The Door's Open ~ Part III

            His dad had rented a hotel for the long weekend. Mason had been there; sat and watched TV, chatted and ordered take-out. He stalked to that same door now, trying to keep his feelings in check. God… if You can answer this one request, don’t let it have been for nothing.

            This past month hadn’t been anything spectacular. Danny had dropped by Mason’s work, they’d caught a movie, taken turns getting the check for dinner or the late-night drink. But it had been something. It showed that there was something to Mason and who he was. Mason tensed his fist before knocking on Danny’s door. It opened and Mason was struck again by the deep-set eyes and pointed chin he shared with his father. They lifted in a casual smile. “Mason! What’re you-“

            “Louis Oscar.” Mason cut him off. He waited any longer and the suspense would cut his own air off. “Tell me who he is and I’ll believe you.”

            Danny’s face bleached. “How do you know that name?”

            “My sister told me.” Mason said. “But it’s a coincidence, right? Some average Joe stuck with a painfully whacked name.”

            “Mason,” Danny widened the door, nodding him in. “Come in so we can talk.”

            “You just need to answer.” Mason’s stomach was twisting already. 
            Danny wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Who do you think Louis Oscar is?”

            “He’s the bottom feeder who dragged a six-year-old into prostitution!” Mason’s voice exploded, making Danny cringe back. But not fast enough to escape Mason gripping his shirt collar. “He’s Shelby’s pimp!!! Why do you have his number?”

            Danny didn’t answer him. Mason busted the door wide with his shoulder. He rammed Danny back into the desk with the other. “You wanted us to talk? TALK!” His hand clenched into the side of Danny’s neck. “I swear, if you do stuff to kids-“

            Danny snapped out of it and grabbed Mason’s wrist, eyes blazing. “Don’t even think that! Louis reached out to me, said that he could help us reconnect.”

            “For what?” Mason demanded.

            “Your address. That’s it.”

            “That didn’t sound a little off to you?” Mason’s breath came in short huffs. “What else?”

            Danny considered him; then blew out his breath. “Fifty thousand.”

            So that was it. He hadn’t been anything until it’d been worth something to the old man. Mason shoved him back, letting him hit the floor. “You must’ve really needed it.”

            He bolted out of the room and down the stairs to the parking lot. Mason didn’t give himself time to consider the emotions breaking his chest. He straddled his bike, slammed his helmet down, and popped the clutch. He roared out of the lot and down the street, into the harsh shadows of the sunset.

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            Hunter just wanted to wake up- or fall asleep. Anything to make this stop. He’d been getting ready for bed, fuming over how Mason had stormed out, when rough hands grabbed and dragged him to the living room. A twin goon had done the same with Brittany, using his gun to herd her and Claire in. Dad was sitting in his chair, blood on his cheek. Mom was on the floor, arms wrapped around a quivering Shelby.  

            “Dad-“ Hunter started, only to be pushed farther in. He bumped into Brittany, knocking her glasses off and onto the floor.

            “On their knees!” came an order and Hunter looked up to find a tall man with stubble and blond hair in a ponytail. Claire flinched as she was the first one pushed down. She was panting and sweating- panic attack.

            “Stop.” Brittany yanked the goon’s hand off Claire’s shoulder. “She’s-“

            “Shut up!” the guy backhanded her, putting her down with Claire. Hunter lunged, but he was held back by the other guy.

            “No, stop!” Mom cried. Hunter heard her tears and it infuriated him. He’d been right, hadn’t he? Louis Oscar had been the contact in Mr. Burke’s phone. Hunter prepped a kick.

            “Hunter!” Dad barked then and Hunter looked at him. Dad’s face, always so stoic and certain, pleaded with him. “Son, please.”

             “Listen to daddy.” Louis Oscar- the blond- spoke through a thin and crooked smile. Hunter’s eyes lowered to the gun he gripped at his side. But he’s going to use it either way? Why not-

            His knees hit the floor as he was pushed down. They were in a row, him, Brittany, and Claire. An execution line!

            “You steal from me.” Louis Oscar lorded himself over Dad, rattling his wheelchair with a kick. He then leaned his face in close. “I obliterate you. And everything you have.”

            “She’s not yours!” Mom yelled from where she shielded Shelby. Hunter had never heard such anger in her voice. It was more than anger; it was hate. And it caught Oscar’s attention. He narrowed his eyes, stepping over to Mom. Hunter could feel the power that he emitted in his steps. It scared him, like thunderstorms had when he was five. Do something, God! You’re the more powerful one... Act like it already!

