Baywatch fic: Like the Ocean Tide (5/14)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
PART FOURTEEN
-o-
How, as it turned out, was actually relatively simple. He just had to go, show up and face it. Mitch didn’t run from challenges, and this was the most challenging challenge. Give him high swells and a tropical depression. Give him a bachelorette party or a police chase ending off the end of the pier. Anything but eight year old Matt Brody.
When he let himself in, he was braced for the worst.
He was surprised, therefore, to find Matt and Summer sitting on opposite sides of the couch, each holding a hand of cards. Matt was smiling. Summer was laughing.
Mitch felt an inexplicable surge of anger at the happy little scene.
Summer looked up, abrupt and startled. She looked like Mitch had just walked in on her and Brody getting fresh, which he had. Matt reddened, just like Brody would have, if Mitch had caught him with his hand up Summer’s shirt.
The fact that this was wholly innocent between them now didn’t obscure just how messed up this was. He was going to have to rethink a lot of this.
“Hey,” Summer said, hastily dimming the smile on her face as she put her cards down. “We were, um, just finishing up a hand.”
“Go Fish,” Matt told him, and he didn’t know enough not to beam. He was obviously smitten with her, and it wasn’t hard to understand, not given Brody’s history, and not given the fact that Matt was coming onto puberty ten times faster than the normal kid should. “I think she’s letting me win, though.”
It was Summer’s turn to blush, and she cleared her throat as though that could somehow make this situation less awkward. “Just something to pass the time,” she said, getting to her feet. She spread her hands on her legs, moving closer to Mitch. “Everything, um, go okay?”
“Not exactly,” Mitch told her, depositing his keys on the counter while eyeing the two warily. At Summer’s widening eyes, he shrugged. “But nothing too surprising.”
She nodded, an implicit understanding. “Um, well, Matt’s been great,” she said, trying and failing to sound like a babysitter. From the couch, Matt beamed even more proudly. “Ate his lunch, put his dishes away. Even took out the garbage.”
All tasks he would have complained about with Mitch around.
“Good,” he said, but the word was wooden and flat.
Summer hemmed herself in even more. “Well, um,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets as she rocked uncomfortably on her toes. “I guess, um, I’ll be off?”
She said it like a question, giving Mitch every opportunity to ask her to stay. That was what she wanted, even if she could sense that it wasn’t what Mitch wanted.
“Yeah,” Matt chimed in enthusiastically from the couch. “She could stay for dinner.”
With her back to Matt, Summer visibly winced.
Mitch smiled politely. “Not tonight,” he said. “We’ve kept Summer occupied long enough.”
Summer took the hint, reaching for her purse. She produced her keys, giving Mitch a lingering look. “I guess if that’s everything…”
Everything. And nothing.
Mitch wasn’t being fair, and he knew it. Drawing a breath, he said, “Let me walk you out.”
Matt got up, clearly intent to follow.
Mitch shot him a look. “Alone,” he said. “You can poke through the fridge and see if anything looks good for dinner.”
Matt was visibly crestfallen, but he was smart enough not to argue this time. Or, Summer’s presence was still sufficient enough to cow him into submission for now.
Summer turned, waving at Matt. “Bye, Matt,” she said.
The crestfallen disposition melted away. Matt radiated toward her. “Bye, Summer.”
Before Matt could think of anything else to do, Mitch opened the front door, holding it open so Summer could slip out in front of him. He followed a close step behind, closing it with one last look at Matt.
He was smiling still, but not at Mitch.
Mitch closed the door. Out on the porch, Summer looked sorry. “Really nothing?” she asked knowingly.
Mitch gave a cursory glance back, as if to be sure that Matt wasn’t somehow eavesdropping. “Not sure what we really expected,” he said. “No one has a fix for age regression because I couldn’t find a single credible instance of it happening.”
Her face tightened. “So we’re no closer to turning him back, then.”
Mitch gave her a wary look. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Eyes narrowing, she cocked her head. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Mitch said. “Just that you seemed awfully comfortable in there.”
“He’s not a bad kid,” she said.
“And you do remember he’s just a kid, right?” Mitch asked pointedly.
Her skepticism sharpened, turning hard. “What the hell are you implying?”
“Just that you don’t seem to be stressing out about this,” he said.
“Of course I’m stressing out,” she said. “My boyfriend’s eight, and I miss him. But...I don’t know. At the same time, it’s still him. And he’s almost easier to talk to like this. He’s more...open. He’ll tell me things that Brody would joke about, laugh off.”
Mitch had no reason to be mad at Summer, except he was mad. And Summer was the only one around. He knew this, rationally, but the last few days had made him anything but rational. “You can’t use him like that.”
“I’m not using him,” Summer said back, indignant now. “I’m helping you. I’m helping him.”
“He needs to family, Summer,” Mitch snapped, even more cruelly than before. “He needs structure and discipline and--”
“Love?” she prompted, cutting in her own right now.
Mitch drew back, squaring his shoulders. “We have to be partners in this,” he said.
“No, we have to get him back,” Summer returned, just as unrelenting. “I mean, we really don’t have any leads?”
Her question deflated him, and he found he couldn’t hold onto his anger any longer. Summer was an easy target right now, but attacking her didn’t make this better. It didn’t make it easier, either. He let his shoulders fall, and he sighed, a long, hard breath. “Nothing more than we had before.”
Rallying in the face of his disappointment, Summer reached out, putting a hand on his arm. “Then there’s still every reason to think this will undo itself,” she said. “I mean, you didn’t do anything special or weird. It’s not like you could accidentally recreate a magical spell or something, even if one did exist. We just have to keep him safe until things are right again.”
Mitch tried to be buoyed by her optimism. He found it harder than the day before. “Yeah,” he said vaguely. “You’re probably right.”
She clearly sensed his doubt, but she didn’t disagree with him. “Um, so,” she said, changing the subject. “You think you’ll need me tomorrow? I’m working all day, but I can probably trade out for the morning or afternoon if you need--”
Mitch was shaking his head before she could finish making the offer. “No,” he said. “I mean, I appreciate it, and I know Matt would love it, but I can’t keep you off the beach.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “Really.”
“But Baywatch needs you,” Mitch reasoned. “Especially with Brody and me out.”
She did not appear wholly convinced by this argument.
“Besides,” Mitch added. “I need you to help cover with Stephanie. If I miss three days in a row, she’s going to be getting pretty suspicious. If we’re going to successfully wait whatever this is out, we’re going to have to divide and conquer.”
She didn’t like the argument, but Summer found it reasonable. “Okay,” she said. “Just, um. Text me how he’s doing, okay? And, you know, if something changes--”
“You’ll be the first person I call,” he promised her, brandishing a small but sincere smile this time around.
“Good,” she said, and her own smile back was grateful.
He watched her go, making her way down to her car. He felt a pang of regret as she pulled away, and when he lifted his hand to wave at her, it felt heavier than it should have. For a second, he wanted to call her back, but his throat was constricted to tight to even begin to speak.
Summer could help; she could offer support and reassurance.
But somehow, Mitch knew this was something he had to do on his own.
-o-
Feeling like shit, Mitch turned and opened the door. He was preparing to take a few breaths, mentally prepare himself for whatever kind of confrontation was coming next, when Matt appeared behind the door.
Like, right behind the door.
Just standing there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Mitch barely managed to bite back a curse, even as his heart skipped a beat and his pulse rate increased. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Matt shrugged, utterly nonplussed. “Waiting for you.”
“What about dinner?” Mitch asked.
“I got out some chicken or something,” Matt reported. “Also, you should buy mac and cheese. Every temp placements has mac and cheese.”
“I minimize the amount of processed food I eat,” Mitch told him.
Matt crinkled his nose. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means we eat real food,” Mitch told him.
“Real food is expensive,” Matt told him. “Hot dogs are cheap.”
“Do you like hot dogs?” Mitch asked.
“Most people don’t ask that,” Matt replied. “By the way, what were you talking about?”
Mitch moved past him, making his way to the kitchen. “What?”
“Outside, with Summer,” he said. “That was a really long goodbye.”
“Were you listening?” Mitch asked, turning to glare at the kid while he reached for the chicken currently thawing on the kitchen counter.
“Just waiting,” Matt said, plain enough that Mitch believed him. “Are you sure she’s not your girlfriend?”
Mitch resisted the need to groan as he unwrapped the chicken, putting it on a plate to defrost. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Is she like a friend with benefits?”
Mitch gave Matt an annoyed glance. “Do you even know what that means?”
“I think it means you kiss but you’re not actually dating,” Matt told him, and the answer was mercifully only partially right. “Is that what you were doing on the porch? Kissing?”
“We were talking,” Mitch said, opening the cabinets to search for something to do with the chicken.
“About what?” Matt asked.
“About none of your business,” Mitch said, producing some rice and beans. “Besides, you have other things to worry about.”
Matt didn’t seem to pick up on the hint. “Like what?”
“Like, this,” Mitch said, reaching over and grabbing the three stolen items from this morning.
Matt’s entire demeanor changed immediately. His upbeat nature closed up in a heartbeat, and Mitch saw him start to shut down.
“No yelling, no more punishment,” Mitch said.
Matt watched him, cautious.
“But we are going to return it,” Mitch told him.
Matt didn’t appear to know what on earth Mitch was talking about. “What?”
Mitch shrugged. “We don’t steal stuff, not in this house,” he said. “So we’ll take it back and make it right.”
“You want me to...go back there and tell them I stole?” Matt said.
“Yep,” Mitch told him.
“But they’ll arrest me,” Matt said. “Will I go to jail?”
He wondered absently if Matt might respond to that kind of punishment, but he thought of the kid curled up on his cot, staring vacantly at nothing.
Worse, he thought of Brody showing up cocky as hell on his beach, trying to trash talk his way onto the team.
Not to say that he didn’t deserve either punishment, but Brody had a tendency to crash and burn in the system. After talking to Ellerbee, Mitch wanted -- he needed -- to try something different.
“No,” he said.
“But I took shit,” Matt said.
“Language,” Mitch said. “And I know that.”
