Page 15

Kobe

It occurs to me it’s been over a week since Apollo and I last spoke when I see him walk across the Dollhouse floor with a client by his side, looking as handsome and ethereal as ever. He hasn’t reached out to me. Hasn’t pushed for contact more than the acknowledging nod here and there. I somewhat expected him to, but he’s respected my demand for space. It has helped my anger and frustration at him to dissipate almost completely.

Jasper hasn’t given me any more reasons to worry, either. He’s been as scarily unpredictable and moody, but no weird remarks or comments hinting at anything about me or Apollo. Even if a part of me is still paranoid, I choose to believe he’s okay with it, like he claimed. Like they both do.

In fact, everything seems to get on the right track in my life. And just as that thought enters my mind, I feel my phone buzz inside my pocket. Moments like these nearly have me believe in the existence of some higher power, because only some all-knowing being could have this sense of humor.

Skyler’s school is calling me—that never means anything good.

Trey, who’s walking in front of me as we head to Jasper’s office, pauses when he notices me stopping and turns to me.

“I need to take this,” I blurt.

He waves his hand, as careless as ever. “I’ll tell the boss you’re on the way. Just don’t be too long.” I nod sharply and while he continues up the stairs, I turn around to hurry into one of the side rooms down the hall.

Goddamn you, whoever is in charge of this shitshow we call life. What is it now?

“Hello?” I say quickly. The sharp breath on the other side tells me that the person must’ve been close to hanging up.

“Oh, hello! Mr. Saber. This is Miss Hammond, Skyler’s primary teacher.” I’m glad it’s her calling and not the headmaster. Unlike him, Miss Hammond’s a gentle, understanding lady. She’s been working with Sky for about three years and has helped him with learning and independence a lot. “I hope I’m not bothering you at work. We have two primary contact numbers here, so I wasn’t sure—”

“Y-Yeah, that’s fine,” I cut her off unintentionally. Marci is in the hospital, getting her monthly treatment anyway. “Did something happen?” I stare at the wall in front of me, holding my breath, half from stress, half to hear if anyone’s coming.

“There was an incident, but I assure you, nothing terribly serious!” She clarifies quickly, using that sweet tone of voice she probably does with her students. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop my heart from galloping like it’s fighting for its life. An incident? “Skyler has been treated by the school nurse and she determined there is no need to call an ambulance. So please, rest assured, he is okay.”

“What happened?” I try not to sound as on edge as I am, but might not be very successful.

Miss Hammond makes the sort of concerned, pitying sigh people do before saying something bad. “Skyler had an argument with another student, Dylan, today. A teacher stepped in to help them resolve it, but Skyler got a bit frustrated and threw a small paperweight she had on her desk against the nearby cabinet. It happened to bounce off very awkwardly and hit him in the forehead. This resulted in a minor wound the school nurse had already tended to. He won’t need stitches.”

I push out a tense breath.

Okay, okay. This could have been worse.

But it still is. Skyler hates being hurt. Injuries, blood, medical stuff. Hates it.

“How is he?”

“He’s a bit shaken and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. I thought it best for him to get some alone time in the relaxation room until—”

“I’ll come and talk to him,” I say sharply, even though my chest tightens over the decision. I’ve missed far too many moments like these. Skyler needs to know I’m here for him, before he stops believing that and starts pushing me away.

“I think he’d like that. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

I thank her and end the call, leaning against the wall behind me. Rubbing my eyes, I try to settle my buzzing mind.

Jasper . His demanding face appears in front of me. There’s no fucking way he’d be happy to give me this pass to go out and deal with my family while I was already supposed to be in his office right now, getting orders for what to do for the rest of the day. But I’ve seen the guys disappear for hours at a time sometimes, seemingly without reason, and him only telling them off lightheartedly.

Then again, I’m new, and might still be on thin ice because of all that stuff with Apollo…

“Screw it,” I mutter, and start typing a text to Trey. What is it they say? Ask for forgiveness, not for permission?

Saying that I have some urgent family business to take care of and will be back within an hour, I rush to the car. As I’m starting the engine, I get a typical Trey response in the form of a thumbs up emoji. I don’t have time to wonder if he relayed my message to Jasper in an appropriate tone or stress over his reaction.

I order myself to worry about what’s really important—my little brother.

I torture myself with the extensive list of every single time I’ve failed Skyler recently on my way to his school. The traffic doesn’t help. Tapping on the wheel in an exceedingly faster tempo, I beat myself up in my mind, even wondering if I truly am any better at taking care of him than Mom.

Those were my last words to her before they locked her up, and I never visited her again.

Shaking my head, I force myself to take a deep breath. Of course I’m better than her. If Marci was here with me, she would tell me the same thing. It just turns out life isn’t as easy as I thought it would be when I was a teenager.

