T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (20 page)

“By his own choice,” I say. “That’s what he wanted, so I supported him.”

“He’s not a normal kid, is he?” She asks as she stands in front of a new addition to his poster wall, a large black and white photo of a woman with duct tape over her mouth, the words NO H8 written on her cheek.

I shake my head slowly. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s… different. But in the greatest way possible.”
“I see,” she says, trailing her hand trailing over a copy of Aldous Huxley’s
Brave New World
on his desk. “I got to Mercy Hospital and was met by the SPD outside the room I’d been directed toward. At that moment, I didn’t have a whole lot of information, just that it was bad. I could hear screaming coming from inside the room behind the cops, could hear the doctor and nurses inside trying to get the kid to calm down. I asked the police what had happened. The officer I spoke to had apparently been one of the first to respond. He had blood on his uniform, so much blood. He was young, barely out of his teens, and I found out later he’d been on the job a week, still shadowing a more experienced officer.”

“His last name is Miller, isn’t it?” Otter asks quietly. “Dominic Miller?” Georgia smiles sadly. “Yes.”
“How’d you know that?” I ask Otter, even though the name sounds

familiar to me too.
“Because it was all over the news,” Otter says. “It was everywhere for a
long time.”
“Wait,” I croak out. “That’s the woman who….” I can’t finish. Georgia looks out the window and does it for me. “His mother was the
woman. His father was that man. The officer told me that Dominic’s father

had come home one night after a long night of drinking. He found his wife in the kitchen. He said that she dropped a plate and that the noise caused him to snap. There’d been a few calls out to the house before, neighbors hearing screaming coming from next door, but you know how that goes. The cops would show, the woman would say nothing was wrong, that she didn’t want to press charges, that she’d gotten that bruise on her face by accident. She was just clumsy. There was never any evidence of abuse to Dominic, at least not physical. But emotional and verbal abuse can be just as damaging, and to this day, I really can’t say all that went on while he was growing up.”

I don’t want her to go on, because all I want to do is run downstairs and grab the Kid and hide him behind me, hide him from Dominic. I’m ashamed at these thoughts, horrified that I could actually have them, but my priority is the Kid, and I don’t know Dominic. I don’t know all he’s seen. I don’t know the state of his mind. He could just be a big kid that speaks quietly. Or he could be just like his dad.

But I can’t look away as Georgia continues, her voice going flat. “So his mother dropped the plate, and Jacob Miller snapped. He would say later that he didn’t know why the sound of the plate shattering on the floor caused him to lose it, or even if he was the one that caused her to drop it, only that he just couldn’t take it anymore. He dragged Crystal Miller by her hair and punched her in the face a few times, causing her to black out. And from there he said he just couldn’t stop. He said he hit her again and again and again. He didn’t know that Crystal’s… screams had caused Dominic to wake up. He didn’t know that Dominic had come into the room. He didn’t know that his son was watching him beat her to death. Dominic apparently started screaming and slapping on his back, but he still didn’t stop. He only stopped when Dominic had gotten a pair of scissors from the drawer and had stabbed his father in the side seven times.”

“Jesus Christ,” Otter mutters.

“The police arrived ten minutes later to find him sitting between his two parents, his mother dead and his father dying, covered in blood, holding the pair of scissors. They asked him what happened. He told them that his dad made his mom go away and he tried to help. And then he dropped the scissors and started screaming and didn’t stop. He was still screaming when I got to the hospital an hour later, although his voice had gone hoarse by then.” Georgia stops, her jaw set, her mouth a thin line. I wonder what I should say, but she beats me to it. “His father eventually confessed, and Dominic was hailed as a hero, but when I first saw him, he was covered in blood, his mouth stretched open, and that noise coming out from him is something that I will never forget. And he only stopped after having been given a sedative. When he woke up, he didn’t speak again for another six months. What happened after that is something you should hear from him, if he ever wants to tell it.