“But stores don’t like it when you take sh--”
He cut off at Mitch’s looked, right down the edge of his nose.
Matt continued, moderately contrite. “--stuff,” he amended. “Is this your way of getting rid of me? Because my case worker will flip out--”
“Just trust me,” Mitch said. “Your caseworker doesn’t have to know.”
“But they’ll call the cops,” Matt said, and his little voice rose now. He sounded younger than eight. “And they’ll take me to jail.”
“Look,” Mitch said, doing his best to diffuse what could only be a coming meltdown. “You did something bad. You screwed up. But if you own up to it, tell the truth about it and apologize, you’ll find that a lot people are pretty cool about it.”
From the look on Matt’s face, he didn’t believe Mitch.
“You take it like a man,” Mitch instructed, dumping the three items into Matt’s hands. “And people will be way more likely to give you a second chance.”
Despite these reassurances, Matt showed no indication that he liked this plan. He was breathing heavily, looking at the stolen items in his hand. It was a hard bit of responsibility, but Matt had made a hard choice getting them there. Mitch could only hope that Matt had enough balls to address his screws up as much as Brody did.
“Come on,” Mitch said, guiding him out the door. “We get this done with and we’ll be back in time for dinner.”
-o-
Matt drug his feet the whole way there. He looked at the ground, kept his shoulders slumped, and his brown mop of hair hung precariously low over his eyes as he refused to make eye contact. Even when Mitch nicely asked to see the manager, Matt remained stiff and terrified. But when they ended up in the manager’s office, Mitch moved Matt to the front of him, giving him one last nudge and enough trust to make this Matt’s decision in the end.
Matt, for his part, hesitated. Trembling, he put the three items on the desk. Blinking rapidly, his entire body shaking, he looked up through the fringe of his bangs.
“I stole these,” he admitted, voice small but audible. He took a shaky breath, as he accepted that he had no other out from this situation. “It was wrong and stupid. I shouldn’t have done it.”
He dropped his head again, still visibly shaking. “I’m sorry.”
There was a long, fraught moment as the manager looked at the items. Then, he looked at Mitch before finally settling his gaze on Matt. The kid seemed to know it, too. He flinched, and even though every instinct seemed to tell Matt to run, the kid still stood his ground. “Well,” the manager said. “We certainly do not like shoplifting in our store. Most of the time, we report all cases to the police.
Matt took those words hard, flinching under the weight of each one.
The manager drew a breath, giving a small nod as he pursed his lips. “But the items have been returned, and they do appear undamaged,” he continued. “Your honesty is appreciated.”
Matt startled, daring to look up just a little.
The manager’s face was still stern, but Mitch could see that there was no malice in his eyes. “Because you came clean, I’m willing to overlook this incident,” he continued. Then he tilted his head in warning. “But if I ever catch you again--”
Matt was nodding readily at this. “Yes, sir,” he said, a little more vigorously than before. “I swear, I won’t do it again.”
The promise might be easy to dismiss as just words, if not for the earnest look on Matt’s face. Mitch knew that look; it was the same reticence that Brody had shown after getting drunk instead of playing lookout. Mitch had been inclined to deny Brody a second chance at that point, but Brody had been damn convincing to get a second chance.
It had worked on Mitch, who could be a hard sell with jackasses.
It would obviously work with the manager. “I’m sure you won’t,” the man said, more warmly this time. “I do trust you’ve learned your lesson.”
Matt nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Good,” the manager said, getting to his feet again. He made his way around the desk, leading Matt to the door. “If you can wait just outside, I’d like to talk to Mitch.”
Matt nodded, though he seemed surprised that the manager and Mitch were on a first name basis. Mitch gave Matt a small smile -- see, I told you it’d be okay -- before letting the manager close the door, leaving it open just a crack as he lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I’m surprised to see you here, off the beach,” the manager -- Graham, Mitch knew, from his frequent spot on Mitch’s beach outside of tower one. “I didn’t know you had a kid.”
Mitch shook his head, deflecting. “He’s not mine.”
“Oh,” Graham said. “Is this a Big Brother program or something like that?”
“Just a friend,” Mitch said. “Just looking out for him until things get back to normal for him.”
Graham nodded, apparently satisfied by this answer. “Well, I think you’re doing a good thing by him. Usually, we have a no tolerance policy with shoplifting, but if you vouch for the kid--”
Mitch forced a smile. “The kid can vouch for himself,” he said. “I made him come in, maybe, but that apology is all him. I think he’s worth a second chance.”
“And who am I to question it if you think so,” Graham said. He grinned, offering Mitch a hand while beaming. Mitch took it, and Graham shook his hand enthusiastically. “If you need anything else, you just let me know.”
“Thanks, Graham,” he said, showing himself out. Matt was a few steps behind the door, watching with a hint of uncertainty.
“Anytime, Mitch!” Graham called after him.
Moving down the hallway, Matt fell into step next to him. “You knew him.”
Mitch didn’t miss a step, moving toward the door back to the main store from the employees only area. “Yep.”
“You knew him, so you knew he wouldn’t call the cops,” Matt concluded, proving yet again that Brody wasn’t stupid; he was just really poorly educated.
“I had a pretty good sense of it, yeah,” Mitch said, letting them back out into the store.
Matt followed him, looking mildly betrayed. “You let me freak out for nothing.”
“No,” Mitch said, waving to a few cashiers as they made their way to the exit. “I let you face the consequences of your actions like an adult.”
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“Language,” Mitch said to him as they crossed through the automatic sliding doors.
Matt had to move his legs twice as fast to keep his smaller gait even with Mitch’s. “That’s not fair.”
“It wasn’t unfair,” Mitch retorted, looking twice as they crossed the parking lot to the car.
“I could be emotionally damaged,” Matt argued, though it wasn’t clear he knew what the phrase meant exactly, even if he’d probably heard it thrown around in relation to himself. “It’d be your fault.”
“No,” Mitch said, unlocking the doors and holding Matt’s open for him. “If I were being fair, I would have called the cops on you myself seeing as you made the stupid decision to steal. I could have called your caseworker and said I didn’t want a thief under my roof.”
In the sunlight, Matt paled slightly.
Mitch inclined his head to continue. “But I decided that you had enough integrity in you, somewhere down deep, that you could face this and learn from it,” he said. “And your performance in that store proved me right. You get a second chance.”
To that, Matt didn’t have a ready response. “Isn’t it my third chance?” he asked.
It was Mitch’s turn to be caught off guard. “What?”
“You caught me stealing yesterday, too,” Matt reminded him. “So isn’t this my third chance?”
It was an odd thing for Matt to say, in this context -- or in any context. It was strangely honest, and when Matt was capable of doing dumb ass things, he wasn’t inclined toward outright deceit. When he thought about it, neither was Brody. Maybe Brody took it for granted that everyone already knew his shit. Maybe he was willing to face things like a man. Maybe it was just a sign that Brody grew up in a system designed to highlight his flaws and mistakes, and they were forever recorded in a file for reference.
“I guess so,” Mitch said. “Now climb in. I guess it’s you’re lucky day.”
Matt didn’t seem wholly convinced, but he did as he was told. Closing the door for him, Mitch went around to the front of the car and wondered how in most retellings of this story, he’d be the hero.
Funny enough, he couldn’t bring himself to think of Matt as the antagonist.
Climbing in the car, he started it up. He glanced in the rearview mirror, where Matt was buckled up and looking out the window. For tonight, Mitch decided, he didn’t have to.
-o-
Matt wasn’t exactly happy, but he also wasn’t withdrawn anymore. He helped with dinner, exhibiting some signs of maturity and resilience. Mitch thought maybe the lesson from the shoplifting incident had sunk in this time.
But when they sat down to eat, Mitch found his hopes dashed.
Again.
Because the first thing Matt asked was: “Hey, can we go to the beach after dinner?”
The question was innocent enough. In fact, Matt’s entire attitude was generally good natured and upbeat. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t a good night for it, or that Mitch disliked the beach.
The problem was that Mitch could still remember his own voice, laying out the terms of a deal in a changing room. No stealing. If we’re going to hang out together, we’re going to do things the right way, no exceptions. You do things right, and I’ll do things right by you. Deal?
It was a deal Matt had agreed to.
It was not a deal Matt had honored.
True, Matt had apologized and returned the items, a punished he’d taken with more grace than Mitch had expected from him. And Mitch had no intention of lording the kid’s past mistakes over him.
That said, the deal had to mean something. If Matt was able to steal a day after promising not to and still get exactly what he wanted -- well, that would sort of run counter to the very heart of what the deal was all about.
Parenting, in short, was full of shitty choices.
Therefore, he chewed long and hard, taking his time to swallow before his answer. “I’m not sure about that, kiddo,” he said. He tried to keep his voice soft and his expression neutral. “You made me a promise yesterday about stealing.”
Matt was clearly caught by surprise with this answer. “But you said I had another chance.”
“Sure, and you do,” Mitch said. “But that doesn’t mean you get all the same privileges tonight.”
“But you said it was done,” Matt said, voice starting to rise in anger. “You said.”
“But think about it,” Mitch rationalized. “If you get to break the deal and still enjoy the privileges of keeping the deal, then the deal’s not worth much, is it?”
This seemed pretty well reasoned to Mitch.
Matt’s expression made it plain he disagreed. “You told me I got a third chance.”
“But you still broke your promise to me,” Mitch said back. “You haven’t earned any privileges today.”
This concept, however, was sailing way above Matt’s too-short, tawny head. “That’s bullshit!”
“Hey!” Mitch snapped, putting his fork down. “Language.”
It was like a button had been pushed; Matt showed no signs of being able to stop his misplaced righteous anger now. “Whatever.”
“I’m just saying for today,” Mitch said. “Tomorrow, if you do well, we can probably go to the beach.”
Matt’s brow was low and dark, mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’re just like everyone else. They all say stuff they don’t mean. They all make promises they don’t keep.”
“That’s not true,” Mitch said. “You were the one who broke your promise today.”