            “Anything I want is mine.” Oscar growled at Mom. He lashed out and pulled Shelby away by her hair. Hunter’s legs drove him up, but he was driven back down, face-first. The pressure of a gun at the back of his neck held him there. Hunter could just listen to his pulse elevate, feel his breath sharpen. No! Nonono-

            “No, no, no,” Shelby was whimpering, her arms grappling for Mom. Oscar’s only response was to aim his gun at Dad and fire. Mom screamed. Claire hit her forehead to the floor, hands over her ears. “Praise be t-to-o Go-o-od… hear-rd my-y-y p-prayer…”

            She was reciting the last verse of Psalm 66. She did it to ward off attacks sometimes. Not that it was that simple.

            “Who do I shoot next!” Oscar yelled in Shelby’s petrified face. Her whimper came back, void of fight or hope. She shut her eyes to his rage-filled face. Hunter couldn’t; he’d never seen anything so demonic. What kind of guy paraded into people’s homes, thinking he owned the right to take their lives? He was swearing to kill them, promising to do the same to Gideon and Mason. Hunter’s eyes flickered, took in Claire’s fear, Brittany’s bewildered tears. Were these going to be the last memories of his family? Were they going to be forced to leave Shelby with this animal?

           God… anybody… Help!

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            Louis Oscar.

Lance Oliver.

Larry Osborne.

They played in a loop with every streetlight that crossed Mason’s helmet. They were the names that Shelby had warned them about her first month with the Rivers. Maybe his real name was in there somewhere, but Mason doubted it. The first sign of Shelby opening up to them, and she’d used it to warn them about her pimp. The guy who had sold her to the savages of the world every night.

“He uses the same initials for all his alias,” Shelby had told them so softly. “For his street name, ‘Law and Order’.” She had raised her face, letting the fear speak through her damaged eyes. “That’s what he is.”

The heck he was. Mason sped through the light on its last flicker of yellow, barely keeping off the curb as he turned onto the Rivers’ street. George had been the one to tell him what Hunter had found out. Maybe they hadn’t told Shelby anything yet, but Mason would. She was certainly fragile, but she deserved to have people level with her. And he’d stay the next few nights. Get the focus off of his own demons for once.

Company? Was Mason’s first thought at the older Mercedes-Benz parked on the curb. It blocked the hand-painted mailbox and was, by now, a part of the twilight shadows. But the man at the gaping truck didn’t… wait a minute!

Mason didn’t think. He just accelerated and in the last stretched second, flung himself at the guy’s broad back. He drove the man head-first into the lawn. The wind left him and Mason rolled, cracking his shoulder hard against the ground. Mason seethed, fogging his visor. But he still saw the guy moving, trying to escape his grip. Mason pulled him back, driving his fist across the man’s jaw. His fingers were cold from the ride and he didn’t register the impact.

Mason pushed himself up, leaving the guy motionless on the grass. He wobbled on the first step, but moved back to the trunk of the car. He ditched his helmet and got the first clear view of Shelby, shaking and curled into a corner of the small cavity. He reached in for her. “Shelby?”

She unfolded and grabbed his forearms, eyes wide and teary. “H-He… he f-f-foun-nd me!”

Mason pulled her in, wishing there was some bubble he could erect. A barrier that’d keep her safe.

“He’ll k-k-kill ‘em.”

Mason jerked his head back, toward the Rivers’ house. Burnt canary siding, black shudders, and barn shaped. George and Pam’s lifeline, all they had to offer the kids that the rest of the world would forget.

Don’t You dare! Mason’s mind shouted, his legs leaving Shelby. “Get to the neighbors! Call the police!”

“Mason-“

“Call!” Mason bolted to the front door. Not them! Don’t You dare, God! You hear me!

The door wasn’t closed and Mason saw the light coming from the living room. He was inside when the gun fired. There was a thud and a scream. Whose scream?

“I wouldn’t worry,” a voice laughed in the echo of the shot. “He can’t feel below the waist, right?”

George! Mason’s mouth dried, disbelief halting him.

“Now that that fun’s outta the way,” the voice was turning. “Who’s first?”

