother that would get clean just long enough to rip him away from the good homes… but never when he was in the bad ones.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be, Ms. Stokes. I technically haven’t even met the man yet.”
Through my fingers, I see the surprise on her face by how soft my voice is.
I can sound gruff and growly when a situation calls for it, but I don’t like to be scary for no reason.
I’m big and tattooed and mean looking to scare away the bad people, and to be a safe harbor for the people who can’t be scary.
“Yes, well…” she mumbles before clearing her throat.
“Your father had apparently planned on returning home last evening according to his neighbor. When he did not arrive, the authorities were contacted and to make a long story short, I was asked to find out what the arrangements are for your brother while your father is unable to leave the hospital.”
My body freezes as Ms. Stokes goes on about the situation of a babysitter and overnight in a police station.
I have a brother…
Not a foster brother from Mama Sue’s, but an actual biological link in this world.
“How old is he?” I interrupt as she is listing off the merits of foster care.
I don’t really give a shit how amazing she thinks it is.
I know the truth of the matter is that each home placement is luck of the draw, and I won’t subject a little kid to that.
If he’s a teenager, I would let him make the choice.
Teenagers are still kids that need protecting, but they have more knowledge of the world and are more attached to their lives.
“Gerald is eight-years-old, about to turn nine.”
Standing up, I try not to let it bother me when Ms. Stokes flinches, but I know exactly what I need to do. There is zero chance in hell that I am gambling an eight-year-old kid’s life in the foster care system while I can do something to prevent that.
“Where do I pick him up?”