“It is true,” Matt said, almost yelling back now in accusation. “You said we were good, you said I had another chance, but you’re still punishing me for it. You talk like we’re different, like we’re cool, but it’s the same as always.”
Mitch’s own anger was rising now, and he found himself not quite able to bite it back. “This is a two-way street kid,” he said. “You have to prove you can do the right thing if you want to have some perks.”
“I did your stupid apology!” Matt said, and he was yelling now, dinner long forgotten in front of him. “I did all your stupid little things, and it didn’t get me anywhere.”
“Because you stole after literally telling me just yesterday that you wouldn’t!” Mitch exploded.
Eyes glistening, Matt pushed his chair back violently, getting to his feet. “ I knew this place would suck as much as the rest!”
He stormed off, and Mitch called after him. “Matt!”
But Matt was down the hall.
“Matt!”
The sound of a slamming door was his only response.
Mitch looked at the table, Matt’s barely eaten food. He looked at his own plate, and went over the last few minutes in his brain. From optimism to pessimism. From success to failure.
Damn it, didn’t this kid have a middle ground?
-o-
Matt didn’t come back out for dinner. Morosely, Mitch finished by himself, putting Matt’s plate in the fridge when it became apparent that the temper tantrum was going to last.
After an hour, Mitch knocked on the door, asking if Matt was hungry.
“I’m not hungry!” he yelled back in reply.
Mitch shifted his weight from one foot to the other, thinking of a possible overture. He lacked the energy to fight at this point, and he’d prefer it if they could just stop being angry for a little bit. “If you want to eat in there--”
“You eat it yourself,” Matt hissed through the door.
The comment was nonsensical, but it conveyed Matt’s emotions well enough. Tiredly, Mitch shook his head and went mechanically about his business. He had things to clean. Stuff to put away. Laundry to do.
And...what else?
After twenty minutes, Mitch was stumped. When he tried to play games on his phone, he found himself staring idly at Matt’s door instead, thinking about what he’s said, what he should have said and all the stupid ass shit Matt had said instead.
There was still no way this was his fault.
And it still took all his willpower not to apologize.
By bedtime, Matt had still not budged, and he had to be ordered to get ready for bed. Matt took a perverse pleasure in this, as if he wanted to be forced into doing basic tasks in order to display how utterly unfair and controlling Mitch was. To Matt, brushing his teeth was an act of overt martyrdom. Spitting in the sink had never been so dramatic.
Or messy.
The kid sprayed all over the mirror.
Mitch held his tongue, watching instead as Matt stomped around the bathroom and then stomped all the way back to his room. Before Mitch could follow him inside, Matt slammed the door shut in his face and made a loud display of climbing into bed that must have involved several extra and very unnecessary steps.
“Well,” Mitch said, loitering uncertainly behind the closed door. He thought about opening it, but he couldn’t imagine that would go well. “Have a good night.”
Matt’s reply was an exaggerated huff that somehow was crystal clear through the door between them.
Mitch tried to find some consolation in the fact that Matt was well and truly pissed off this time. His morning display of disengagement and withdrawal had been disturbing. This behavior, while infuriating and frustrating, was at least something Mitch could understand.
The real question, though, was whether or not it was something he could fix.
That was the question, really, he thought to himself, walking back to the kitchen dejectedly. The question he’d been asking every since Matt Brody showed up on his beach with a chip on his shoulder and everything to prove. Did Brody even want to be fixed?
There was an important distinction there, but not one Mitch knew how to make sense of anymore.
At the fridge, he pulled out a beer, popping it open.
After the last two days, Mitch wasn’t sure anything in his life would ever make sense again.
-o-
He took the beer outside, for reasons that were multifaceted. First, he was supposed to be recreating the night of the transformation. For that event, Mitch had been outside.
Second, he didn’t want to drink in the house for some reason. It was kind of stupid, probably, because Mitch was of legal age and totally responsible, but given Brody’s propensity for overdrinking, it seemed to be bad form to suggesting to Matt that it was a fun recreational pastime.
Third, he liked being outside, and the last few days he’d never felt more cooped up.
And fourth, shit. He just needed to get out of the damn house.
Matt wasn’t just a responsibility. Mitch had lots of responsibilities, a lot that were more physically demanding that some stupid kid. But Matt was an encompassing responsibility. He consumed Mitch’s entire attention, and his entire life had been lost in a vacuum of hard decisions that he spent most of his time second guessing.
That was the most pressing reality of the situation, the one he had to fight against to keep himself afloat. Back to point number one: he had to make this end.
Like, really.
He couldn’t probably fix all the psychological damage Matt had endured during his eight years in foster care. He didn’t have a clue where to start, and if he had to attempt it much longer, he was going to lose his mind.
Summer was right: he had to keep focused on the task at hand.
Getting Brody back.
Who would have thought he’d want the arrogant asshole as badly as he did now?
But how?
He’d been optimistic at the start, but that optimism was faded now.
Or, more aptly put, it felt like it’s been obliterated.
If he didn’t get Brody back…
Well, Mitch couldn’t actually imagine that. What his life would be like permanently with Matt.
Feeling his emotions start to dip toward desperation, Mitch focused his attentions more keenly. Summer had suggested writing down what he did, but Mitch settled for a step by step reenactment in his head.
There had been a fight.
Check.
Brody had stormed out.
Matt hadn’t left the house, but he’d slammed a door in Mitch’s face.
Mitch thought it counted.
Then he’d cleaned up after Brody (check), and he’d tried to do normal stuff (check), and he’d failed to do normal stuff (check, with emphasis).
He’d skipped working out, though Mitch thought that he could count life as normal as part of working out. Of course, he could get up now and do a quick workout before retiring for the evening, but he felt weary in his very bones.
He didn’t want to work out.
He wanted another beer.
Maybe, just to be sure, he should kick Matt out.
That had worked with Brody.
Though Brody had been a grown man.
Kicking out a kid in the middle of the night?
Probably not feasible.
He couldn’t even imagine what Matt would do on his own?
Worse, maybe he could.
But why was he thinking about this?
Why did everything in his life anymore come back to Matt?
All he could do was deal with Matt, and now here, he was thinking about Matt.
He didn’t want to think about Matt. Not when Matt was stupid and unreasonable. Not when Matt was wrong about ninety percent of the time and left Mitch feel like shit 100 percent of the time.
What was up with that, anyway?
Why was Mitch always doing the right thing and yet always feeling so wrong about it? Were all children this difficult? Did all children skew their worldviews so badly? Or was it just Matt?
Mitch took a long, hard drink, sinking back on his lounge chair.
The thing was, Mitch hadn’t been looking for a fight. Tonight, he’d been looking to make nice. He’d wanted to let things be good between them, because if they were going to make this work, then things needed to be good.
How had it gone so horribly wrong?
Matt, like Brody, was just inclined toward disaster. And Mitch was stuck tagging along after both of them, trying to make sense of the pieces.
With another drink, Mitch finished his beer, which brought him back to the here and now.
Mitch was sitting on the back porch, trying to recreate what would probably be viewed as the worst night of his life. All while an undocumented eight year old who seemed intent to make him crazy slept inside.
Mitch swore, getting to his feet.
It was going to take a lot more than one beer to fix this.
-o-
Inside, Mitch went to the kitchen. He stopped at the fridge, hand lingering on the handle. The beer was suddenly not as tempting as it was before.
Because he knew, a few feet away in his spare room, Matt was sleeping, tucked into bed.
With Brody, he’d been happy to leave well enough alone. He was about to go checking up on a grown man.
With Matt, however, he found himself anxious.
This was what people did, wasn’t it?
They worried about their kids?
They checked up on them.
Dropping his hand, Mitch left the kitchen, moving into the small hallway. Outside of Matt’s room, he hesitated for a second before finally opening the door as quietly as he could. It creaked just slightly, and Mitch stilled himself, but there was no sign of movement from within the room. From the hallway, the room was filled with dim light, which was just enough for him to see Matt’s sleeping figure, tucked into the cot.
He had clearly fallen asleep on his side, his little body curled up in anger. With sleep, the lines on his forehead had eased, and the slack features made him look like the little boy he so clearly was.
Walking gently, Mitch crossed over the the bed, watching in the stillness as Matt breathed. He watched the steady rise and fall of the thing chest, wondering how someone so small could cause problems so big. Without his anger or his facades, he looked so innocent here. As angry and frustrated as Mitch was, he remembered that this wasn’t just about Brody.
It was also kind of about Matt.
The kid who had never been wanted.
Did he know that Mitch was trying to get rid of him, too?
Swallowing, Mitch turned and headed back toward the door. He stopped short, however, when he looked at the rest of Matt’s room.
The bags from the store, the ones with Matt’s clothes and his things. They were neatly lined up against the wall, all completely repacked. The washed clothes had been returned to the bags, almost as if they were still new. The toys were still unopened, and the handles were all neatly lined up, ready to be grabbed.
He’d noticed this habit of Brody’s before, of course. Brody always kept a bag packed. Mitch had always just assumed it was to keep things simple.
Seeing it here, though, with Matt’s thing, Mitch was struck by a different realization. This was about organization. This was about the fact that Matt was ready to go at a moment’s notice. No doubt, with elevent short term placements over the last year, Matt had learned to be ready to leave. More than that, he’d come to expect it.
This hurt more than Mitch thought it might.
It hurt more when he realized Brody probably felt the same worse.
Suddenly the look of betrayal on Brody’s face the night Mitch kicked him out made a whole lot more sense. It had confirmed what he had probably feared all along: that this wasn’t home. That this would never be home.
It was stupid, then, to stand there and tell the kid it was a two-way street. Not that Matt didn’t have any responsibility, but he was a kid. A little kid. He didn’t have any choice in this. He never had any choice about whether he wanted to go or stay. He didn’t get to choose who he lived with or how they felt about him. Most of the time, he didn’t get to pick his own clothes or his own toys.
There was no proper give or take for Matt. He didn’t even know what the hell that meant.
Brody had more choices, sure, but it wasn’t clear that he actually believed that yet. Did life still feel like a series of rejections to Brody? Was he still so braced for failure that he made it happen even when he didn’t mean to?