The voice laughed again and he heard a whimper. Brittany! The voice remained cool, held a smile in it. “Open your eyes, ma. I want you to watch-“

Mason flew in from the hall before he could finish. He plowed a pony-tailed man down from where he stood over Brittany. He lifted him up like a feather, all the way into the brick that circled the mantle. An arm lifted, but Mason pinned it back, scrapping for the gun.

“Hey!”

Mason didn’t wait for the third goon to grab him. He half spun, slamming his elbow up the guy’s nose. Mason let him fall, trusting someone to take care of him. This guy- he knew was Louis Oscar- was his!

His shoulder protested, but Mason drew it back anyway. Once, three times, again and again his knuckles pounded into flesh. Mason felt the heat in his fist, Oscar’s blood in the crevices between his fingers. The feel fueled the rest of him, setting his body afire. Everything that had been spinning around inside, it finally had a way to get out. He could release all of it. His mom, his dad, the foster homes… The memories hit him hard this time, harder then ever. So he hit Louis’ mug all the more.

I’ve been waiting for you!  Mason was screaming out from the floor of his rage. And you just-

“Mason!”

His name ripped into his ear and Mason stopped. His head whipped back towards it. Brittany and Claire held each other, while Hunter helped George to a sitting position.

“I said hands behind your head.” Pam ordered the goon with the broken nose. The gun was clenched in her hands, but her eyes were on Mason. She was crying and staring at him, horrified. Mason heard a cough and looked beneath him. The face Louis Oscar used to have rested against the bricks. Blood leaked from the crooked spots on his nose and from the gash above his right eye. From the odd angle, his left cheekbone was likely broken. And as the slime smiled, Mason noticed the loose teeth.

“You can bet I’ll sue you for this.”

Mason grabbed the man’s collar and yanked his mangled mug close. “You’re not talking to these pussies anymore. I’m the loose cannon around here. Remember me the next time you even think-“

Louis’ gun exploded between them, sending a new fire through Mason’s body. His mind flashed to Shelby in the trunk, his siblings on their knees, guns to their heads. He smacked Oscar’s head into the brick one last time before his consciousness went black.

~~ To Be Continued ~~

The Door's Open ~ Part II

           

            Mason sat on the stool, cushioned in the atmosphere of his favorite bar and giving himself time to take it in. Take him in, that is; your average five-foot-seven, brown-haired Danny Burke. Mason sided himself for having expected anything special. He saw the extra wrinkles and crow’s feet he had expected. The man’s dull brown eyes though… couldn’t he look a little more excited?

            Maybe he’s cautious. Mason reasoned as the bartender set a frosted mug and an unopened bottle in front of them. We at least have that in common.

            Danny reached for his mug instantly. “I’m glad you’re old enough for this. Might not have been able to face this meeting without a cold one.”

            Mason watched Danny take a swig. He grabbed up his own bottle and worked out his nerves by busting the cap on the edge of the bar. As Mason tossed the cap, he felt Danny eyeing him. “I… I’ve got questions, but I’m not sure…”

“Let’s start with why now?” Mason eyed him back, hard. His eagerness- dare he say hope- wasn’t blinding him to the anger and resentment he harbored. Danny caught both in his tone, lowering his glass. “It was by accident really. An article on your motorcycle shop, your mom’s maiden name caught my eye and… well, I got curious.” 

That didn’t satisfy Mason. He threw back his first swig, savoring the rich burn down his throat. “Did Mom make you leave or you think it up all on your own?”

“All your questions come with this much disdain?”

Mason shrugged. “Better to get all the angst out.”

Danny looked him over a minute. “I choose to leave. In my eyes… life had certain expectations. You and your mom didn’t fit them.”

“A wife and a kid,” Mason put it bluntly. “Lots of people do it, I hear.”

“Not me.”  

“I oughta split your head right on this bar.” Mason massaged his fingers around his bottle. “But I’m kinda impressed you admitted it. Mom would never admit to anything.”

Danny watched the lights on the jukebox to their left. “She was hard on you too, huh.”

That was one way to put it. “The state took me when I was seven. I haven’t seen her since.”

Danny kept his eyes on the jukebox. “Foster care, huh? At least it was food and a roof.”

Mason’s stomach tightened, turning his beer sour. Yeah. A roof to hide all the monsters inside.   

“It looks like you’re doing okay for yourself.” Danny offered Mason a smile.

“I finished at the community college last year.” Mason threw in, not eager to mention the Rivers. “Majored in engineering. Started up the shop with a couple of the guys who graduated before me. A collection of Harleys really draws the eyes of tourists and guys dealing with mid-life crisis’.”

