Elliot thought that was a whole lot of bull. After all, Bruiser didn’t live in the Hippo house with kids who called him Baby Frankenstein.
“Maybe I could just stay over tonight.”
“Elliot, you have to go home.” Bruiser’s voice got stern, like he was starting to lose patience, not that he ever did with Elliot, but Bruiser liked to make it sound like that.
“That’s not my home. I don’t have a home anymore.” A lump clogged his throat at the memory of the old two-story home with the big front porch that his mother and father had lovingly restored until it was a showplace. He bit back a sob because he didn’t want them to see him behaving like a pussy. He’d already been a whiner.
“Why can’t I live here? Don’t you want me?”
“Elliot, it’s not that easy. They’re your relatives.”
“You can do anything. And you promised you’d—” Elliot stopped when he saw the mad look on Bruiser’s face. If he gave them too much grief, they’d go away, like everyone else he’d ever loved, and he’d be left with nothing. He glanced at Mac, who’d been pretty quiet. She smiled at him like she liked him and was sorry they had to take him home.
Elliot heaved a dramatic sigh—another tactic he’d learned on Two and a Half Men. “Okay.” He gathered up his stuff and steeled himself for the end of the evening and his return to the Hippos’ wallow. His mother had been neat and tidy, but this dump he lived in now had crap everywhere, and it stunk. His uncle gave him weird looks that scared Elliot, even though he wasn’t sure why.
He really hated it, and he knew he’d have to do something about it because he couldn’t keep living there.
* * * * *
Bruiser sat in the car and stared at the door as Elliot disappeared into the house. He shook his head in frustration, hating this helpless feeling. He kept his face turned toward the driver’s-side window so Mac wouldn’t see how much Elliot’s return home affected him.
He’d spent almost every night with Mac for the past few weeks. Neither of them had actually addressed what their relationship was or wasn’t. Other than sleeping together, he’d been buried with training camp and games, while she worked late hours and continued her brother search.
“That was tough,” Mac said.
“Tell me about it. It’s getting tougher every time.” Bruiser put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. “I hate leaving him here. It’s gotta suck being with people who don’t want you around and treat you like you’re less than human.”
Bruiser had to do something. Elliot considered him his hero, and what kind of hero had he turned out to be? The kid needed him, and now the chance to make some of his past wrongs right was dumped in his lap. He didn’t save Brice, but he could pay it forward and save Elliot. Somehow.
“Yeah, I wish there was something we could do.” Mac sounded sincere and Bruiser jumped on it before he wussed out, a little drunk with emotion, rather than common sense.
“Do you? Really?”
Something in Bruiser’s tone had Mac looking wary. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”
Marry her, idiot. It’d work well for all of you. You’d pay for Mac’s school. She’d be there for Elliot. And you’d have a ready-made family.
Problem was, he’d never wanted a family of any kind. He didn’t spend time with the one he had; why get a new, needier one? Because you’re lonely and something’s missing and it might well be them.
Marriage had been a crazy-assed idea when his moronic teammates brought it up, yet an engagement to a nice girl—not some model or movie star—might convince Aunt Ruth to give him the guardianship, in trade for a generous amount of money, of course. Bruiser knew her type. In fact, he pretended to be her type, the type that did everything for appearance’s sake. Ruth Jones wanted to look like a pillar of her church by taking in this poor, disfigured orphan. Bruiser just wanted to repay a debt and do the right thing for Elliot.
Steeling himself for Mac’s reaction, he jumped in with both of his big feet. “Elliot wants me to become his legal guardian. I told him I’d try.”
Mac started to laugh as if she thought he had to be joking, which he found somewhat insulting. She sobered quickly at the look on his face. “You think you can manage an eleven-year-old by yourself?”
“Not necessarily by myself.”
Mac regarded him warily, as if he’d just told her he had a bomb in hidden in the car.
Bruiser stared straight ahead, driving the speed limit for once. “The Joneses don’t want Elliot, but they have an image to maintain with John’s church. Ruth can look like a self-sacrificing hero if she allows Elliot to live with the right couple, a couple with the means to take care of Elliot and his physical issues.”
“Who is this couple?”
Bruiser took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “The guys think you and I should raise him.”
Mac’s head snapped in his direction. “What?”
Bruiser needed both hands and all his attention on this subject, so he glided into an empty bank parking lot and shut off the engine. He turned to Mac and took her hands in his.
“I know it sounds insane, but they think together we’d do a fine job of raising Elliot.”
“Define together.” Mac tried to pull her hands from his, but he wasn’t about to let go.
Moment of truth time. “You know—together.”
“Like ring-on-my-finger together?” Mac seemed to be having a hard time wrapping her head around the concept.
“Uh, yeah, like married.”
“Are you drunk? Should you be driving?”
“I am not drunk.”
“Then you’ve lost your mind. You and me? Married?”
Bruiser found that somewhat hurtful. He wouldn’t be that bad of a husband. “Well, yeah. I mean we’re good friends, we like to do the same things, and I think we’re compatible, especially in