It was like Ellerbee said, these kids grew up without learning what it meant to belong. And then guys like Mitch were so surprised when they struggled being a part of a team.
There still had to be accountability, Mitch knew this, but it wasn’t as simple as he made it out to be. Turning back, he looked at Matt again, heart breaking in his chest. His expectations needed to be realistic. Matt was going to screw up. A lot. If Mitch could be patient, then Mitch didn’t understand family any better than Matt did.
Tomorrow was a new day.
A clean slate.
Exiting the room, Mitch closed the door behind him.
A fresh start for both of them.
-o-
Back outside, Mitch forgot about the beer. He forgot about the routine, too. He couldn’t focus on the big picture.
Instead, he laid on the lounge and stared up at the starless sky.
All he could think about was the little boy, who went to bed angry. Who went to bed afraid.
All Mitch could wish that night was that tomorrow was a reprieve.
For himself.
And for Matt, too.
-o-
Mitch had just closed his eye when he was awoken by a spray of water. He startled, coming to attention, ready to attack.
The only thing to attack was Mrs. Flores, holding her hose while she watered her plants. “Sorry,” she said, and she sounded even less sorry than Matt did most of the time. “My hand slipped.”
Mitch stood up, shaking himself off with the most good nature smile he could muster. “No problem,” he said, brushing the water droplets from his face. “I guess I don’t need a shower today.”
For some reason, his easygoing nature seemed to irk her even more. She had always been contrary, but apparently she was deeply opposed to people sleeping outside. It wasn’t like she’d ever liked Mitch, but she’d also never taken to waking him up with her hose in a passive aggressive air of nonchalance.
Still, Mitch had no desire to make enemies.
Especially not today.
“I apologize if my sleeping outside has been a little disconcerting for you,” he said, moving closer to the hedge to show his sincerity. “It’s just kind of been a crazy week.”
Her lips pursed, and she looked down her nose, over the top of her oversized glasses. “Do you still have that roommate of yours? The one that sweats too much?”
Of all of Brody’s characteristics, his perspiration had not been one Mitch had objected to. “Uh, he’s, um, away for a bit,” Mitch said, not sure how else to clarify it.
“Are you renting to him legally or is this an underhanded operation,” she asked with a narrowed glare.
Mitch deflected with a laugh. “It’s just a friend helping out a friend,” he said. “Brody’s new to town still, and you know how housing prices can be.”
She huffed, lifting her chin. “I do,” she said. “Which is why I expected more for the top dollar prices in this neighborhood.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Flores,” Mitch assured her. “I’ll make sure your property value is intact.”
“Hm, maybe,” she conceded with a snort. “But what about my sanity? Walking out here to see a grown man sleeping indecently.”
Mitch was wearing shorts and a tank top, but that hardly seemed worth pointing out. “I’m sorry to keep you, Mrs. Flores,” he said. “You have a great day now!”
She glowered even more deeply, watching Mitch as if to continue the fight as he made his way inside.
Nosy neighbors were one thing.
Moody eight year olds?
A much bigger thing.
Inside, Mitch treaded quietly through the kitchen, listening for any sign of Matt. He walked around to the living room, somewhat surprised to find it vacant. The front door was still locked (thank God), and the bathroom door was open, the light off. Mitch’s own bedroom was dark and silent, and he took a second to feed the fish before making his way cautiously to Matt’s room.
He was nervous. Like, really nervous. If Matt had already been up, he could have let the kid make the first mood to set the tone for the day. With the kid still in bed, it would be up to Mitch to figure out how to start things on the right foot.
Pausing outside Matt’s door, he worried for a moment that the kid would be there.
What if he’d ran out?
What if Brody was back?
He clenched his jaw, eschewing his thoughts. There was just one way to find out.
Quietly, he cracked the door. Mindful of its creaks, he eased it open, just enough for a peek at the bed.
Mitch found he was surprised. Matt was still there, curled up more tightly than the previous night. His hair was mussed, the covers twisted, and his mouth was hanging open in the deepness of his sleep.
For a moment, Mitch stared.
Then, he remembered how creepy it would be for a kid to wake up with a random old dude staring at him. Hurriedly, he slipped the door shut again, and faced himself back toward the hall.
So, he had a few minutes.
A few minutes to get ready for the day, mentally and physically.
What a wonderfully novel concept.
-o-
Mitch hurried his way through his morning chores. He ran through the shower in seconds, barely sparing a second to wash. He got dressed, and he brushed his teeth while emptying the dryer. Hastily, he made coffee and breakfast, opting for eggs and toast. Something hot but hearty. While breakfast cooked, he shot off an apologetic text to Stephanie, promising that he’ll at least check in at the office in person tomorrow. Unfortunately, he explained, Brody was still out for at least the week.
When she asked for details, out of concern more than anything, Mitch said he’d explain later. Summer would fill them in on the rest.
He was so productive that it was hard not to feel good. He had a leg up this morning, he was a step ahead of the game.
This was when Mitch felt the best. When he was taking care of business, getting things ready and raring to go. This was how he best lived his life in the field.
And it only figured that it was the best way to approach parenting.
Hope was a hard thing to find when you were stressed out and overworked. But when you prepared? Hell, yeah, Mitch had reasons to be hopeful.
By the time Matt came shuffling out of bed about ten minutes later, breakfast was waiting for him and Mitch greeted him with a smile. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “You look like you had a good sleep.”
Actually, Matt looked a little weirded out. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were rumpled. His eyes were still bleary, and he stood in the kitchen with his head askance, as if he wasn’t sure if this was reality or a dream.
Given that he’d slept for nearly 12 hours, Mitch had to think that response was to be expected.
“Come on,” Mitch said. “Breakfast is still hot.”
Matt seemed to consider just going back to bed, as if being social was too much to ask this soon after waking up. But Mitch was good at making breakfast food. No matter how pissed Matt might have been, he could still see that much.
And Mitch had seen how much this kid liked to eat. He wasn’t above old fashioned bribery.
With an air of suspicion, Matt made his way to the table, noisily moving back his chair and flopping heavily into it. Matt then picked up his fork, shoveling a bite of eggs into his mouth before washing it down with a generous drink of orange juice. After several more bites, he seemed to wake up a bit. When Mitch poured him a fresh glass of juice without being asked, he decided to acknowledge Mitch’s presence for the first time.
“Thanks,” he said, looking wary before promptly shoving half a piece of toast in his mouth and chewing noisily.
Mitch just smiled, pouring more for himself. “No problem,” he said. “And if you need more, just ask. I’ve got more eggs on the stove.”
Matt regarded this with even more skepticism, as if he suspected that there was a trap being laid for him in some manner. It said something about Matt’s history that he generally saw kindness as a short-lived aberration or a ploy for something. Not that he was all wrong about it. Mitch was using food to gain leverage over the kid, but not in the way Matt probably suspected. All he wanted was for the kid to be happy and open to a day of possibilities.
Finishing off his own helping, Mitch sipped his coffee. He pushed his phone away from him, giving Matt his full attention. “So,” he said. “You like your room okay?”
This was probably a poor attempt at small talk, if Mitch had thought it through. Matt literally slept in what amounted to a glorified storage closet.
Matt’s expression reflected this. “The cot’s a little small,” he admitted.
It was a rollaway. It was supposed to be small for storage. Mitch hadn’t much considered what it was actually like to sleep on it for a kid. Much less a full grown, if unnecessarily small, adult.
“It’s quiet, though, right?” Mitch asked, determined to find a silver lining in all this. “I try not to be a noisy roommate.”
Mitch’s good humor did nothing to allay Matt’s obvious doubts. But finally, he picked up his fork, working on his eggs again. “Usually there are other kids, even in temp homes,” he said. “Or, like, moms.”
“You like other kids?” Mitch asked.
Matt gave an indifferent shrug. “Some are kind of cool,” he said. “Others cry too much. Or steal your stuff or, you know.”
There was something in the you know, and Matt looked down as he quickly shoved more eggs into his mouth. Mitch found this concerning, but it wasn’t the topic for this morning.
Today was for happy things.
Only happy.
They both needed that. “Well, I may not be very mom-like,” he said. “But I can make a good breakfast, can’t I?”
Mitch sounded so upbeat, and the eggs were already half gone of Matt’s plate. Not even a punk like him could deny it. “I guess,” he said, as noncommittal as possible.
“And besides,” Mitch said. “I’ve got a beach in my backyard.”
He said this solicitously, and although Matt looked up, clearly intrigued, he remained wholly guarded.
Mitch took it in stride. “You want to go today?”
Matt slowly swallowed his bite. “ To the beach?” he asked.
“Sure,” he said. “That’s what you do in Southern California.”
Matt stopped eating now. “But I thought -- you said I hadn’t earned it.”
“Yesterday, you hadn’t,” he said. “But I told you the truth, you do get a second chance.”
“Third chance,” Matt corrected.
Mitch did his best not to smile. “Third chance,” he amended. “I mean, assuming you haven’t been stealing this morning.”
Matt frowned. “I just got up.”
Mitch clapped his hands together. “Then we’re good to go.”
Still watching him, Matt didn’t appear to believe him yet. “You mean it?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
The instant he asked the question, Mitch realized it was too flippant. Matt was a kid who had been lied to, in varying forms, most of his young life. People told him they wanted to keep him, give him a family -- and they sent his on his way. Even if the lie wasn’t malicious, it had to be the most difficult one a kid would ever contend with.
It would make anyone doubt everything else.
“I mean, of course,” Mitch said. “You and me, on the sand today.”
Matt’s breathing quickened in anticipation. “And I can go in the water?”
“Within reason, yes,” Mitch said. “You tell me you’re a good swimmer.”
Matt nodded, eagerly now. “I am,” he said. “I really am.”
“Then you’re going to have to show me, man,” Mitch said. “But only if you eat your breakfast first.”
Mitch had barely finish his statement when Matt shoveled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth. With his mouth full, he looked up at Mitch expectantly. “Can we do now?” he asked. “Please?”
Mitch laughed. “All right,” he said, as Matt scrambled out of his seat, racing to his room. “Make sure you brush your teeth!”
