Walking up to his back, I wrap my arms around his waist. We're a freezing wet mess like we were the night of the hurricane.
He turns and squeezes me close to his body.
The strength of his hug tells me we'll get through this together somehow.
***
After we warmed up in the shower and dried Blizzard by the heater, we gathered in the kitchen. The coroner and the police had left. They didn't arrest Foster because we had video of the entire incident on Knox's phone.
Foster had become withdrawn and didn't say anything except for what he told the police, which was the total truth about what happened.
"We have to go back to New York." Foster's eyes are dazed and distant.
"Why?"
"We have to bury your father." His voice is monotone.
Of all the thoughts running through my mind, this was not one of them. How my dad is memorialized doesn't mean much to me right now. I'd mourned the loss of my father many months ago when I left him. Now I feel no remorse at all. Maybe I'm in shock and it'll sink in later.
Foster runs his hands through his hair. "When I saw him holding a knife to your throat..."
"When you were under the water and I couldn't see you, my heart stopped. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
"I thought I'd take my own life. Wouldn't want to go on living knowing your beautiful smile wouldn't greet me in the mornings." He presses his hand to my cheek.
"Okay. That's enough. Can we save the sentimental crap till after we leave the room?" Knox says with a sleepy Sutton standing next to him.
I laugh and change the subject. "Blizzard was a hero tonight. He's only a puppy. He warned me and swam toward you to save you."
"Good dog." Foster scratches Blizzard's nape.
Blizzard looks at us like, hey, I'm a wolf-husky. It's what I do.
"You're a badass dog and you know it," I say.
How lucky am I to have these guys around?
"Thank you for coming home early," I say to Knox, Mace, and Remy.
"You were handling him pretty well, but still could use some more self-defense training." Mace puts his hands on his hips and cocks one knee out.
I nod. "Yeah. I can't swim, bike, and run my way out of an attack like that."
"Well, he had a knife so not much you could have done without a weapon," Foster says.
"We need more guns in this place," Knox replies.
"Shotgun is all we need up here." Foster shakes his head.
"After tonight, we need handguns and rifles." Knox's eyes are dark and laser focused on Foster. We've touched on this subject a couple of times and it's always a sore spot for Foster. He doesn't want to arm a bunch of teenagers with serious emotional baggage.
"You expecting more attackers?" Foster squints at him.
"Good to be prepared," Knox replies. Mace and Remy nod.
"There's a chance my family would come out to seek revenge," I say. "I guess we'll find out how loyal to him they really were."
Foster chews his bottom lip and keeps his gaze on Knox and the boys. "You depend on a gun, you won't learn to fight with your fists."
"You bring your fists to a gunfight, you lose," Knox counters. He's too street wise for his age.
"We'll talk later." Foster's eyebrows draw together. I hope we don't end up needing more guns up here, but if there's a chance, it makes sense to be prepared.
Chapter 25 The Round Table
Foss
After months of qualifying rounds and a grueling semi-final match, I can't believe I'm at the Round Table finals. Last year's winner, Bruce, waits for me in the octagon at the end of the obstacle course. My blood has been replaced with adrenaline and pure power. There's no room for fear of failure. I've practiced, I have my family watching and cheering in my corner, I have to win this.
They play my story up on the preview screen. They make a huge deal about "Foster the foster-care failure." God, I hate that moniker, but it gets the crowd on my side. The sad music changes to triumphant and they show me with Mila, then they go through each of the semi-final matches. They spend some time on the blood from my mouth after some huge Russian guy nailed me on my second-semi-final round. It bled a lot so it made good T.V. but I came back and clocked the guy and got him on a TKO.
"Tonight is the night. His family is here cheering him on." The crowd roars as they cut to Mila, Knox, Sutton, Mace and Remy. We adopted all of them this year. They're all wearing shirts that say "Foster for the win!"
The buzzer rings and I'm off. I've practiced this a million times. It's not about the fastest speed. It's about accuracy. Climbing the rails, a stunt where you have to ratchett the bar up five levels is my greatest challenge. You have to keep the bar straight. If one side tips lower than the other, you drop thirty feet into the water.
In this case, my fear of water has helped me because I don't want to fall in.
I finish that challenge and the crowd roars. Two seconds to catch a breath and I'm climbing the wall.
After the wall, I manage to negotiate through the forest of doom, reverse hold pull-ups while swinging like Tarzan.
I make it to the platform before the water feature. I have to jump in, turn a handle while underwater to open a small door and swim through. This is the one that held me back all these years, but it's time to face it.
The door on the water challenge sticks shut, and I have to go up for a second breath. I lost seconds, but I only have to beat Bruce's previous time. My second attempt cracks the door and I crank it open, swim through, and I'm up and out on the other side.
I climb the last rope ladder and smack the buzzer. A jumbo green sign lights up that says "Winner." I beat Bruce's time. Now I get to fight him. It's a long walk up a steep staircase to the raised octagon. Bruce is waiting there for me, muscles puffed up, jaw tight, shoulders high.
The lights reflect off his bald head. I've been studying his style. He's weak on his left side and he consistently comes out with a kick-punch combo.
His big advantage is he didn't do the course today. He's fresh. Hopefully he's cold, because I'm hot as hell and I feel like I could climb the Statue of Liberty.
The ref goes over the rules. They follow typical MMA rules, which are more restrictive than the underground fights. No dirty shots in the octagon, but essentially I'm free to kick his ass however I prefer. He's been talking smack about me, saying I'm the skinny kid because I'm lean compared to his bulk.
I'm not pulling any punches for him. I'm going to start with his ugly face. I rush him and he dances around, trying to tire me out. "I can go all night, asshole."
"Fuck you," he says.
He leads with his kick punch combo but I grab his leg and twist him off balance. That's my in.
I'm in the zone. I'm not even sure what he's doing because I'm throwing everything I got at him. Full-force kicks and punches in rapid succession. Good. Blood.
This riles him up and he lands a kick to my side. He's adjusting to my style so I have to pivot.
Let's take this to the mat.
He throws a punch, and I let it land on my gut. It hurts but gives me the chance to grab his wrist, get in there, and get an arm around his neck. He fights it by staying up on one knee, so I jump up and over him while wrenching his arm back. This forces his back to the mat and I'm on him.