Unlike Mom, I’m at least willing to sacrifice anything to be there for him. She never could do that. She never could forgo a drink or give up on some money to protect her own child. Still, I hope I won’t have to sacrifice too much because of this. If I’m lucky, Jasper will only assign me some more ungrateful work and maybe terrorize me with that death stare of his for a bit.

Of course, the problem with his death stare is that it can easily become more than symbolic. But that’s an issue for later.

I let out a sigh of relief when I finally park outside Skyler’s school. With a singular goal in my mind, I dash through the halls and corridors, cursing at myself when I barely remember which direction is his usual classroom.

Yet another reminder of how hands off I’ve been.

The tall ginger I recognize to be Miss Hammond at the end of the hall spots me before I do her. She pauses on her way into the room. “Mr. Saber,” she says with that optimistic, airy smile she always has. With how patient one has to be with these kids, day after day, I admire her for doing the work she does. Clearly, she does it well, too.

“Hi,” I say when I finally step toward her. I extend my hand and shake hers, and even though there’s not a hint of anything but saint-like pleasantness on her face, I’m berated by my own thoughts telling me that she must judge what a horrible caretaker I am.

Surely, she figured that Skyler’s negative behavior reflects his home life. Does she think about all the times Marci came to the school instead of me while she shakes my hand and smiles politely? Did Skyler tell her how many promises I’ve broken recently?

“I can see you’re worried,” she says, gently taking both my hands into hers and squeezing them. I blink at her gentle touch, but she releases it abruptly, most likely toeing some kind of line between professionalism and candidness. “Let me take you to him.” Miss Hammond gestures for me to follow her, and I do.

We walk through the fairly quiet and empty hall and turn right.

“According to my colleague describing it, the way the paperweight bounced off to hit Skyler was really something hard to believe! I told him he was pretty good at throwing things, but he should probably keep it to the baseball court. It got a little chuckle out of him at least.”

I smile to myself. He loves ball games. “I’m glad no one else was hurt.”

“Oh, no. Skyler never is violent with others,” she says quickly, twisting in her waist to glance at me two steps behind her. “Dylan apologized as well. He was quite shaken about what happened. He blamed himself, even. I’d say they made up.”

“That’s good.” Dylan, Dylan, Dylan… I think I remember the kid from one of the school talent shows. He was the boy with Down Syndrome who did a comedy skit. He was pretty witty.

We finally arrive outside the door in the corner of the east wing, right next to the nurse’s station. Around the plaque saying ‘relaxation room’ are colorful stars and smiley faces.

“He’s in there. I’ll give you some time. Please, come speak to me in my office if you have questions. Oh, and I have a form for you to sign.”

“Thank you.”

After placing her hand on my shoulder briefly, Miss Hammond walks away. I stand in front of the door until the soft clicking of her heels quietens. I don’t know if I’m ready to see Skyler hurt and upset. It brings out too many memories I’d rather forget, but I swallow hard and push on the handle.

A soft pleasant is the first thing I notice when I walk in. It’s the sort of smell someone’s home would have. Fresh, gentle, familiar tranquilness .

My eyes scan the room, passing over the desk with four chairs by the door, the large potted plant next to the bookcase, over the mounted TV and all the way to the couch sitting against the wall. Skyler is on it, hunched over some book, or rather a comic, in his hand, and a few more spread out in front of him on the coffee table. There are jars with pencils as well, and a big box of puzzles to the right.

He straightens his back the moment he sees me. His eyes widen, and I already see the pool of emotion swirling behind his unsteady expression that he tries to maintain with all his might.

I draw my brows together, smiling softly, and walk toward him.

The wound doesn’t look too bad, thankfully. Just above his temple, three transparent strips hold the maybe inch long line closed up. His skin around it is a bit angry and red, but nothing close to the horrendous scenarios my mind produced.

“I’m sorry they called you,” he nearly whispers, his voice so small and fragile.

My throat closes and cheeks heat at the sight and sound of him. I sit next to him and tenderly place my open hand against his back. “It’s okay, Sky. You got hurt. I had to make sure you were okay.”

“I-I’m fine,” he says. With each word, his voice becomes weaker. I watch him squeeze the pages of the comic in his hands, scrunching it, so I gently pull it out so that he doesn’t ruin it. Skyler hangs his head down, refusing to look at me. “It was my fault, anyway…”

“Doesn’t make you not hurt.”

I feel him tremble under my touch, and see his hands shake, too, as he balls them into fists in his lap. Sometimes, it is as if I’m on an island across from him, so close yet never capable of crossing that gap. No matter how much I try to learn or understand, it feels hopeless, and like I’ll never be able to relate to him the way he needs me to. All my aching heart wants is for him to not be alone on that island.

