And if anyone understood the pain of losing a sibling, Mac did.
* * * * *
Saturday, Bruiser rushed to Elliot’s foster home in response to a frantic phone call from Elliot. No one answered the door at the foster home, but Elliot said he’d be there. Panic rose inside Bruiser as he tried the doorknob and found the door unlocked. Oh, God, no, not again.
The cold hand of fear clutched at his throat, robbing him of oxygen. He froze for a split second, gathered his courage, and prayed to any god who would listen to him.
Bruiser ran to the small bedroom Elliot shared with another kid, fearing the worst as his heart pounded in his ears. The kid sat on the bed, very much alive. Bruiser leaned against the doorway, waiting for his heart rate to slow and his head to stop pounding. Elliot didn’t look up, just fiddled with a loose thread on the worn quilt.
Finally trusting himself to speak, Bruiser struggled to keep his voice even and casual. “Hey, buddy. Going somewhere?” He pointed at the duffle bag on Elliot’s bed.
The kid stood up, still not looking at him. “My aunt and uncle are back from their mission in South America. She’s coming to get me.”
“Today?”
“Any minute.”
“That’s good. You’ll be with family.” Bruiser hoped like hell they’d give Elliot the love and attention he so desperately needed and at least partially fill the hole left by the death of his parents. Surely, the type of people who spent a year in a third-world country helping those less fortunate could love a physically and emotionally damaged little boy.
“They’re not really family. I don’t know them. Aunt Ruth was married to my mom’s brother. After he died in a logging accident when I was a baby, she married Uncle John. Mom never liked her. Mom said that people like Aunt Ruth and Uncle John are the reason she quit going to church. She called them hypnotists.”
“Hypnotists? Oh, you mean, hypocrites.”
“Whatever.” Elliot looked up, his eyes filled with unshed tears.
“There’s nobody else in your family that could take custody?” Bruiser couldn’t shake the sick feeling nesting in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to protect Elliot like he hadn’t Brice, yet he felt helpless to do so.
“No one.” Elliot shook his head and sniffed, looking every bit like he was going to cry. “I want my mom and dad.”
Bruiser crossed the room and put his arm around the boy, pulling him tight against his side. He’d give anything to take away Elliot’s pain, if only he could. “This will be a good thing. You wait and see.”
They both looked up as a scowling fat woman waddled into the room. Her polyester pants squeaked as her thighs rubbed together. The woman did a double take when she saw Bruiser, her gaze full of suspicion as if she’d caught him stealing family heirlooms. He tried to smile, but his smile stuck somewhere between his heart and his lips. One look at her and dread rose inside him. Elliot wrapped his arms around Bruiser’s waist and clung to him.
This woman didn’t exactly give off warm and fuzzy vibes. She didn’t rush to her nephew and throw her arms around him to comfort, didn’t even seem to notice him at first.
When her gaze dropped to the little boy plastered to Bruiser’s side, she staggered back a few steps at the sight of Elliot’s face and stared, open-mouthed. Her hand went to her heart as if she might faint. Elliot ducked his head and pulled his Steelheads ball cap down tight over his face.
The woman looked away and covered her mouth, as if she were going to retch. “Are you ready to go?” She couldn’t even look at the kid. Bruiser wanted to grab her and shake her, make her see the scared, lonely kid hiding in this hurt body.
Bruiser stood, tucking Elliot next to him in a purely instinctual protective gesture. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m a friend. Name’s Bruce.”
“I’m Ruth Jones, and I’m a very busy woman. I don’t have time to stand around here and make small talk with you.” She turned her back on them both and headed to the door. “Elliot, let’s go.”
Elliot glanced at Bruiser, his eyes pleading to be saved. Bruiser faked a smile he sure as hell didn’t feel. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m sure your aunt’s home will be a wonderful one for you.” Bullshit and they both knew it. He turned to Ruth. “I’d like to visit.”
The fat woman half turned and heaved a put-upon sigh. She dug into her monstrous purse and produced a coffee-stained business card. “Fine. Call me. We’ll arrange something as long as you don’t expect me to be a taxi service.” She still avoided looking at Elliot. “Let’s go.”
Panic crossed Elliot’s face, and he gripped Bruiser’s arm. “Can’t I stay with you? I won’t be any trouble. I’ll make my bed, do my homework, and stay out from underfoot.”
Bruiser looked down at him and shook his head, feeling like an asshole of the worst kind. “I wish you could, Elliot. I really do.”
“Then why can’t I?”
Bruiser glanced at the woman tapping her foot near the door. He had a million responses to Elliot’s questions and every one of them was selfish. Why couldn’t he adopt Elliot? Why couldn’t he give a kid a better life than he’d get with this unpleasant witch?
“Please,” Elliot begged.
“Look, I’ll see what I can do. For now, you’ll need to go with your aunt Ruth.”
Elliot’s shoulders slumped and his entire body sagged. “Okay.” He looked toward the door, his aunt already out of sight, hesitated, and shot an accusing glare at Bruiser. “You said everything would be all right.”
“It will.” Bruiser put his hands on Elliot’s shoulders and squeezed, feeling as if he might cry himself.
“Promise?” Elliot stared up at him with earnest, trusting eyes, as if he truly believed Bruiser could fix this