“But I do remember one other thing the most, something that sticks out in my head and probably always will. I’d worked with him and a psychologist for months, and even though he never spoke, I still hoped we were getting to him, somehow. It was little things, really. I’d ask him how he was day after day, and sometimes he would nod. He’d bring me a book he wanted me to read to him. And then one day, I took him out to eat to this little diner near the beach and passed him something, napkin, ketchup, I don’t know. He didn’t ask me for whatever it was, but he needed it just the same. But… he watched me for a moment and then said, ‘Thank you.’ Two words. But those two words meant more to me than anything else I’d ever heard. And that’s when I knew that he’d be okay. Maybe not all the way okay, but okay, nonetheless.”

She turns back to look at me and Otter. “I’ve heard him speak more today than I’ve heard in any one day in the last six years. I don’t know what has happened to him, or what Tyson did that no one else has been able to do, but it can’t go away. His foster parents are nice people, but they don’t completely understand him, and they’ve got two other foster kids, as well, with varying degrees of emotional issues. He’s been described as ‘cold’ and ‘removed’. ‘Emotionless’.” She laughs bitterly. “And those are words I’ve used myself. But that was not who I saw today. You can’t know how big of a step it is, to know that Tyson texted him and Dominic came
running
. That’s not something I ever thought I’d see, that he cared that much about another person to do that. And that smile? I don’t think he’s smiled in the time that I’ve known him. Not like that. That’s the smile that a kid his age should have. Not one who has seen what he has.”

“He was doing that when I met him too,” I tell her, my mind reeling. “But only at the Kid. I just thought he was shy.”
“Your brother is an amazing person, Derrick,” she says, looking amused. “I can see that already. You’ve got a good home here, a start to something, and I am pulling for you guys. My reports are going to be honest, and I won’t pull any punches because my concern is for Tyson, as it should be, but you and Oliver keep doing what you’re doing, and I think everything will work out.”
“You don’t think it’s odd for a fifteen-year-old to be hanging out with a nine-year-old?”

Georgia laughs. “How old were you when you latched onto Oliver?” Dammit. So not the same thing, even though it kinda sorta is. The Kid isn’t going to end up with Dominic when he gets older, like Otter and me. There’s still that difference.
And you know this how?
it asks.
I ignore it.

She begins to walk past us and stops when Otter reaches out and grabs her by the arm. “Is he dangerous?” he asks, his voice low and hard. “I understand what he means to you, and I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s been through. No one should have to go through what he did. But I won’t put my family in danger if he’s going to be like his father. I don’t care how beneficial you think his friendship with the Kid is. If there’s a chance he can harm Bear or Tyson, then you need to tell me now so I can end this before it gets too far. I won’t allow him or anyone else to take them from me. They’re mine.”

Georgia looks up at him, not intimidated in the slightest. “Only four months, huh?”
“I’m not fucking around,” he barks. “Answer the question.”

“At some point in our lives, we make a decision on whether or not to be like our parents.” She glances at me when she says this, and I don’t know why. “But it’s up to those that love us to help us know whether that’s good or bad.” She gently pulls Otter’s hand from her arm, and before I can stop myself, I call out to her.

“His voice,” I say. “He damaged his vocal cords, didn’t he?”

She nods without turning around. “Barring surgery with highly unsuccessful odds, he’s going to sound like that for the rest of his life, like he’s choking on gravel. But I think that’s the least of his worries, don’t you?”

Then she walks out of the room.
We’re quiet for a moment. Then, “The Kid will want to know why.” Otter nods. “If we tell him he can’t see Dominic anymore, he will.” “I have to keep him safe,” I say, my voice cracking.

It only takes him two strides of his long legs before he’s wrapped himself around me, crushing me into his chest, protecting me from whatever haunts us both. Whatever we’ve gone through, the Kid and me, it’s nothing to what Dominic has seen. It’s not even fair to compare it. But I don’t know if I can allow that kind of darkness in my brother’s life.

Shit.
5. Where Bear Faces the Reality of Attraction
Y
OU
know what sucks? Being awake at three o’clock in the morning.

I start school tomorrow. I don’t want to go. Tyson starts school the day after. I don’t want him to go. We go to our first therapy appointment the day after that, and I
really
don’t want to go. Add on the fact that the Kid’s “best friend” watched his mother die in front of him, that I don’t know what is up with my own mother, that I still don’t understand the jealousy kick I’ve been unable to forget from seeing Otter and David gaze into each other’s eyes (like it
meant
something), and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again.

