A smile cracked my stern mask, but I didn’t try to curb it. “How about we do one more Christmas activity, you take a bath because you stink like sweaty gingerbread men, and then you go to bed after that?”
How a seven-year-old kid could bargain with me better than seasoned mafiosos and accomplished businessmen was beyond my understanding. But Brando grinned as if he’d won the lottery, slipped off the counter onto the green stool we’d bought for him and then scampered over to me to shake my hand. I took it soberly in mine for a firm shake.
“Bianca always reads me ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas,” he told me with a sly look. “And she lets me eat all the cookies I want before bed.”
“Lies,” I warned, pinching his sides to make him squeal with laughter. “I’ve done my own research, buddy, and too much sugar can trigger one of your episodes. You don’t want to be tired on Christmas, do you?”
He frowned, considering it for a moment. “No, I guess not.”
“Wise man.” I took his little, icing sugar sticky hand in mine and tugged him into the front parlor we’d put one of the Christmas trees in.
Ezra followed with a plate of cookies, Walcott with a tray of mugs filled with hot chocolate (with Baileys for the adults) and Henrik with his pink guitar. We all settled into the couches, Brandon tucked under my arm with his feet up on Ezra’s thick thighs.
Something uncoiled inside me, a tension I’d lived with for so long I hadn’t realized it even existed until it released itself. This was the Christmas tableau I hadn’t had since I was a boy, my family cozying up around the tree, happy and full of seasonal treats. Brando leaned his entire weight into my body, cheek to my chest as if I wasn’t some monster to be feared but a man who would always support him and protect him. It was the truth, but it moved through me like a religious revelation. I felt changed by the simple act of his implicit trust in me.
There was no way in hell I’d ever let anything happen to this boy who had already lived through so much misery in his short life. I would love him every single fucking day until the end of my days and then I’d haunted him here in Lion Court after I bequeathed it to Bianca and him to make sure he was fine for the rest of his life.
“I’m happy you’re here,” I told him in a voice as raw torn flesh as I reached into my chest to rip a piece of my heart off to place in his keeping.
“Me too,” Brando said, yawning widely so I could count all of his tiny teeth. Picasso jumped up onto the couch and curled over the length of his body. He rubbed a hand over his dog’s head and sleepily looked up at me. “If Anca was here, it’d be the perfect Christmas.”
“She’ll be back soon,” I promised, smoothing a hand over his riotous curls before I picked the book up off the coffee table. I’d found a box of old Christmas things in one of the unused rooms in the house and the old book was at the bottom, a second edition that was crumbling at the edges.
Henrik played the guitar softly as I read the book to Brando. Ezra held both of his small feet in each massive hand as if Brando was his touchstone. Walcott sat in the chair across from us snapping photos on his phone when the mood struck him.
It was so sweet, it was almost enough to make me sick.
But it didn’t.
Far from it.
By the time I finished, Brando was dozing on my chest, drooling slightly into my cashmere sweater. Ezra offered to take him upstairs, but I wanted to be the one to do it if Bianca wasn’t there.
I ran a warm bath because the kid really did smell and he was sticky all the way up to his elbows with sugar, floor, and icing. He barely opened his eyes as I sat him in the swirling bubbles, propped up with one of my hands while I used a bowl and washcloth to gently clean him with the other.
“Tiernanny?” he murmured, huge blue eyes opening slightly to fix me with his stare. “Do you love me?”
I dropped the bowl into the tub. “Why’re you asking me that?”
He blinked. “Well, Mom loved us and she took care of us, too. You’re doing a good job even though I’m not really your kid. Does that mean you love me, too?”
A tumble of tangled words rolled up my tight throat and onto my tongue, but I couldn’t untangle them enough to speak eloquently. Instead, I just nodded slightly as I retrieved the bowl beneath the suds and set it on the side of the bath so I could soap up his blonde curls.
“I guess that means I love you very much,” I grumbled.
Brando nodded sagely, as if he’d known all along. “That’s good. I really love you, too. At first, I thought you were kinda scary like The Hulk, but you know, you’re both really nice guys when you’re not angry.”
My laugh was slightly choked. “Tip your head back, bud.” Carefully, I rinsed his hair, holding the back of his skull in my palm.
“You love Bianca too, right?” he asked with his eyes closed, trusting me to hold him upright. “But it’s different because you like to kiss her. That’s what boys and girls, or boys and boys, and girls and girls do when they like-like each other.”
“How do you know so much about that, huh?” I teased as I finished up and pulled the plug.
Brando shrugged as he stood up to get out of the tub. “Lots of girls in my class think I’m cute.”
This time my laughter rang out through the black tiled bathroom, echoing all around us. When I recovered, Brando was grinning at me.
I shook my head, engulfing his small form in a massive towel.
“I bet they do. Yeah, I guess you could say I like-like Bianca and I think she’s very cute.” My tone flattened, deepened as I chafed him all over then sat on the rim of the bath to pull him into my lap so we could talk face to face. “Actually, I love-love her.”
“Because she makes you smile?” he asked.
It was astonishing how simple and profound a child’s logic could be.
“Yeah, kid, because she makes me smile and I hadn’t smiled in a very long fucking time.”
He nodded, tucking his head under my chin sleepily. “I knew you guys would end up together, you know. The heroes always end up together in the comic books.”
I stared blankly ahead as his words filtered through my guarded heart.
The heroes.
This beautiful boy with a heart like an untouched diamond thought I was a hero and that I deserved the woman who had been his beacon in the dark for every one of his seven years of life.
If that wasn’t an honor, I didn’t know what was.
And those words spoken by a young boy somehow meant so much more than anything my father had ever said.
A lifetime of hatred felt so insignificant in the face of an ounce of kindness from Bianca and Brandon. It was almost enough to turn me into an utter fucking sap.
Brando fell asleep in my arms as I carried him to his bedroom with Picasso tight at my heels because the dog went everywhere his master did.
It was only when I’d tucked him into his Spiderman sheets that the heavy door knocker clanged throughout the house.
By the time I descended the stairs, Walcott had already greeted the guest and let him into the hall.
Beckett Fairchild stood there looking pale as a spectre.
“Tiernan,” he said, but I already knew what his next words would be. “Caroline is holding Bianca prisoner at the Compound.”