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
PART FOURTEEN
-o-
How, as it turned out, was actually relatively simple. He just had to go, show up and face it. Mitch didn’t run from challenges, and this was the most challenging challenge. Give him high swells and a tropical depression. Give him a bachelorette party or a police chase ending off the end of the pier. Anything but eight year old Matt Brody.
When he let himself in, he was braced for the worst.
He was surprised, therefore, to find Matt and Summer sitting on opposite sides of the couch, each holding a hand of cards. Matt was smiling. Summer was laughing.
Mitch felt an inexplicable surge of anger at the happy little scene.
Summer looked up, abrupt and startled. She looked like Mitch had just walked in on her and Brody getting fresh, which he had. Matt reddened, just like Brody would have, if Mitch had caught him with his hand up Summer’s shirt.
The fact that this was wholly innocent between them now didn’t obscure just how messed up this was. He was going to have to rethink a lot of this.
“Hey,” Summer said, hastily dimming the smile on her face as she put her cards down. “We were, um, just finishing up a hand.”
“Go Fish,” Matt told him, and he didn’t know enough not to beam. He was obviously smitten with her, and it wasn’t hard to understand, not given Brody’s history, and not given the fact that Matt was coming onto puberty ten times faster than the normal kid should. “I think she’s letting me win, though.”
It was Summer’s turn to blush, and she cleared her throat as though that could somehow make this situation less awkward. “Just something to pass the time,” she said, getting to her feet. She spread her hands on her legs, moving closer to Mitch. “Everything, um, go okay?”
“Not exactly,” Mitch told her, depositing his keys on the counter while eyeing the two warily. At Summer’s widening eyes, he shrugged. “But nothing too surprising.”
She nodded, an implicit understanding. “Um, well, Matt’s been great,” she said, trying and failing to sound like a babysitter. From the couch, Matt beamed even more proudly. “Ate his lunch, put his dishes away. Even took out the garbage.”
All tasks he would have complained about with Mitch around.
“Good,” he said, but the word was wooden and flat.
Summer hemmed herself in even more. “Well, um,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets as she rocked uncomfortably on her toes. “I guess, um, I’ll be off?”
She said it like a question, giving Mitch every opportunity to ask her to stay. That was what she wanted, even if she could sense that it wasn’t what Mitch wanted.
“Yeah,” Matt chimed in enthusiastically from the couch. “She could stay for dinner.”
With her back to Matt, Summer visibly winced.
Mitch smiled politely. “Not tonight,” he said. “We’ve kept Summer occupied long enough.”
Summer took the hint, reaching for her purse. She produced her keys, giving Mitch a lingering look. “I guess if that’s everything…”
Everything. And nothing.
Mitch wasn’t being fair, and he knew it. Drawing a breath, he said, “Let me walk you out.”
Matt got up, clearly intent to follow.
Mitch shot him a look. “Alone,” he said. “You can poke through the fridge and see if anything looks good for dinner.”
Matt was visibly crestfallen, but he was smart enough not to argue this time. Or, Summer’s presence was still sufficient enough to cow him into submission for now.
Summer turned, waving at Matt. “Bye, Matt,” she said.
The crestfallen disposition melted away. Matt radiated toward her. “Bye, Summer.”
Before Matt could think of anything else to do, Mitch opened the front door, holding it open so Summer could slip out in front of him. He followed a close step behind, closing it with one last look at Matt.
He was smiling still, but not at Mitch.
Mitch closed the door. Out on the porch, Summer looked sorry. “Really nothing?” she asked knowingly.
Mitch gave a cursory glance back, as if to be sure that Matt wasn’t somehow eavesdropping. “Not sure what we really expected,” he said. “No one has a fix for age regression because I couldn’t find a single credible instance of it happening.”
Her face tightened. “So we’re no closer to turning him back, then.”
Mitch gave her a wary look. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Eyes narrowing, she cocked her head. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Mitch said. “Just that you seemed awfully comfortable in there.”
“He’s not a bad kid,” she said.
“And you do remember he’s just a kid, right?” Mitch asked pointedly.
Her skepticism sharpened, turning hard. “What the hell are you implying?”
“Just that you don’t seem to be stressing out about this,” he said.
“Of course I’m stressing out,” she said. “My boyfriend’s eight, and I miss him. But...I don’t know. At the same time, it’s still him. And he’s almost easier to talk to like this. He’s more...open. He’ll tell me things that Brody would joke about, laugh off.”
Mitch had no reason to be mad at Summer, except he was mad. And Summer was the only one around. He knew this, rationally, but the last few days had made him anything but rational. “You can’t use him like that.”
“I’m not using him,” Summer said back, indignant now. “I’m helping you. I’m helping him.”
“He needs to family, Summer,” Mitch snapped, even more cruelly than before. “He needs structure and discipline and--”
“Love?” she prompted, cutting in her own right now.
Mitch drew back, squaring his shoulders. “We have to be partners in this,” he said.
“No, we have to get him back,” Summer returned, just as unrelenting. “I mean, we really don’t have any leads?”
Her question deflated him, and he found he couldn’t hold onto his anger any longer. Summer was an easy target right now, but attacking her didn’t make this better. It didn’t make it easier, either. He let his shoulders fall, and he sighed, a long, hard breath. “Nothing more than we had before.”
Rallying in the face of his disappointment, Summer reached out, putting a hand on his arm. “Then there’s still every reason to think this will undo itself,” she said. “I mean, you didn’t do anything special or weird. It’s not like you could accidentally recreate a magical spell or something, even if one did exist. We just have to keep him safe until things are right again.”
Mitch tried to be buoyed by her optimism. He found it harder than the day before. “Yeah,” he said vaguely. “You’re probably right.”
She clearly sensed his doubt, but she didn’t disagree with him. “Um, so,” she said, changing the subject. “You think you’ll need me tomorrow? I’m working all day, but I can probably trade out for the morning or afternoon if you need--”
Mitch was shaking his head before she could finish making the offer. “No,” he said. “I mean, I appreciate it, and I know Matt would love it, but I can’t keep you off the beach.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “Really.”
“But Baywatch needs you,” Mitch reasoned. “Especially with Brody and me out.”
She did not appear wholly convinced by this argument.
“Besides,” Mitch added. “I need you to help cover with Stephanie. If I miss three days in a row, she’s going to be getting pretty suspicious. If we’re going to successfully wait whatever this is out, we’re going to have to divide and conquer.”
She didn’t like the argument, but Summer found it reasonable. “Okay,” she said. “Just, um. Text me how he’s doing, okay? And, you know, if something changes--”
“You’ll be the first person I call,” he promised her, brandishing a small but sincere smile this time around.
“Good,” she said, and her own smile back was grateful.
He watched her go, making her way down to her car. He felt a pang of regret as she pulled away, and when he lifted his hand to wave at her, it felt heavier than it should have. For a second, he wanted to call her back, but his throat was constricted to tight to even begin to speak.
Summer could help; she could offer support and reassurance.
But somehow, Mitch knew this was something he had to do on his own.
-o-
Feeling like shit, Mitch turned and opened the door. He was preparing to take a few breaths, mentally prepare himself for whatever kind of confrontation was coming next, when Matt appeared behind the door.
Like, right behind the door.
Just standing there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Mitch barely managed to bite back a curse, even as his heart skipped a beat and his pulse rate increased. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Matt shrugged, utterly nonplussed. “Waiting for you.”
“What about dinner?” Mitch asked.
“I got out some chicken or something,” Matt reported. “Also, you should buy mac and cheese. Every temp placements has mac and cheese.”
“I minimize the amount of processed food I eat,” Mitch told him.
Matt crinkled his nose. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means we eat real food,” Mitch told him.
“Real food is expensive,” Matt told him. “Hot dogs are cheap.”
“Do you like hot dogs?” Mitch asked.
“Most people don’t ask that,” Matt replied. “By the way, what were you talking about?”
Mitch moved past him, making his way to the kitchen. “What?”
“Outside, with Summer,” he said. “That was a really long goodbye.”
“Were you listening?” Mitch asked, turning to glare at the kid while he reached for the chicken currently thawing on the kitchen counter.
“Just waiting,” Matt said, plain enough that Mitch believed him. “Are you sure she’s not your girlfriend?”
Mitch resisted the need to groan as he unwrapped the chicken, putting it on a plate to defrost. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Is she like a friend with benefits?”
Mitch gave Matt an annoyed glance. “Do you even know what that means?”
“I think it means you kiss but you’re not actually dating,” Matt told him, and the answer was mercifully only partially right. “Is that what you were doing on the porch? Kissing?”
“We were talking,” Mitch said, opening the cabinets to search for something to do with the chicken.
“About what?” Matt asked.
“About none of your business,” Mitch said, producing some rice and beans. “Besides, you have other things to worry about.”
Matt didn’t seem to pick up on the hint. “Like what?”
“Like, this,” Mitch said, reaching over and grabbing the three stolen items from this morning.
Matt’s entire demeanor changed immediately. His upbeat nature closed up in a heartbeat, and Mitch saw him start to shut down.
“No yelling, no more punishment,” Mitch said.
Matt watched him, cautious.
“But we are going to return it,” Mitch told him.
Matt didn’t appear to know what on earth Mitch was talking about. “What?”
Mitch shrugged. “We don’t steal stuff, not in this house,” he said. “So we’ll take it back and make it right.”
“You want me to...go back there and tell them I stole?” Matt said.
“Yep,” Mitch told him.
“But they’ll arrest me,” Matt said. “Will I go to jail?”
He wondered absently if Matt might respond to that kind of punishment, but he thought of the kid curled up on his cot, staring vacantly at nothing.
Worse, he thought of Brody showing up cocky as hell on his beach, trying to trash talk his way onto the team.
Not to say that he didn’t deserve either punishment, but Brody had a tendency to crash and burn in the system. After talking to Ellerbee, Mitch wanted -- he needed -- to try something different.
“No,” he said.
“But I took shit,” Matt said.
“Language,” Mitch said. “And I know that.”