“Good,” Danny gave a chuckle. “I’d say you’re set for life.”

Silence and sipping followed, Mason trying to believe that this was real. “Your turn.”

“Contract jobs in architecture.” Danny stated. “From building and foundation to historical restoration. Most were local, some down in Virginia and the Carolinas. I vacationed out to Colorado and Idaho a few times. I like to hike in the mountains, clear my head.” He paused and stretched his collar out. Mason caught sight of the taught pink edges of a scar along the top of his shoulder. “Courtesy of a rock slide four years ago. Thankfully missed my skull.”

The scars on Mason’s legs warmed, along with the cigarette burns to his back and arms. How would Danny react to their narration? “Bounced around in foster care until I was fourteen. Then the Rivers found me.”

“And?”

That inquiry put Mason on guard. “To say they pulled me out of the gutter is an understatement. Anything I tell you is going to be an understatement of the hellholes I bounced through. And I’m never going to get over the fact that I could’ve avoided it if you’d been around.”

Danny took that barb rather graciously. “So, why meet with me?”

Question of the hour, old man. Mason looked at Danny, hunched toward his mug, knuckles working the handle. “Cuse everyone else knows where they come from. I don’t.”

Danny tapped the rim of his mug with his thumb. “Ok then. Order another round. We’ve got plenty to talk about.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            “Wow.” Mr. Burke placed his palms on the table, giving a satisfied grin. “Now that was good!”

            “I’m so glad you liked it.” Pam smiled, taking the plate Gideon handed her. “Couldn’t have done it without my girls through.”

            Claire blushed, helping to clear the dishes from the table. They’d moved out into the living room along with the card table to make room for Mason’s dad, Danny Burke. Gideon was glad that he’d been planning to come home this weekend. He’d been keeping Mason in his prayers these last few weeks; it was nice to put a face to the prayers. A relief, if he was being honest.

            “Hunter is still ignoring him,” Mom had updated him on their last call. “But your father’s working on him. Getting him to see the positive effect it’s having on Mason.”

            “So you think this guy’s appearance is for the better?” Gideon had questioned. Mom’s long silence hadn’t been an encouraging answer. “I’m praying that God uses him for the better.”

            That was Mom, the spiritual glue of the family. It wasn’t like the arrival of Mason’s dad was anything to be tense about. It was a common occurrence in foster care. Danny Burke hadn’t shown any signs of causing trouble, and Mason was beyond the age of a custody battle. So why did Gideon feel a string of tension going about the table?

            We just want it to work out for Mason. Gideon reasoned. He deserves that.

            “…if you’re up for it.” Dad’s chipper tone caught Gideon out of his thoughts. He spotted Dad eyeballing him as the family started to dissipate. “Gideon, you care to join us?”

            Join what? Gideon’s puzzlement was satisfied when Dad had him get his box of Cuban cigars down from the top corner of the French cabinet. The only breath-taking piece of furniture he and Mom owned, passed down from her great-grandfather. Dad’s love of cigars had likewise been passed down from his grandparents. And he was inviting Gideon to have one with him!?

            Does this mean I’m now a man? Gideon wondered as he carried the box out after Dad and Mr. Burke.

            “Mason won’t be joining us?” Mr. Burke glanced back into the house.

            “You don’t argue with Pamela when it comes to washing the dishes.” Dad said, a half-smile on his face. They situated themselves on the back deck with Gideon placing the cigars on the rail beside Dad, then leaned back against it.

“That’s the way things work around here, I take?” Mr. Burke ventured with a stretch in one of the twin plastic chairs. Gideon eyed him, while Dad didn’t even look up. “What way?”

“The kids doing the work. There’s a lot of both, so I’d understand your need for it.”

Gideon wasn’t sure if that remark was made in earnest for not. Nor was he sure he liked it either way. This guy was putting his family through a lot, even if he didn’t realize it. Mom continued to fret while Hunter continued to stew, leaving Brittany to be the peacemaker, Claire the comic relief, and Shelby the constant prayer support. Gideon thought that if they were to roll all their reactions into one big bouncing ball, they’d finally get Mason’s attention about how much he mattered.

Dad merely opened the cigar box. The cutter gleamed out first, followed by the rustic-brown tobacco. Mr. Burke eyed them hungrily. “A limited opinion, I know. But one that matters to Mason.”

“True.” Dad agreed.

