Prologue
Nothing Stays the Same
Deacon stood on the porch, watching the plain tan four-door sedan turn into the driveway. Without a word, his father and mother left him there as they went out to meet the dressed-up woman climbing out of the driver’s side.
They exchanged words Deacon couldn’t hear. Though, he wanted to. He wanted to know what was being said between the three of them and how it would affect him.
His mom had said his Aunt Trixie and Uncle Ox had gotten into trouble and were in jail, so his cousins now had nothing and no one.
Deacon didn’t know much about his aunt and uncle because his mother didn’t want anything to do with her brother and his wife. He’d heard his parents talking about them in the past, and the word “trouble” always came up. Along with some other words he wasn’t allowed to say unless he wanted to be grounded.
So, he didn’t really know his cousins—the ones who no longer had parents to take care of them—even though they hadn’t lived far away at all.
He was only told this morning, while he was eating his Corn Pops, that his cousins, Judd and Jemma, were coming to stay with them.
People, who were practically strangers, were coming to stay in their house.
When his mother told him that, he dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl and splashed milk onto the kitchen table. He quickly used his napkin to clean it up before his father saw it. But Deacon said nothing until he was told he’d have to share his bedroom with Judd.
“What? Why?” How was that fair?
His mother had narrowed her brown eyes on him. “Because they have nowhere else to go except into the system. And we only have three bedrooms in this house. One needs to be for Jemma. That means you’ll have to share yours with Judd.”
“Why can’t they go into the system?” He didn’t want to share his room with anyone else. He didn’t want to share his parents with other kids.
He was happy the way things were.
And, anyway, Judd wasn’t even his age. He was like a million years older. Why would the teenager want to share a bedroom with a ten-year-old?
“Because despite the way my brother lived his life, they are family,” his mother said. “They didn’t choose this, they are victims of circumstance.”
Whatever that meant.
Deacon jutted out his jaw and pounded his fist on the table, making the cereal bowl jump. “But I don’t wanna share my room!”
Deacon’s heart began to thud as his father took three long strides over to him and cuffed him upside the head. “Boy, you have everything. They have nothing. You will share your room, your toys and everything else you have with your cousins. And I don’t want to hear a word about it. They’ve already been through enough and they don’t need to hear you whining like a damn crybaby.”
“But Dad—”
“Not another damn word about it, boy. They’re coming here because we’re all they have. What if it was you, huh? What if something happened to me and your mother and no one gave a shit enough about you to take you in? You’d end up in some foster home and probably spend the rest of your life in and out of the system. They’ve had no guidance in their life. They need that and a roof over their heads. And we’re going to provide it.”
Deacon’s bottom lip had trembled as he stared at the sweetened yellow puffed corn floating in the lukewarm milk.
But now, not even an hour after choking down the last of that soggy cereal, he stood on the porch and watched as his cousins got out of the back of the car and, when the woman popped the trunk open, his father grabbed two small garbage bags from it.
They didn’t have suitcases? That was all they had?
As his mother reached to pick up a five-year-old Jemma, Judd pushed past her, grabbed his sister and lifted her up instead. Jemma clung to her sixteen-year-old brother with her tear-stained face buried in his neck.
Why was she crying? She was getting her own damn room. Unlike Deacon. And his room wasn’t even big enough for two beds.
His father, carrying the black plastic bags, headed toward the house.
Judd stood in the driveway, his sister in his arms, staring at Deacon’s father’s back, then his gaze landed on Deacon. He couldn’t tell if Judd was mad or sad, or what, because the kid’s expression never changed.
It remained blank.
His mother wrapped an arm around Judd’s shoulders and steered him toward the house. She said something to him, but Judd didn’t respond. He just walked, holding on to Jemma tightly. Like he was afraid someone would steal her from him.
Just like he was about to steal Deacon’s room. Deacon’s life.
As his father climbed the porch steps and passed him, he muttered, “You better drop the attitude, boy. I can see it on your face and so can they. You might not have asked for this, but neither did they. I’m sure they would’ve been happier staying where they were, not getting uprooted like this. So, you better think twice before you say something stupid to either of your cousins, you hear me?”
Deacon couldn’t unglue his gaze from those two cousins, who were approaching his house. Neither of them would even be fun to hang out with. Judd was too old. Jemma too young.
“You hear me, boy?”
“Yes,” he forced out between clenched teeth.
His dad gave a sharp nod and went inside, the springs on the wooden screen door squeaking as it slammed and bounced against the frame behind him.
Deacon spread his feet wide and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to move out of their way as they stepped onto the porch.
His mother released a disappointed sigh as she went around him, but Judd stopped right in front of him. He waited until Deacon’s mother went inside, then his cousin, much taller than Deacon, said, “Think I wanna share a room with a spoiled, snot-nosed shit like you? You think I got a choice to be here? I’m only doin’ it for my sister, that’s all.” Judd leaned down and sneered right in Deacon’s face. “So, get the fuck over it, twerp. What’s mine is mine and now what’s yours is mine, too. Get used to it. Now, get the fuck outta my way.”
Deacon stared at him for a few seconds longer. Then he moved, but not fast enough. Judd clipped Deacon’s shoulder as he pushed forward, knocking Deacon to the side.
Judd paused in front of the door and said over his shoulder, “You do anything bad to my sister, I’ll beat the shit outta you.”
“You touch me and I’ll tell my Dad.”
“Then he’ll beat the shit outta you, too. Your pop told me he’s glad I’m not a pussy boy like you.” Judd jerked open the screen door and carried Jemma inside.
Before the screen door slammed shut, he saw Jemma’s face peek out from Judd’s neck and she stuck her tongue out at Deacon.
Deacon rubbed at the burn in his eyes and the sting in his nose. He tore down the porch steps and out to the shed, where he grabbed his prized BMX bike, which he refused to share, and hopped on it. He pedaled until he couldn’t pedal anymore, until his lungs were burning and he lost track of time.
By the time he got home, it was dark and past his curfew. After he put his bike back in the shed, he came around the corner of the house to find his father waiting for him on the porch in the rocking chair. Rocking and waiting. Probably getting more ticked by the second.