“Hey,” I whisper, seeing him spiral into panic with his breaths getting faster and shallower. I grab his hand and with my thumbs running into his palms, gently force them to open. From his stretched out, cold fingers, all the way to his wrists, I slowly massage and squeeze his hands with intention and the right amount of pressure.

Skyler lets out a trembling breath, and I can tell his mind is settling a little. He bobs his head, swallowing deliberately with his eyes closed.

I’m glad we found a reliable method to release some of his stress. Even long before he got diagnosed or before I began learning about how to handle his way of being, I would do this. It started that day when we hid in Mom’s closet after one of her unsavory friends burst into the apartment looking for money she owed. I remember holding him in my lap, one hand against his mouth and another pressing at his chest tightly, brushing up and down to soothe him. He was so upset and scared in the cramped darkness of the closet, probably as much as I was, and yet as I felt his back against my chest and his heart beating against it, the wild tempo of it settled with each stroke.

Then, there was that time when Marci got a massage for her migraine, and Skyler and I had to go with her, otherwise we would have to stay in the apartment alone again. The masseur gave Skyler a little sample at the end, because he was ‘such a cute kid’. It was the moment I realized that it might have been a pleasant way for Skyler to calm down. Something to do with helping to regulate his sensory system…

“I’m sorry,” I say, staring at his hands blankly. The guilt bubbles up my throat like stomach bile, so I clench my teeth and swallow.

“Why?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused.

I sigh and shake my head. “You know why. You’re angry at me for being away so much, and then you don’t know how to handle that anger, and it builds and…” I glance at the wound, twisting my face into a grimace of shame and desperation.

Sometimes it feels like everything was better before I started working for Mr. Wilson. Sure, we hardly had enough money to live. Skyler had barely any specialized care or support, and Marci couldn’t afford the more advanced treatment, but…we were closer. Present in a very real way. It was as if the hardships we experienced every day were the price for having my family, and knowing they were worth it made me that much more determined to keep trying for them.

Did I try too hard? Went too far in the wrong direction?

“I know you have to work. I’m not stupid,” he says. Sharply, I look up to see his begrudging frown. “I just don’t want you to disappear forever like Mom did. Sometimes I’m scared you will.”

I stop massaging his hands abruptly. “I would never . You know I would never.”

Skyler averts his gaze. “You can’t promise that sort of thing,” he mumbles. The realization hits me that I, indeed, can’t in good conscience promise him that. In my line of work, especially. A sad reality I try to ignore as much as I can. Even worse, Skyler is aware of that. I’d rather him stay a clueless kid for a while longer…

“I try my best, Sky.”

His expression is marked with determination. “I do, too.”

Smirking, I cup the side of his face in my hand and stare at him, wondering where the time has gone. “You know what Marci says—we can fail, but we should never stop trying.”

“She never fails at anything,” he says, rolling back his eyes. The tone of his voice is somewhat lighter, making me smile. If only he understood Marci saying that is for her more about pushing through every day without losing hope, living with a chronic disease, rather than the more trivial things.

As if in reaction to my pensive expression, Skyler frowns and jerks away from my touch, even if his annoyance doesn’t seem entirely serious. “I’m not a baby. Stop inflant…infal…inf…” Pausing, he groans with frustration, darting his eyes somewhere behind me while moving his lips as he tries to reach for the word escaping him.

I chuckle. “Infantilizing?” I propose in a gentle, non-patronizing way.

“That,” Skyler mumbles, giving me a disgruntled smirk as a thanks.

I feel myself relax at the pleasant change in the atmosphere between us, at least until my eyes randomly pass across the clock on the wall and I notice the time has passed much faster than I thought.

“ Shit ,” I curse under my breath. “I…I gotta go back to work.” And I so don’t want to. For a moment there, I forgot about everything happening outside. About the present and the past and my responsibilities. Only being with Skyler could do that to me. Ever since Mom brought him home, I saw that little face of his, and his tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb like they were never gonna let go.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he says bravely, expanding his chest with a deep inhale. “Really.”

I still feel horrible about having to leave. “Does it hurt a lot?” I ask, glancing at the wound.

“I’m trying to ignore it. Nurse said my head will hurt for a while.”

I stand up. Unable to resist, I rub my hand in his spiky, short hair like I used to when he was younger, taking care not to touch the spot. “Alright. You’re not a baby, so…I’ll believe you. Marci has her treatment today, don’t forget. She’ll need some peace and quiet when she’s home, okay? So please, help her and listen to what she says when you get back. I can count on you, even if you’re in a bit of pain, right?”

“ Yeaaah ,” he lets out the sound of a typical teenager lacking in enthusiasm. “I know.”

I bump his shoulder with my fist before stepping away. “And please, stay clear of paperweights from now on.” Skyler tries, but he can’t resist smiling, despite flashing me that annoyed expression. “And maybe from Dylan, just in case.”