“And Mason matters to us.” Gideon had to throw in. Mr. Burke looked up under slanted eyebrows. “You might wanna let the adults talk this out. Might not like what I have to say.”

“Gideon’s an adult.” Dad stated, holding one of the cigars out to Gideon. “His choice, what he sees and hears.”

Gideon forced himself not to smirk and took the cigar with a newfound dignity. Their exchange put Mr. Burke’s focus back on Dad. “I’m not trying to sound rude. Only to wrap my head around it all. Ya know, what the angle is.”

Oh, it was that old song. Gideon gave the cigar a twirl through his fingers.

“The angle was our kids needed a home.” George broke out his lighter. Mr. Burke leaned in, expecting the light for his own cigar. “And you needed… what?”

Dad struck the lighter and lit his cigar first. Gideon bit back the urge to shout ‘Burn!’.

“Your wife says that happened six years ago.” Mr. Burke gestured with his cold cigar to Dad’s wheelchair. “All that money from the state probably helped with that.”

Gideon pushed himself off the rail. “You-“

“Gideon.” Dad stopped him from the ungodly words that singed the tip of his tongue. Dad remained as calm and collected as ever, puffing out a blue-gray shaft from his mouth. “My wife and I both work, Mr. Burke. And we’re level-headed enough to save what we earn for a rainy day.” He hit his cigar against his wheel to clean the ash off the end. “Or in this case, a downpour.”

Mr. Burke looked thoroughly embarrassed now. He twirled his cigar, but had to stop as George finally extended the lighter. “Suppose it wasn’t really my place to pry-“

“It wasn’t.” Dad chuckled. “But I learned something about you.”

“What?” Danny asked.

“You’re nosy, suspicious, and cynical.” Dad nodded at Danny. “Just like Mason.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            “This’ why lip-reading is such a vital skill.” Brittany whispered next to Hunter, fogging the edge of her glasses. And giving Hunter a nauseating whiff of her breath. He was unpleasantly pinched between Britt and Claire, facing the open screen of his room’s window. It hovered above the back deck- and whatever Dad, Mr. Burke, and Gideon were discussing. A position that made Brittany’s comment about lip-reading totally pointless.

            “Personal space.” Hunter batted them both off, their nearness and his close-throated hoodie doing nothing for his claustrophobia. Besides, who wanted to know about Mason’s dad anyway.

            “Ugh, this’ useless.” Brittany pulled back, blowing her hair out of her face. “Besides, Mason sees us doing this-“

            “He’ll break the screen with our heads,” Claire finished, tapping her own mass-braided hair. “White-boy crazy. Never go near it.”

            “Yeah,” Hunter muttered. “Just share a room with it.”

            Both girls giggled at him, making their way for the door. Hunter lingered at the screen, then slumped over onto his bed. “Hey, Claire.”

            She looked back, her face already bored with the topic. Hunter's wasn’t. “You and Mason-“

            Claire waited. “Yeah?”

            “You guys were in the same home.” Hunter got to it. “What was he like?”

            “Angry.” Claire answered, stepping back in. “No direction or focus. At least when he came here, George and Pam were able to give Mason outlets for his anger. I’m hoping that with his dad here, some of it can finally go away.”

            “Or his dad can just go away.” Hunter made the callous suggestion.

            “Ugh, enough already,” Claire threw a pillow, only to sit beside him. “You’re just jealous.”

            “What?!” Hunter pushed the pillow back at her. “You’re crazy!”

            “No, I’m right.” Claire insisted, gripping the pillow. “I’m jealous too.”

            Hunter jerked his head to stare at her. “Why would you be-“

            “I’d give anything for my dad to come crashing back into my life.” She deadpanned and Hunter’s face flushed with shame. He spied the jagged white lines that ran the better length of Claire’s left arm. A car crash that’d taken both her parents and sister… didn’t seem fair for it to only leave her scars. Hunter found himself having to learn a lot about God and the plans He held for them as individuals. It was hard when you were met with some of the harshest hurdles the world had to offer. And Hunter didn’t even know the half of Mason’s. He wondered if anyone other then Mason did. And then... then there was Shelby...
            Hunter pulled something out of his pocket, needing a distraction for his hands. 

            “I can’t offer you any key foster kid wisdom here,” Claire went on. “Only that I get why Mason would want to try… wait… Hunter!”

            “I’m listening.” Hunter promised, bringing the phone closer, up to its main page.