“But stores don’t like it when you take sh--”
He cut off at Mitch’s looked, right down the edge of his nose.
Matt continued, moderately contrite. “--stuff,” he amended. “Is this your way of getting rid of me? Because my case worker will flip out--”
“Just trust me,” Mitch said. “Your caseworker doesn’t have to know.”
“But they’ll call the cops,” Matt said, and his little voice rose now. He sounded younger than eight. “And they’ll take me to jail.”
“Look,” Mitch said, doing his best to diffuse what could only be a coming meltdown. “You did something bad. You screwed up. But if you own up to it, tell the truth about it and apologize, you’ll find that a lot people are pretty cool about it.”
From the look on Matt’s face, he didn’t believe Mitch.
“You take it like a man,” Mitch instructed, dumping the three items into Matt’s hands. “And people will be way more likely to give you a second chance.”
Despite these reassurances, Matt showed no indication that he liked this plan. He was breathing heavily, looking at the stolen items in his hand. It was a hard bit of responsibility, but Matt had made a hard choice getting them there. Mitch could only hope that Matt had enough balls to address his screws up as much as Brody did.
“Come on,” Mitch said, guiding him out the door. “We get this done with and we’ll be back in time for dinner.”
-o-
Matt drug his feet the whole way there. He looked at the ground, kept his shoulders slumped, and his brown mop of hair hung precariously low over his eyes as he refused to make eye contact. Even when Mitch nicely asked to see the manager, Matt remained stiff and terrified. But when they ended up in the manager’s office, Mitch moved Matt to the front of him, giving him one last nudge and enough trust to make this Matt’s decision in the end.
Matt, for his part, hesitated. Trembling, he put the three items on the desk. Blinking rapidly, his entire body shaking, he looked up through the fringe of his bangs.
“I stole these,” he admitted, voice small but audible. He took a shaky breath, as he accepted that he had no other out from this situation. “It was wrong and stupid. I shouldn’t have done it.”
He dropped his head again, still visibly shaking. “I’m sorry.”
There was a long, fraught moment as the manager looked at the items. Then, he looked at Mitch before finally settling his gaze on Matt. The kid seemed to know it, too. He flinched, and even though every instinct seemed to tell Matt to run, the kid still stood his ground. “Well,” the manager said. “We certainly do not like shoplifting in our store. Most of the time, we report all cases to the police.
Matt took those words hard, flinching under the weight of each one.
The manager drew a breath, giving a small nod as he pursed his lips. “But the items have been returned, and they do appear undamaged,” he continued. “Your honesty is appreciated.”
Matt startled, daring to look up just a little.
The manager’s face was still stern, but Mitch could see that there was no malice in his eyes. “Because you came clean, I’m willing to overlook this incident,” he continued. Then he tilted his head in warning. “But if I ever catch you again--”
Matt was nodding readily at this. “Yes, sir,” he said, a little more vigorously than before. “I swear, I won’t do it again.”
The promise might be easy to dismiss as just words, if not for the earnest look on Matt’s face. Mitch knew that look; it was the same reticence that Brody had shown after getting drunk instead of playing lookout. Mitch had been inclined to deny Brody a second chance at that point, but Brody had been damn convincing to get a second chance.
It had worked on Mitch, who could be a hard sell with jackasses.
It would obviously work with the manager. “I’m sure you won’t,” the man said, more warmly this time. “I do trust you’ve learned your lesson.”
Matt nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Good,” the manager said, getting to his feet again. He made his way around the desk, leading Matt to the door. “If you can wait just outside, I’d like to talk to Mitch.”
Matt nodded, though he seemed surprised that the manager and Mitch were on a first name basis. Mitch gave Matt a small smile -- see, I told you it’d be okay -- before letting the manager close the door, leaving it open just a crack as he lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I’m surprised to see you here, off the beach,” the manager -- Graham, Mitch knew, from his frequent spot on Mitch’s beach outside of tower one. “I didn’t know you had a kid.”
Mitch shook his head, deflecting. “He’s not mine.”
“Oh,” Graham said. “Is this a Big Brother program or something like that?”
“Just a friend,” Mitch said. “Just looking out for him until things get back to normal for him.”
Graham nodded, apparently satisfied by this answer. “Well, I think you’re doing a good thing by him. Usually, we have a no tolerance policy with shoplifting, but if you vouch for the kid--”
Mitch forced a smile. “The kid can vouch for himself,” he said. “I made him come in, maybe, but that apology is all him. I think he’s worth a second chance.”
“And who am I to question it if you think so,” Graham said. He grinned, offering Mitch a hand while beaming. Mitch took it, and Graham shook his hand enthusiastically. “If you need anything else, you just let me know.”
“Thanks, Graham,” he said, showing himself out. Matt was a few steps behind the door, watching with a hint of uncertainty.
“Anytime, Mitch!” Graham called after him.
Moving down the hallway, Matt fell into step next to him. “You knew him.”
Mitch didn’t miss a step, moving toward the door back to the main store from the employees only area. “Yep.”
“You knew him, so you knew he wouldn’t call the cops,” Matt concluded, proving yet again that Brody wasn’t stupid; he was just really poorly educated.
“I had a pretty good sense of it, yeah,” Mitch said, letting them back out into the store.
Matt followed him, looking mildly betrayed. “You let me freak out for nothing.”
“No,” Mitch said, waving to a few cashiers as they made their way to the exit. “I let you face the consequences of your actions like an adult.”
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“Language,” Mitch said to him as they crossed through the automatic sliding doors.
Matt had to move his legs twice as fast to keep his smaller gait even with Mitch’s. “That’s not fair.”
“It wasn’t unfair,” Mitch retorted, looking twice as they crossed the parking lot to the car.
“I could be emotionally damaged,” Matt argued, though it wasn’t clear he knew what the phrase meant exactly, even if he’d probably heard it thrown around in relation to himself. “It’d be your fault.”
“No,” Mitch said, unlocking the doors and holding Matt’s open for him. “If I were being fair, I would have called the cops on you myself seeing as you made the stupid decision to steal. I could have called your caseworker and said I didn’t want a thief under my roof.”
In the sunlight, Matt paled slightly.
Mitch inclined his head to continue. “But I decided that you had enough integrity in you, somewhere down deep, that you could face this and learn from it,” he said. “And your performance in that store proved me right. You get a second chance.”
To that, Matt didn’t have a ready response. “Isn’t it my third chance?” he asked.
It was Mitch’s turn to be caught off guard. “What?”
“You caught me stealing yesterday, too,” Matt reminded him. “So isn’t this my third chance?”
It was an odd thing for Matt to say, in this context -- or in any context. It was strangely honest, and when Matt was capable of doing dumb ass things, he wasn’t inclined toward outright deceit. When he thought about it, neither was Brody. Maybe Brody took it for granted that everyone already knew his shit. Maybe he was willing to face things like a man. Maybe it was just a sign that Brody grew up in a system designed to highlight his flaws and mistakes, and they were forever recorded in a file for reference.
“I guess so,” Mitch said. “Now climb in. I guess it’s you’re lucky day.”
Matt didn’t seem wholly convinced, but he did as he was told. Closing the door for him, Mitch went around to the front of the car and wondered how in most retellings of this story, he’d be the hero.
Funny enough, he couldn’t bring himself to think of Matt as the antagonist.
Climbing in the car, he started it up. He glanced in the rearview mirror, where Matt was buckled up and looking out the window. For tonight, Mitch decided, he didn’t have to.
-o-
Matt wasn’t exactly happy, but he also wasn’t withdrawn anymore. He helped with dinner, exhibiting some signs of maturity and resilience. Mitch thought maybe the lesson from the shoplifting incident had sunk in this time.
But when they sat down to eat, Mitch found his hopes dashed.
Again.
Because the first thing Matt asked was: “Hey, can we go to the beach after dinner?”
The question was innocent enough. In fact, Matt’s entire attitude was generally good natured and upbeat. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t a good night for it, or that Mitch disliked the beach.
The problem was that Mitch could still remember his own voice, laying out the terms of a deal in a changing room. No stealing. If we’re going to hang out together, we’re going to do things the right way, no exceptions. You do things right, and I’ll do things right by you. Deal?
It was a deal Matt had agreed to.
It was not a deal Matt had honored.
True, Matt had apologized and returned the items, a punished he’d taken with more grace than Mitch had expected from him. And Mitch had no intention of lording the kid’s past mistakes over him.
That said, the deal had to mean something. If Matt was able to steal a day after promising not to and still get exactly what he wanted -- well, that would sort of run counter to the very heart of what the deal was all about.
Parenting, in short, was full of shitty choices.
Therefore, he chewed long and hard, taking his time to swallow before his answer. “I’m not sure about that, kiddo,” he said. He tried to keep his voice soft and his expression neutral. “You made me a promise yesterday about stealing.”
Matt was clearly caught by surprise with this answer. “But you said I had another chance.”
“Sure, and you do,” Mitch said. “But that doesn’t mean you get all the same privileges tonight.”
“But you said it was done,” Matt said, voice starting to rise in anger. “You said.”
“But think about it,” Mitch rationalized. “If you get to break the deal and still enjoy the privileges of keeping the deal, then the deal’s not worth much, is it?”
This seemed pretty well reasoned to Mitch.
Matt’s expression made it plain he disagreed. “You told me I got a third chance.”
“But you still broke your promise to me,” Mitch said back. “You haven’t earned any privileges today.”
This concept, however, was sailing way above Matt’s too-short, tawny head. “That’s bullshit!”
“Hey!” Mitch snapped, putting his fork down. “Language.”
It was like a button had been pushed; Matt showed no signs of being able to stop his misplaced righteous anger now. “Whatever.”
“I’m just saying for today,” Mitch said. “Tomorrow, if you do well, we can probably go to the beach.”
Matt’s brow was low and dark, mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’re just like everyone else. They all say stuff they don’t mean. They all make promises they don’t keep.”
“That’s not true,” Mitch said. “You were the one who broke your promise today.”
“It is true,” Matt said, almost yelling back now in accusation. “You said we were good, you said I had another chance, but you’re still punishing me for it. You talk like we’re different, like we’re cool, but it’s the same as always.”