“He says the dumbest things sometimes.”

The ticking hand of the clock has moved even further in those few moments, making me anxiously shift on my feet. “We all do sometimes. I’m gonna get you little something on my way home to make you feel better. But I’m not sure when I’ll be finished with work.”

I notice the disappointment flash behind his eyes when I say that. His shoulders sink somewhat. “Okay.”

“Alright, bud. See you soon.” I pat him one more time and head for the door. Hopefully, Jasper lets me return home today after what I pulled. Either way, it was worth it.

Whatever relief I got from the nice brotherly moment with Skyler has pretty much evaporated by the time I get out of the car outside the Dollhouse. I order my body to stop betraying me, to stop making me shake like some wet cat, even if I know that’s exactly what I’ll be in a few moments, standing in front of Jasper and his doberman-like aura.

I check my phone again on my way to the office. No new messages, no calls.

A group of guys pass me on the stairs, barely paying me any attention. Hopefully that means there isn’t a kill order on my head.

Once I’m on the top floor, I proceed toward the door at the end. It almost seems to get smaller and smaller, some mirage of my eternally overthinking mind. Gibbs keeps guard outside, standing there with a bored expression, but not on his phone like most would. He doesn’t look at me as though I’m an enemy of the state, either.

This is fine. Everything is going to be fine.

“Is he in?” I ask, pleased at the fact that my voice is actually steady. Gibbs nods, knocks on the door for me, and steps out of the way.

After another steadying breath, I step in the second I hear the agreeable sound from inside. Jasper sits in his chair, leaning back with a leg hanging over his desk. He tilts his head curiously to the side when his eyes find me. A smirk flashes across his face.

“Boss,” I say, bowing my head. I close the door behind me and come closer. “Can I have a moment? It’s about—”

“Less than an hour?” he asks, cocking his brow. “One hour and…” he pauses, briefly glancing at his computer screen, “eighteen minutes.”

I gulp, trying to wash down the lump growing inside my throat.

Jasper’s laughter makes me jerk. He sits straight in the chair and keeps chuckling while shaking his head. “You omegas always get so flustered when put on the spot,” he says, voice overflowing with amusement. “Relax…” he murmurs, like I’m ruining the fun. “I give everyone a pass here and there. I’m no dictator.”

Hmm, sure. OSHA would love this place.

“I appreciate it, boss,” I say, keeping my voice firm to not satisfy his stupid prejudice. “I never would’ve left it wasn’t important. Or if there was anything else I was already asked to do.”

“Trey said something about your family, huh?”

My whole being tightens at the thought of talking with him about my personal life. Like he’s the dangerous stranger we’ve been taught not to give identifying information to online as kids. It’s his eyes and his aura. Everything about him tells me to be careful and to not show weakness.

“Yes,” I say with a nod. Unfortunately, I have to entertain him with a better answer than that, so I hesitantly elaborate. “My little brother. He got hurt at school.”

“Oh my,” he says, feigning care. His tone borders on mocking, but I choose to ignore it. “Family… The most important thing, they say. How old is he, this brother of yours?”

Just keep giving boring, simple answers, Kobe. He must tire of this soon enough. It’s not like he actually cares.

“Fourteen. He has—” I nearly let that same old song take over me, stopping myself at the last second. People who don’t know Skyler always ask about him, and I always have to explain, briefly and in a way that doesn’t make a big deal out of it, to stop them from looking at him in that weird, pitying manner, as if he’s some sick puppy. “He’s fourteen, yeah.”

Unfortunately, Jasper notices my hesitancy. He can tell that wasn’t what I was about to say. It clearly piqued his interest. Those piercing eyes lock with mine. “And?”

Fuck. I hate this.

I tighten my fist behind my back until my nails dig painfully into my palms. “He needs special care, so I had to make sure he was okay. He’s the only family I have,” I say, hoping he might understand. Jasper hates his father, but surely there must be someone—anyone—in this world and in his family that he loves. Or loved.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks bluntly.

Nothing , a voice in my head thunders. Nothing is wrong with him.

I hate that goddamn question. I despise it. But once again, I have to remind myself that this isn’t just some seemingly well-meaning, uneducated stranger on the street or in a store. And I very much doubt Jasper would be open to me educating him about all of this.

Steadying myself with a deep breath, I push the words out. “He has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome,” I say calmly. His brows shoot up again, this time in a genuinely curious manner. He doesn’t know what that means, of course. Reminding myself that maybe this will at least give me some leeway, even if it isn’t for the right reasons, I continue. “He’s just a few years younger cognitively than he should be. Has…issues with some everyday things. His memory, problem-solving, controlling his emotions. Stuff like that. He’s a good kid, though. Smart. He just needs a different approach.”