            “That’s not yours!” Claire cried. "How'd you even get Mr. Burke's phone?"

            “Dude left it on the counter,” Hunter bobbed his head at the window they’d been eavesdropping at. “It’s not password protected. I’m… looking after it for him.”

            “You’re the only person it needs protecting from.” Claire insisted, grabbing at the corner. Hunter pulled away. “What device doesn’t have a password? Ok, contacts-“

            “I’m not listening to this!” Claire sprung up and made for the door. “I’m gonna have plausible deniability when Mr. Burke presses charges-“

            Hunter rolled his eyes… almost missing the contact that freeze-dried his blood cells. “Claire.”

            “Uh uh.” Claire got ready to bolt; until Hunter grabbed her wrist. “Claire!”

            He turned the phone for her to see the display. Her brow drew up in puzzlement. “So?”

            “He’s got only six contacts. Look at the fourth one.”

            Hunter swallowed and waited for the recognition to reach her face. She shook her head. “Hunter… it’s just a coincidence. Lots of people have that name-“

            “You wanna take that chance!” Hunter asked her, his throat dry.

            Claire resisted the worry a moment, then shook her head. “If you’re wrong, Mason’ll-“

            “I’ll take that chance.” Hunter assured her. He could handle Mason being mad at him. He couldn’t handle his family being in danger.

~~ To Be Continued ~~

The Door's Open ~ Part I

          Gideon wasn’t going to lie; he really liked Danielle. He had figured it out on their fourth date- yeah, he could be indecisive. She had been annoying him with re-organizing of the produce pyramid in the grocery store and it just kinda hit him… he liked it when she annoyed him.

            You wanna try this thing for real? He rehearsed as he crossed the lawn to the girl’s dorm. And go steady?

            Ugh, what was this the fifties? Gideon stopped at the door, catching his ringtone from his jacket pocket. He took out his phone and scanned the ID: HOME. Indecisiveness hit him again. He hadn’t taken a call from Mom or Dad yet this week. Yet… Gideon thought of Danielle again and let it go to voicemail, pushing open the door to the dorm. His cell vibrated again before it could close behind him. Gideon’s shoulders slumped, seeing it was HOME again. If he didn’t answer now, Mom would think something was wrong.

            “Hello, Mom?” Gideon sighed, stepping back out of the dorm.

            “Gideon.” Came his name from a relieved voice.

            “Claire,” Gideon let his sister hear his impatience. Was this about homework again? A guy gets into college and everyone thinks he’s a genius. “Look Claire, whatever homework crisis-“

            “Bro, please,” she snarked at him. “Listen, you need to come home.”

            Gideon’s attitude sobered. “”What’s… is Dad alright?”

            “Dad’s doing like he always do.” Claire’s voice hunkered, making Gideon wonder. “But I think Mom would do better if we were all here. Even for just a weekend.”

            A familiar understanding came over Gideon. “What’d Mason do now?”

            Claire blew out her breath. “Nothing, really. He… well...His dad called him.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            “You got a lotta nerve!” came the hot words before the white knuckles. Mason went sideways into the fridge, the appliance shuddering at the brunt force of his muscled and lean body.

            “Hunter!” Shelby backed out of her chair, where she and Hunter had been doing homework. It was the after-dinner regime of the household under Pamela’s watchful eye as she did the dishes. George had been helping to load the dishwasher, but now he mirrored Shelby’s shock. “Hunter! Wh-“

            Mason ignored him. He turned back on his lanky foster brother, rage beginning its boil from the sting in his jaw. “Try that again and we’ll see who’s got nerve!”

            Hunter kept his fists up, glaring over Mason in disgust. “You tell ‘em yet?”

            Now they had everyone’s full attention. But in George’s typical godfather fashion, he only leaned forward, steadying the gaze of his ice-blue eyes. They were the same as Brittany’s eyes and she shared the same stare. Mason couldn’t stand up to either. He only narrowed his own sea-foam eyes on Hunter. “I gotta log my activities in a guestbook or something? My business is my business.”

            “Your business is still under this roof.” George reminded him.

            “Only every other night.” Mason squeezed in his fist. He opened his mouth again, but it was Hunter who spoke. “He’s been talking with his birth dad.”

            Mason lunged, shoving Hunter back into the wall. “You gotta problem with that?”

            “Enough!” George backed his wheelchair from the sink. “This is your mother’s kitchen, not a boxing ring.”

Pamela put down her washcloth. “Hunter, go outside.”