Mitch’s own anger was rising now, and he found himself not quite able to bite it back. “This is a two-way street kid,” he said. “You have to prove you can do the right thing if you want to have some perks.”
“I did your stupid apology!” Matt said, and he was yelling now, dinner long forgotten in front of him. “I did all your stupid little things, and it didn’t get me anywhere.”
“Because you stole after literally telling me just yesterday that you wouldn’t!” Mitch exploded.
Eyes glistening, Matt pushed his chair back violently, getting to his feet. “ I knew this place would suck as much as the rest!”
He stormed off, and Mitch called after him. “Matt!”
But Matt was down the hall.
“Matt!”
The sound of a slamming door was his only response.
Mitch looked at the table, Matt’s barely eaten food. He looked at his own plate, and went over the last few minutes in his brain. From optimism to pessimism. From success to failure.
Damn it, didn’t this kid have a middle ground?
-o-
Matt didn’t come back out for dinner. Morosely, Mitch finished by himself, putting Matt’s plate in the fridge when it became apparent that the temper tantrum was going to last.
After an hour, Mitch knocked on the door, asking if Matt was hungry.
“I’m not hungry!” he yelled back in reply.
Mitch shifted his weight from one foot to the other, thinking of a possible overture. He lacked the energy to fight at this point, and he’d prefer it if they could just stop being angry for a little bit. “If you want to eat in there--”
“You eat it yourself,” Matt hissed through the door.
The comment was nonsensical, but it conveyed Matt’s emotions well enough. Tiredly, Mitch shook his head and went mechanically about his business. He had things to clean. Stuff to put away. Laundry to do.
And...what else?
After twenty minutes, Mitch was stumped. When he tried to play games on his phone, he found himself staring idly at Matt’s door instead, thinking about what he’s said, what he should have said and all the stupid ass shit Matt had said instead.
There was still no way this was his fault.
And it still took all his willpower not to apologize.
By bedtime, Matt had still not budged, and he had to be ordered to get ready for bed. Matt took a perverse pleasure in this, as if he wanted to be forced into doing basic tasks in order to display how utterly unfair and controlling Mitch was. To Matt, brushing his teeth was an act of overt martyrdom. Spitting in the sink had never been so dramatic.
Or messy.
The kid sprayed all over the mirror.
Mitch held his tongue, watching instead as Matt stomped around the bathroom and then stomped all the way back to his room. Before Mitch could follow him inside, Matt slammed the door shut in his face and made a loud display of climbing into bed that must have involved several extra and very unnecessary steps.
“Well,” Mitch said, loitering uncertainly behind the closed door. He thought about opening it, but he couldn’t imagine that would go well. “Have a good night.”
Matt’s reply was an exaggerated huff that somehow was crystal clear through the door between them.
Mitch tried to find some consolation in the fact that Matt was well and truly pissed off this time. His morning display of disengagement and withdrawal had been disturbing. This behavior, while infuriating and frustrating, was at least something Mitch could understand.
The real question, though, was whether or not it was something he could fix.
That was the question, really, he thought to himself, walking back to the kitchen dejectedly. The question he’d been asking every since Matt Brody showed up on his beach with a chip on his shoulder and everything to prove. Did Brody even want to be fixed?
There was an important distinction there, but not one Mitch knew how to make sense of anymore.
At the fridge, he pulled out a beer, popping it open.
After the last two days, Mitch wasn’t sure anything in his life would ever make sense again.
-o-
He took the beer outside, for reasons that were multifaceted. First, he was supposed to be recreating the night of the transformation. For that event, Mitch had been outside.
Second, he didn’t want to drink in the house for some reason. It was kind of stupid, probably, because Mitch was of legal age and totally responsible, but given Brody’s propensity for overdrinking, it seemed to be bad form to suggesting to Matt that it was a fun recreational pastime.
Third, he liked being outside, and the last few days he’d never felt more cooped up.
And fourth, shit. He just needed to get out of the damn house.
Matt wasn’t just a responsibility. Mitch had lots of responsibilities, a lot that were more physically demanding that some stupid kid. But Matt was an encompassing responsibility. He consumed Mitch’s entire attention, and his entire life had been lost in a vacuum of hard decisions that he spent most of his time second guessing.
That was the most pressing reality of the situation, the one he had to fight against to keep himself afloat. Back to point number one: he had to make this end.
Like, really.
He couldn’t probably fix all the psychological damage Matt had endured during his eight years in foster care. He didn’t have a clue where to start, and if he had to attempt it much longer, he was going to lose his mind.
Summer was right: he had to keep focused on the task at hand.
Getting Brody back.
Who would have thought he’d want the arrogant asshole as badly as he did now?
But how?
He’d been optimistic at the start, but that optimism was faded now.
Or, more aptly put, it felt like it’s been obliterated.
If he didn’t get Brody back…
Well, Mitch couldn’t actually imagine that. What his life would be like permanently with Matt.
Feeling his emotions start to dip toward desperation, Mitch focused his attentions more keenly. Summer had suggested writing down what he did, but Mitch settled for a step by step reenactment in his head.
There had been a fight.
Check.
Brody had stormed out.
Matt hadn’t left the house, but he’d slammed a door in Mitch’s face.
Mitch thought it counted.
Then he’d cleaned up after Brody (check), and he’d tried to do normal stuff (check), and he’d failed to do normal stuff (check, with emphasis).
He’d skipped working out, though Mitch thought that he could count life as normal as part of working out. Of course, he could get up now and do a quick workout before retiring for the evening, but he felt weary in his very bones.
He didn’t want to work out.
He wanted another beer.
Maybe, just to be sure, he should kick Matt out.
That had worked with Brody.
Though Brody had been a grown man.
Kicking out a kid in the middle of the night?
Probably not feasible.
He couldn’t even imagine what Matt would do on his own?
Worse, maybe he could.
But why was he thinking about this?
Why did everything in his life anymore come back to Matt?
All he could do was deal with Matt, and now here, he was thinking about Matt.
He didn’t want to think about Matt. Not when Matt was stupid and unreasonable. Not when Matt was wrong about ninety percent of the time and left Mitch feel like shit 100 percent of the time.
What was up with that, anyway?
Why was Mitch always doing the right thing and yet always feeling so wrong about it? Were all children this difficult? Did all children skew their worldviews so badly? Or was it just Matt?
Mitch took a long, hard drink, sinking back on his lounge chair.
The thing was, Mitch hadn’t been looking for a fight. Tonight, he’d been looking to make nice. He’d wanted to let things be good between them, because if they were going to make this work, then things needed to be good.
How had it gone so horribly wrong?
Matt, like Brody, was just inclined toward disaster. And Mitch was stuck tagging along after both of them, trying to make sense of the pieces.
With another drink, Mitch finished his beer, which brought him back to the here and now.
Mitch was sitting on the back porch, trying to recreate what would probably be viewed as the worst night of his life. All while an undocumented eight year old who seemed intent to make him crazy slept inside.
Mitch swore, getting to his feet.
It was going to take a lot more than one beer to fix this.
-o-
Inside, Mitch went to the kitchen. He stopped at the fridge, hand lingering on the handle. The beer was suddenly not as tempting as it was before.
Because he knew, a few feet away in his spare room, Matt was sleeping, tucked into bed.
With Brody, he’d been happy to leave well enough alone. He was about to go checking up on a grown man.
With Matt, however, he found himself anxious.
This was what people did, wasn’t it?
They worried about their kids?
They checked up on them.
Dropping his hand, Mitch left the kitchen, moving into the small hallway. Outside of Matt’s room, he hesitated for a second before finally opening the door as quietly as he could. It creaked just slightly, and Mitch stilled himself, but there was no sign of movement from within the room. From the hallway, the room was filled with dim light, which was just enough for him to see Matt’s sleeping figure, tucked into the cot.
He had clearly fallen asleep on his side, his little body curled up in anger. With sleep, the lines on his forehead had eased, and the slack features made him look like the little boy he so clearly was.
Walking gently, Mitch crossed over the the bed, watching in the stillness as Matt breathed. He watched the steady rise and fall of the thing chest, wondering how someone so small could cause problems so big. Without his anger or his facades, he looked so innocent here. As angry and frustrated as Mitch was, he remembered that this wasn’t just about Brody.
It was also kind of about Matt.
The kid who had never been wanted.
Did he know that Mitch was trying to get rid of him, too?
Swallowing, Mitch turned and headed back toward the door. He stopped short, however, when he looked at the rest of Matt’s room.
The bags from the store, the ones with Matt’s clothes and his things. They were neatly lined up against the wall, all completely repacked. The washed clothes had been returned to the bags, almost as if they were still new. The toys were still unopened, and the handles were all neatly lined up, ready to be grabbed.
He’d noticed this habit of Brody’s before, of course. Brody always kept a bag packed. Mitch had always just assumed it was to keep things simple.
Seeing it here, though, with Matt’s thing, Mitch was struck by a different realization. This was about organization. This was about the fact that Matt was ready to go at a moment’s notice. No doubt, with elevent short term placements over the last year, Matt had learned to be ready to leave. More than that, he’d come to expect it.
This hurt more than Mitch thought it might.
It hurt more when he realized Brody probably felt the same worse.
Suddenly the look of betrayal on Brody’s face the night Mitch kicked him out made a whole lot more sense. It had confirmed what he had probably feared all along: that this wasn’t home. That this would never be home.
It was stupid, then, to stand there and tell the kid it was a two-way street. Not that Matt didn’t have any responsibility, but he was a kid. A little kid. He didn’t have any choice in this. He never had any choice about whether he wanted to go or stay. He didn’t get to choose who he lived with or how they felt about him. Most of the time, he didn’t get to pick his own clothes or his own toys.
There was no proper give or take for Matt. He didn’t even know what the hell that meant.
Brody had more choices, sure, but it wasn’t clear that he actually believed that yet. Did life still feel like a series of rejections to Brody? Was he still so braced for failure that he made it happen even when he didn’t mean to?
