Her nephew shot up to a seated position and extended his hand in an entitled belligerent manor. “You can’t take that, I need it for schoolwork.”
Shit. Ali’s mind raced as she searched her nephew’s light green irises for any hint of deception.
Was he lying?
Was he telling the truth?
She had no idea.
A year and a half in as his legal guardian, she’d yet to develop any kind of parental radar skills. Her bullshit meter was either broken or non-existent. She was officially in over her head and since he and his twin brother had only just entered the dreaded teen years, she was afraid the worst was yet to come.
Trying to get a clue as to whether KJ actually needed the device for scholastic reasons, she looked down again to see if she could figure out what he’d been watching. It didn’t take much detective work since the YouTube video was still playing. It was an MMA fight that she’d seen at least a dozen times, which for her was a dozen times too many.
“This is not schoolwork.”
“Yes, it is! It’s for my essay.”
“What essay?”
“The essay I have to write on who my hero is.”
No. Not that. Not him.
Of course she knew that her nephew looked up to the man that he was named after. Kade Jameson McKnight, the twins’ godfather, was an MMA fighter who got more press for his extra-curricular behavior than he did for his profession. He’d been the reigning Bad Boy of MMA for nearly ten years, which was not an easy title to gain much less hold. That line of work didn’t normally attract choir boys. To stand out as trouble in it was quite a feat.
She didn’t want to discourage KJ from doing the assignment, as getting him to do any homework at all was like pulling teeth, but she wanted to guide him in a different direction so she suggested, “Why don’t you write it on—”
“You can’t tell me who to do my project on. I already emailed Uncle Kade the questions!” His anger was palpable as he grabbed the iPad from her hand.
“He’s not your uncle.” She knew that she was being petty but it was better than what she’d wanted to say which was, He’s not your uncle, he’s an asshole who showed up at your dad’s funeral drunk with a stripper, got in a fight with the caterer, and then when he found out that he was as legally responsible for both of you as I was, disappeared, leaving me to raise you and your brother alone.”
Considering the alternative…petty wasn’t so bad.
Ali knew that she wouldn’t get anything accomplished by arguing with her nephew and if she didn’t start dinner now she wouldn’t have it done before he left for jiu-jitsu, so she decided a strategic retreat was the best move.
If there was one thing she’d learned over the past eighteen months, it was to pick her battles. As much as she wished her nephew being rude was one of the fights she could take on, it wasn’t. Vandalizing property, getting in fights in school, drinking, stealing—all of which he’d done—were much higher on her list of priorities than a bad attitude. At this point she just wanted to get him to eighteen alive and without a juvenile record, which the way he was going seemed almost impossible.
“Clean your room,” she instructed as she made her way back through the mess, even though she knew it was pointless.
Before she’d even made it out into the hall, he yelled, “Shut the door!”
She did.
And then she leaned back against it as tears formed in her eyes. She and KJ used to be so close. They’d had a secret handshake and shared inside jokes. She used to be the person he’d come to with any problems he had. Now, their relationship was combative and distant. She’d been told, by more than one person, kids take out their anger on the person they feel the safest with. If that was the case, KJ must feel really safe with her.
She sniffed as she took in a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. It was becoming glaringly obvious that she was doing a horrible job raising the twins and she was letting down her hero, her brother Patrick.
Growing up, neither of them knew who their father, or fathers, were. Their mother was an alcoholic who’d been in and out of jail for DUIs multiple times before she’d wrapped her car around a pole and died. Ali was twelve at the time and Patrick was eighteen. He’d petitioned the court and with the help of some influential members in the Whisper Lake community, he was able to gain custody of his sister. She’d only had to spend a year in foster care, but it had been a nightmare. She wasn’t sure she would’ve survived if she’d had to be there until she’d turned eighteen.
So, three years later when Patrick’s girlfriend took off and left him and their twins before their first birthday, Ali had been more than happy to step up and help take care of the boys. Patrick didn’t like to ask for help, but she pitched in any way she could.
She’d loved being an aunt. She was a kickass aunt. She could’ve won awards for her aunting.
When she turned eighteen and her brother had asked her to be the twin’s legal guardian if anything should happen to him she hadn’t hesitated, but she’d never thought she’d be called on to actually do it. When he’d told her that he would also be leaving her their grandfather’s house and business Whisper Lake Rentals, she’d said great, never in a million years thinking either would come to pass.
In her eyes, her brother was invincible. He was larger than life. He was her hero. But she found out that brain aneurisms didn’t care about any of that.
It had been eighteen months, three days, and seven hours since her brother’s tragic and sudden death. She missed him so much her body physically ached. Her grief often caused flu-like symptoms that seemed so real she’d been to see Dr. Williams on several occasions, only to be told that she needed rest, which she interpreted as him telling her, “It’s in your head.”
Ali felt so lost, so scared, and so alone without Patrick in this world.
She closed her eyes and tried to hear his voice, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t. For as long as she could remember, whenever she was scared or nervous, or overwhelmed, he’d look her straight in the eye and say, “You got this.” Whether it was being afraid to fall asleep because she was having nightmares, facing a bully at school, or even being taken away by a social worker after being told her mother was dead, all her brother had to do was lock eyes with her and say, “You got this” and she believed him.
Whenever Patrick said that phrase she was instantly infused with confidence. Whatever she was facing suddenly wasn’t as terrifying. For the first few months after his death, all she’d had to do was close her eyes and she could see and hear him saying those three magic words. Lately, though, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t.
The dryer buzzed loudly downstairs and she pushed off the wall, wiped her tear-stained cheeks, and put one foot in front of the other, just like she’d been doing for the past year and a half.
As she started down the stairs, she saw her other nephew, Patrick Benjamin Walsh Jr. sitting at the kitchen table reading The Lord of the Rings.
When the twins were born, Patrick named his first born after himself and when KJ showed up ten minutes later he named him after his best friend Kade. The boys were called Ricky and KJ so as not to confuse them with Patrick and Kade version 1.0.