“Zander.” I knew he was visiting his dark memories, but his words hit my chest hard. My throat constricts, and my eyes pool with tears.
“His name is Alexander, Rose. The name my father gave me. The name inscribed on my back.” Zander’s hand reaches behind his shoulder, where hidden under his jacket and shirt is a tattoo of that name. A reminder of his past, like many others.
I hold his face, looking into his eyes. He’s back in those dark nights, left outside his house in the rain. When he places his forehead against mine, tears run down my cheeks. Very seldom does Zander remember his past. But when he does, it all comes crashing down, and my man, who is my rock, is in his most vulnerable state. I hate to see him like this.
A throat clears, and Zander and I part as Officer Cole walks from the door to us. “I tried speaking to the boy, but he isn’t talking much. However, the headmistress of the group home thinks if you’re still open to the idea of taking him with you tonight, it might be good for him. Of course, the letter from your lawyer and the judge’s recommendation helped things with the caseworker.”
“Really?” My heart races as my mind drifts to all the possible things that we must do or have in our house so that Alex’s stay tonight is comfortable.
“Yeah, the headmistress thinks it might do him good if he stays in an environment that he obviously misses so much, even if it’s just for a night.”
My gaze skids to Zander’s serious face before I give more than a few nods to Officer Cole. “We want to help in any way we can.”
26
ZANDER
My heart has been pounding against my chest since I heard his name. Alexander.
The image of my father calling my name swims before my eyes, a memory of a time when my life was still normal.
My gaze skids to the back seat of the car. Alex’s head hangs low, his chin almost hitting his chest. Since the hospital released him, he hasn’t spoken a word. Thankfully, he lightly nodded when Rose asked him if he’d prefer to come with us instead of going to the police station.
My hands on the steering wheel tighten.
Are we doing the right thing?
Rose asked me the same question, but after having met the kid, I wonder if I’m healed enough to take care of someone named Alexander, even for a night.
He doesn’t move or lift his gaze to look at us. There’s no protest or anything, and my chest clenches in sadness. He’s too young to have lost his spirit. Sitting in the back seat, he reminds me of myself and my brothers in different phases of our broken childhood.
How is he handling everything alone? We had Beast, but it seems like he’s got no one.
I park the car outside our house. Rose joins me as I open the door on Alex’s side, but he makes no attempt to get out and remains seated on the back seat, clutching the red backpack close to his heart.
“Alex.” I call his name softly, but he doesn’t budge. “Buddy, come out.” My heart clenches as I watch him trying to make himself smaller. My grip on the door tightens to a degree that I can feel the metal digging into my palm.
Rose places her hand tentatively on my arm, silently urging me to relax. I’m sure she can read the pain in my eyes. She bends forward a little and says, “Alex, if you step out of the car, we can go inside the house. Out of the cold. We have a fireplace. Would you like something warm to drink? Maybe a hot chocolate?” Her words are so soft and filled with nothing but care and love.
I’m so fucking proud of my couch girl. I know caring for a child is unfamiliar territory for her, but she’s doing so well. So well, in fact, that Alex looks up at us through his lashes.
“Marshmallows too?” His whispered words are only heard because it’s dead silent at this dark midnight hour.
Rose’s hand clutches mine as she excitedly replies. “Yes, of course! Zander makes the most amazing hot chocolate in the world. Would you like to try it?”
He nods and finally steps out of the car, the wet red rucksack held tight to his chest.
Rose leads Alex to the fireplace in our living room while I march toward the kitchen. I can see my sweet wife guiding our guest to a chair before she bends down to start the fire.
I take my phone out after giving them a final glance. The hospital told us not to give Alex any solid food tonight, but to be safe, I shoot a text to his nurse, Erica, and confirm that a hot chocolate would be okay.
Her reply with a yes is immediate.
After I add some milk into the melted chocolate heating in a saucepan, my gaze drifts back to Rose and Alex, now sitting close to the fire burning in our living room. They’re not speaking, but Alex is no longer clutching his bag close to his chest, and I even see him look around our house a bit.
I fill the three cups, topping one with two giant marshmallows, and amble toward the sitting area.
Even though Alex hasn’t spoken a word, there’s no sign of impatience on Rose’s warm face as it glows under the orange light of the fire.