And here I thought things would be easier.

I roll toward Otter, who’s spread out, his arms and legs all akimbo, as he’s prone to do. He told me once that he spreads out like that in his sleep to make sure I know he’s there, that I can’t get away from him. More often than not, I’ll wake in the morning to find some part of myself covered by Otter. I told him he needs to learn to stay over on his side of the bed, that I most certainly did not appreciate being covered by some big oaf every night. He’d just grinned at me, not fooled in the slightest. He doesn’t fall for my shit, that one.

His breathing is deep and soft, an occasional rumble emanating from his chest. His hair is getting longer, falling down onto his forehead. I reach up and gently brush it off, and he sighs quietly in his sleep, rolling on his side to face me, a massive thigh stretching out on top of my legs, pinning me to the bed. It’s safe, this is. The weight of him pressing against me, like he knows what I’m thinking, even though he’s asleep. Like he knows some part of me still wants to run and he won’t let me, because he’s my tether, my strength.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. But when is that any different?

I learned that it’s almost impossible to shut off my brain, those little voices in my head always chattering, saying this and that, those things I don’t dare think on my own. The only solace in these late nights has been him, the man next to me. I don’t know how I ever slept alone, how I ever thought I could sleep through the night with Anna. It’s different here, with him. He’s bigger than me, so much bigger, and I always know he’s there, his presence, the heat of him always falling on me in gentle waves, like low tide in the dark.

The ocean. The storms. The earthquakes. Sometimes I feel that they remain, just beyond my grasp. Haven’t there been moments when I still feel tremors? Hear the thunder just off in the distance, making itself known, but always keeping its distance. Whenever I think they could return, that a storm could wage over the dry desert and the sea would rise through the cracks, I turn to him. And somehow, he keeps them all at bay. He makes me think that maybe it’ll all be okay, even if it’s not.

I watch him as he sleeps, and somehow he knows, like he always does, like he’s just waiting for me to want him to wake up, that he can hear my thoughts, remembering how it’s magic, it’s magic, it’s so much magic, and I can’t hold it on my own. He takes in a deep breath and cracks open his left eye and finds me staring at him. That crooked grin makes a sleepy appearance, and he drops a heavy arm over me and puts his hand flat against my back, pulling me toward him. I bury myself in my spot in the hollow of his throat. The skin is warm there, faint stubble scratching wonderfully against my cheek as I rub my face against him, wanting his smell on my skin. He makes this sound from the back of his throat, a contended rumble that makes it sound as if everything he could ever want is right within his reach. I shiver a bit, and he squeezes me tighter.

“What time is it?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Three. Why did you wake up?” I ask him as I bite his neck. “Felt like I should,” he says as he yawns. His hand goes to my hair and

starts pulling on it softly. “You sleep yet?”
I shrug.
“Nervous about school tomorrow?”
I shrug again, only because that’s part of it.
“It’s pretty much everything, huh?”
I nod.

“Then we’ll take it one thing at a time. What’s bugging you the most right now?”

I think hard for a moment and open my mouth to say it’s a combination of everything, maybe the Dominic situation a little bit more than others, but my mouth has other plans: “I didn’t like the way Ty’s teacher looked at you,” I growl, wincing as I do so. “He touched you like he owned you, and that pissed me the hell off.”

Damn right
, it snaps.
Who the fuck did he think he was? I don’t know why you didn’t break his fingers off. Oh, wait, you tried. Maybe it’s time to hit the gym again, huh?

Shut up
.

 

Otter sighs. “Been thinking about that, huh? I wondered why you hadn’t brought it up yet.”

 

“Maybe I was waiting for you to do it.”

 

He tugs on my hair a bit harder. “I thought we were going to get better at this whole ‘talking to each other’ thing.”

 

“Talking about it now, right?”

He gives me that one, but adds the caveat: “Well, yes, but only after you’ve probably stewed on it and made it worse in your head, Bear. You forget you can’t bullshit me. I know you.”