It was like Ellerbee said, these kids grew up without learning what it meant to belong. And then guys like Mitch were so surprised when they struggled being a part of a team.
There still had to be accountability, Mitch knew this, but it wasn’t as simple as he made it out to be. Turning back, he looked at Matt again, heart breaking in his chest. His expectations needed to be realistic. Matt was going to screw up. A lot. If Mitch could be patient, then Mitch didn’t understand family any better than Matt did.
Tomorrow was a new day.
A clean slate.
Exiting the room, Mitch closed the door behind him.
A fresh start for both of them.
-o-
Back outside, Mitch forgot about the beer. He forgot about the routine, too. He couldn’t focus on the big picture.
Instead, he laid on the lounge and stared up at the starless sky.
All he could think about was the little boy, who went to bed angry. Who went to bed afraid.
All Mitch could wish that night was that tomorrow was a reprieve.
For himself.
And for Matt, too.
-o-
Mitch had just closed his eye when he was awoken by a spray of water. He startled, coming to attention, ready to attack.
The only thing to attack was Mrs. Flores, holding her hose while she watered her plants. “Sorry,” she said, and she sounded even less sorry than Matt did most of the time. “My hand slipped.”
Mitch stood up, shaking himself off with the most good nature smile he could muster. “No problem,” he said, brushing the water droplets from his face. “I guess I don’t need a shower today.”
For some reason, his easygoing nature seemed to irk her even more. She had always been contrary, but apparently she was deeply opposed to people sleeping outside. It wasn’t like she’d ever liked Mitch, but she’d also never taken to waking him up with her hose in a passive aggressive air of nonchalance.
Still, Mitch had no desire to make enemies.
Especially not today.
“I apologize if my sleeping outside has been a little disconcerting for you,” he said, moving closer to the hedge to show his sincerity. “It’s just kind of been a crazy week.”
Her lips pursed, and she looked down her nose, over the top of her oversized glasses. “Do you still have that roommate of yours? The one that sweats too much?”
Of all of Brody’s characteristics, his perspiration had not been one Mitch had objected to. “Uh, he’s, um, away for a bit,” Mitch said, not sure how else to clarify it.
“Are you renting to him legally or is this an underhanded operation,” she asked with a narrowed glare.
Mitch deflected with a laugh. “It’s just a friend helping out a friend,” he said. “Brody’s new to town still, and you know how housing prices can be.”
She huffed, lifting her chin. “I do,” she said. “Which is why I expected more for the top dollar prices in this neighborhood.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Flores,” Mitch assured her. “I’ll make sure your property value is intact.”
“Hm, maybe,” she conceded with a snort. “But what about my sanity? Walking out here to see a grown man sleeping indecently.”
Mitch was wearing shorts and a tank top, but that hardly seemed worth pointing out. “I’m sorry to keep you, Mrs. Flores,” he said. “You have a great day now!”
She glowered even more deeply, watching Mitch as if to continue the fight as he made his way inside.
Nosy neighbors were one thing.
Moody eight year olds?
A much bigger thing.
Inside, Mitch treaded quietly through the kitchen, listening for any sign of Matt. He walked around to the living room, somewhat surprised to find it vacant. The front door was still locked (thank God), and the bathroom door was open, the light off. Mitch’s own bedroom was dark and silent, and he took a second to feed the fish before making his way cautiously to Matt’s room.
He was nervous. Like, really nervous. If Matt had already been up, he could have let the kid make the first mood to set the tone for the day. With the kid still in bed, it would be up to Mitch to figure out how to start things on the right foot.
Pausing outside Matt’s door, he worried for a moment that the kid would be there.
What if he’d ran out?
What if Brody was back?
He clenched his jaw, eschewing his thoughts. There was just one way to find out.
Quietly, he cracked the door. Mindful of its creaks, he eased it open, just enough for a peek at the bed.
Mitch found he was surprised. Matt was still there, curled up more tightly than the previous night. His hair was mussed, the covers twisted, and his mouth was hanging open in the deepness of his sleep.
For a moment, Mitch stared.
Then, he remembered how creepy it would be for a kid to wake up with a random old dude staring at him. Hurriedly, he slipped the door shut again, and faced himself back toward the hall.
So, he had a few minutes.
A few minutes to get ready for the day, mentally and physically.
What a wonderfully novel concept.
-o-
Mitch hurried his way through his morning chores. He ran through the shower in seconds, barely sparing a second to wash. He got dressed, and he brushed his teeth while emptying the dryer. Hastily, he made coffee and breakfast, opting for eggs and toast. Something hot but hearty. While breakfast cooked, he shot off an apologetic text to Stephanie, promising that he’ll at least check in at the office in person tomorrow. Unfortunately, he explained, Brody was still out for at least the week.
When she asked for details, out of concern more than anything, Mitch said he’d explain later. Summer would fill them in on the rest.
He was so productive that it was hard not to feel good. He had a leg up this morning, he was a step ahead of the game.
This was when Mitch felt the best. When he was taking care of business, getting things ready and raring to go. This was how he best lived his life in the field.
And it only figured that it was the best way to approach parenting.
Hope was a hard thing to find when you were stressed out and overworked. But when you prepared? Hell, yeah, Mitch had reasons to be hopeful.
By the time Matt came shuffling out of bed about ten minutes later, breakfast was waiting for him and Mitch greeted him with a smile. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “You look like you had a good sleep.”
Actually, Matt looked a little weirded out. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were rumpled. His eyes were still bleary, and he stood in the kitchen with his head askance, as if he wasn’t sure if this was reality or a dream.
Given that he’d slept for nearly 12 hours, Mitch had to think that response was to be expected.
“Come on,” Mitch said. “Breakfast is still hot.”
Matt seemed to consider just going back to bed, as if being social was too much to ask this soon after waking up. But Mitch was good at making breakfast food. No matter how pissed Matt might have been, he could still see that much.
And Mitch had seen how much this kid liked to eat. He wasn’t above old fashioned bribery.
With an air of suspicion, Matt made his way to the table, noisily moving back his chair and flopping heavily into it. Matt then picked up his fork, shoveling a bite of eggs into his mouth before washing it down with a generous drink of orange juice. After several more bites, he seemed to wake up a bit. When Mitch poured him a fresh glass of juice without being asked, he decided to acknowledge Mitch’s presence for the first time.
“Thanks,” he said, looking wary before promptly shoving half a piece of toast in his mouth and chewing noisily.
Mitch just smiled, pouring more for himself. “No problem,” he said. “And if you need more, just ask. I’ve got more eggs on the stove.”
Matt regarded this with even more skepticism, as if he suspected that there was a trap being laid for him in some manner. It said something about Matt’s history that he generally saw kindness as a short-lived aberration or a ploy for something. Not that he was all wrong about it. Mitch was using food to gain leverage over the kid, but not in the way Matt probably suspected. All he wanted was for the kid to be happy and open to a day of possibilities.
Finishing off his own helping, Mitch sipped his coffee. He pushed his phone away from him, giving Matt his full attention. “So,” he said. “You like your room okay?”
This was probably a poor attempt at small talk, if Mitch had thought it through. Matt literally slept in what amounted to a glorified storage closet.
Matt’s expression reflected this. “The cot’s a little small,” he admitted.
It was a rollaway. It was supposed to be small for storage. Mitch hadn’t much considered what it was actually like to sleep on it for a kid. Much less a full grown, if unnecessarily small, adult.
“It’s quiet, though, right?” Mitch asked, determined to find a silver lining in all this. “I try not to be a noisy roommate.”
Mitch’s good humor did nothing to allay Matt’s obvious doubts. But finally, he picked up his fork, working on his eggs again. “Usually there are other kids, even in temp homes,” he said. “Or, like, moms.”
“You like other kids?” Mitch asked.
Matt gave an indifferent shrug. “Some are kind of cool,” he said. “Others cry too much. Or steal your stuff or, you know.”
There was something in the you know, and Matt looked down as he quickly shoved more eggs into his mouth. Mitch found this concerning, but it wasn’t the topic for this morning.
Today was for happy things.
Only happy.
They both needed that. “Well, I may not be very mom-like,” he said. “But I can make a good breakfast, can’t I?”
Mitch sounded so upbeat, and the eggs were already half gone of Matt’s plate. Not even a punk like him could deny it. “I guess,” he said, as noncommittal as possible.
“And besides,” Mitch said. “I’ve got a beach in my backyard.”
He said this solicitously, and although Matt looked up, clearly intrigued, he remained wholly guarded.
Mitch took it in stride. “You want to go today?”
Matt slowly swallowed his bite. “ To the beach?” he asked.
“Sure,” he said. “That’s what you do in Southern California.”
Matt stopped eating now. “But I thought -- you said I hadn’t earned it.”
“Yesterday, you hadn’t,” he said. “But I told you the truth, you do get a second chance.”
“Third chance,” Matt corrected.
Mitch did his best not to smile. “Third chance,” he amended. “I mean, assuming you haven’t been stealing this morning.”
Matt frowned. “I just got up.”
Mitch clapped his hands together. “Then we’re good to go.”
Still watching him, Matt didn’t appear to believe him yet. “You mean it?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
The instant he asked the question, Mitch realized it was too flippant. Matt was a kid who had been lied to, in varying forms, most of his young life. People told him they wanted to keep him, give him a family -- and they sent his on his way. Even if the lie wasn’t malicious, it had to be the most difficult one a kid would ever contend with.
It would make anyone doubt everything else.
“I mean, of course,” Mitch said. “You and me, on the sand today.”
Matt’s breathing quickened in anticipation. “And I can go in the water?”
“Within reason, yes,” Mitch said. “You tell me you’re a good swimmer.”
Matt nodded, eagerly now. “I am,” he said. “I really am.”
“Then you’re going to have to show me, man,” Mitch said. “But only if you eat your breakfast first.”
Mitch had barely finish his statement when Matt shoveled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth. With his mouth full, he looked up at Mitch expectantly. “Can we do now?” he asked. “Please?”
Mitch laughed. “All right,” he said, as Matt scrambled out of his seat, racing to his room. “Make sure you brush your teeth!”