            Hunter looked past Mason, surprised. “Mom-“

            “Walk it off.” George ordered. “Shoot hoops, bike, but don’t come back in until that temper’s cleared.”

            Mason backed away, but Hunter made sure to shoulder Mason hard on his way out. Pamela held open the screen door, her rubber gloves dripping, as Hunter stomped through; her eyes however were on Mason.

            Don’t look so worried, Pam. Mason looked away. Only to see Shelby in her chair, shoulders hunched in to protect herself. Okay, NOW he felt bad. But Mason only set his jaw and shifted his eyes to George. “Your son’s a drama king, ya know that?”

            “Puberty’s a real killer.” George excused it, his eyes doing his tense cop thing. “What was he talking about?”

            Mason stole another glance at Pamela. “Nothing I wouldn’t have told you- eventually.”

            “Your dad really called you?” Shelby piped up from the table, trying to shake herself out of her fear bubble. Mason never told her that he called it that. He didn’t find it funny, that she scared so easily. It was just a way for him to deal with having to see her that way.

Mason sighed. “He called a few days ago, while I was at work.”

            They were all quiet a moment before George asked. “How-”

            “I don’t know.” Mason stopped him before George could box him in with twenty questions. “Guess I’ll find out when I meet him. I don’t need your permission- or approval- to do that, do I?”

            “Of course not, Mason.” Pamela moved in, the gloves peeled off so she could touch his arm. “But, if you need to talk about it-“

            Mason quivered at the warmth her hand gave him. That was Pamela; she had unruly blond curls that shared the texture of straw, wide-rimmed glasses, and the countenance of a town librarian. Warmth. And George, for all his hard-knuckle tactics, was the strength of the Rivers household. Mason had watched them, like they were one person, exhibit the same light and security over their house and kids for years. Watched. That was all; and he wasn’t making more of it now.

            “I can handle it, Pam.” Mason told her. “I want to handle it myself.”

            George nodded. “That won’t stop our prayers, though.”

            Nothing ever did. Mason supposed he could at least tell them his father’s name. He had been going to anyway. Hunter’s sucker punch however, had knocked him out of his sharing mood. You’re holding onto it, Mace. You might as well admit you’re holding onto hope… one of your last lines of it.

            “Sorry about that, Shelby.” Mason muttered to her. He slipped out of Pam’s grasp and left the kitchen, needing his room and radio to drown things out. He worked at a Harley shop and spent half his nights there… but not enough to warrant rent. His other nights he made the thirty-minute commute to crash here, at the Rivers. His only foster home to have lasted longer then seven months.

            He cut through the hall and round the stairs, only to stop short before tripping over Brittany. He scowled down at her. “Get the raw footage?”

            Brittany gave him her quiet smile, fondling her glasses; a sleeker version of her mother’s. “It’s not every day that you see Hunter Rivers fly off the rails. You gonna arrange to meet your dad?”

            George’s stare, Pam’s touch… all the reminders of Brittany’s biological right to be here. It ate at Mason, each day he was here. George and Pamela could put on as many airs as they wanted, but that didn't erase that he wasn't tied to them like Brittany and Hunter were.

            “I hope it works out.” Brittany said through her smile. “And don’t worry about Hunter, he’s just being selfish. He wants to keep his cool big brother all to himself.”

            That didn’t sound creepy at all. Mason cocked a brow at her. “He’s got Gideon for that.”

            She dropped her hand, her face faltering. “Seriously Mason, when’re you going to stop making yourself a stranger? It was understandable at the beginning, but… now, you’re just being stubborn to what God’s offering you.”

            “I returned that invitation a long time ago.” Mason told Brittany, leaving her to make it to his room. He realized that the solitude would only be temporary, since he and Hunter still shared. He’d leave later and sleep at the shop. He stretched out on his bed, sinking into its red and black comforter, sporting electric guitars. He’d unwittingly picked it out for his sixteenth birthday, giving it more then a two-second glance at Target. Pamela had noticed. She and George noticed things, the important things.

            If they can, Mason turned himself over, reaching out to twist the knob on his radio. My dad can too. I’m ready for this. I’m ready to meet him; I WANT to meet him.

            But Mason couldn’t bring himself to explain that to George or Pamela. They had done a lot for him. Sure he didn’t act like it, but Mason shuttered when he thought about the paths he might’ve ended up down if not for them. And now, he didn’t feel like repaying their efforts with pain. The pain from the fact that he’d always wanted his real family back.

            You telling me You’re into answering prayers now. Mason questioned the ceiling.

            There was a rap on the door, giving Mason a jolt. “Mason? Can I come in, bro?”

            It was Gideon. Mason propped himself on his elbows in confusion. “Enter, I guess.”

            Gideon lumbered in on the solid legs that had landed him a soccer scholarship to AU in Albany. Mason smirked. “You get kicked out already?”

            Gideon gave a dry ‘haha’. “I just got in. Claire called me.”

            “Course she did.” Mason rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Ever the peacemaker.”

            “She’s worried.”

            “About Pam.” Mason guessed. “Doesn’t want her stressing about me.”

            “Claire worries about everybody.” Gideon pulled to his sister’s defense.

            “When we’re not having to peel her off the ceiling from a panic attack.”

            Gideon’s tone went rigid. “I’m not here to argue with you, Mason. Or to hear you bash on others.”

            “Then why?” Mason dared ask, his attention back on the ceiling. There were faint marks from where he’d spray painted it one summer.  

            “Figured you might want to talk,” Gideon shrugged, looking over Hunter’s latest posters. “And, if nothing else… I’m always here for my family.”

            Mason snorted.

            “You doubt that?”

            “You’re only here to ask me how I’m feeling,” Mason said. “And you want me to tell you, so you can report it to all the flapping ears waiting downstairs.” He gestured to the door, like the rest of the Rivers gang was piled with enlarged ears on the other side. “You want me to tell you and I can’t. Because whatever I say, you’re only gonna try and change it into what you wanna hear.”

            “You think that Mom and Dad are afraid of the truth?” Gideon’s eyes narrowed on him. “That they think that little of you? Don’t insult them!”

            “I don’t need their permission for this!” Mason reaffirmed, sitting up as the heat in his neck rose. “And I wish everybody’d quit making a big deal outta it! You feed me a couple of meals, push me through college, and you think you’re entitled to my every movement?!”

            “Not me, THEM!” Gideon finally raised his voice. Then pulled himself back, opening and closing his fists. “You don’t owe them anything and they’ll be the first to… I came up here just to, try, you know? Like we all do.”

            He turned to leave. And Mason felt a panic. “Did you want to meet your mom again?”

            Gideon stopped. His shoulders tensed a minute, but he turned back around. His eyes bore an understanding that Mason knew he couldn’t get from the George, Pam, or even Claire. Gideon sighed the weight off his shoulders. “It was more like-“

            “You had to.” Mason answered immediately. Gideon was already nodding. “Had to learn all the answers to my questions.”

            Mason’s chest deflated with mild relief. He watched Gideon leave and fell his head back into his pillow. So it wasn’t just him who kept looking back. Gideon’s mom had put him in foster care out of love when she couldn’t take care of him on her own. And Claire had come to his group home after the people who loved her were dead. 
            Him? His dad had left when he was three- the same year Mason realized his mom didn’t have a problem hurting him. He’d been introduced to the foster care system when he was seven. People thought that was the way to save him. It wasn’t. He’d seen- felt- the worst of it. Nothing’s gonna change what I went through. And I’m always going to be different from them because of it.

Humanity could smile and extend their shining hands to him all they wanted and Mason would still spot their taints hidden underneath. He’d always know about the dark places that a human could go. It was like a pair of glasses that Mason couldn’t take off. Nothing that Pam or George did was going to change what he felt, how he saw his awkward position in this randomly-patched family. They couldn’t know the memories that still shook him awake in a sweat-

            “Mason?”

            Mason jerked his head up, cheeks heating at having been caught off guard. He sat up to find Shelby at his door. His heart cringed at his self-pity. Only Shelby’s scars ran deeper then his. She’d turned thirteen in April… how many of her years had she been a prostitute? Too many. Yeah, if there was anything that topped Mason’s demons, it was Shelby. And Mason wished it wasn’t like that.

            “What is it?” he asked. Nice bedside manner there, Mace.

            Shelby lifted her hands to reveal her schoolbooks. “Help me with this biology chapter? It’s killing me.”

            Mason snorted. “So you’re solution is to ask me?”

            “You once told me that I need to focus on other things or drive myself insane,” Shelby reasoned quietly. “Help me, please?”

            The toughened and brooding antagonist softened up by a little girl. Mason groaned at how cliché he was.

~~To Be Continued~~