Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 34
I usually hated waking up early on weekends, but this morning felt like a new level of torture. My mom flicked on the basement lights like she was auditioning for a role in CSI: Parent Edition and told us to get moving if we wanted to beat traffic.
Jack and I had packed most of our stuff the night before – well, I packed mine neatly, then salvaged Jack's heap of laundry and random socks from collapsing into a black hole. So, the morning routine was mostly dragging ourselves out of bed, shoving on clothes, grabbing backpacks, and stumbling upstairs like two rejected zombie extras.
A pit stop at Starbucks was our only salvation. Jack and I ordered caramel macchiatos like they were emergency medical supplies, guzzling them before we even hit the highway. Nana Bev sipped hers with all the dignity of a queen at tea, then suddenly hit me with: "Did you know Starbucks started in Seattle?" I admitted I didn't, which earned me a five-minute lecture on coffee history until Jack did me the ultimate favor by passing out on my shoulder. No hesitation, no warning – just curled up there like he'd bought permanent rights to it. And maybe he had. His fingers found mine, laced tight, and he didn't let go the whole ride.
I tried to drift off, too, but my brain wouldn't stop buzzing. Meanwhile, Mom and Nana Bev up front were chirping away like they'd been besties since 1982.
And then I heard it.
"They're such a handsome young couple, those two," Nana Bev said warmly. "It gives me such happiness knowing Jack's found someone who loves him and takes care of him. Such a bond at their age is so very rare. Two kids from different corners of the country, different walks of life, and look at them now. It's a beautiful little love story."
I didn't say a word. Just squeezed Jack's hand tighter and closed my eyes like maybe that would stop the lump in my throat from forming.
When we finally pulled into the visitors' lot at Harrison West, the campus looked exactly the same as it had a few days ago – stately and intimidating, all red brick, white columns, and symmetry so perfect it probably gave the architects nosebleeds. It was the kind of place that practically screamed tradition and excellence while quietly handing you a bill the size of a small mortgage. Nana Bev gazed up at the buildings with wide-eyed awe.
"Good heavens," she breathed. "It's like walking into a 19th-century painting. I can practically smell the Latin declensions in the air."
That cracked us up, though nervously. Latin wasn't a requirement anymore, which was probably for the best. I would've loved to take it – I've always been fascinated by Roman history, culture, archaeology, the whole Roman ethos. I'd read more books on the Empire (and its Byzantine sequel) than I could count and watched enough documentaries to qualify as a full-fledged nerd. But trying to juggle Latin while Mandarin was already grinding me into the dirt? That would've been academic suicide. Now, with my obsession for all things Roman layered on top of my new love for Chinese language, culture, and history, I figured I should just accept it: I wasn't a nerd anymore. I was king of the nerds.
Jack and I led them along the path toward Linden Hall, our dorm. Mom and Nana Bev had a meeting with Miss Charice and several other school officials. The place was quiet – eerily so. Most of the other boys were still home or off playing intramurals, although I did see an occasional boy walking across the quad or running down the hallway in the dorm.
We showed them our room first. I'd actually cleaned it – both sides. Jack's half looked civilized for once, though only because I'd intervened. From there we gave the grand tour: the common room, the kitchenette, the vending machines that stole your quarters like Vegas slots. Nana Bev took it all in like she was visiting the Smithsonian exhibit titled Teenage Boys: A Tragedy in Three Acts.
Finally, we made it to Miss Charice's office. She sat behind her desk, nursing a coffee mug roughly the size of a gas can. Beside her was a man in a gray suit, one of the school's legal representatives. Sitting off to the side was Ms. Wilcox, guidance counselor I recognized, wearing the kind of forced-smile face that screamed, I am only here because policy requires it.
Miss Charice looked up, and her whole face lit like sunrise.
"Well, well. Look at this beautiful crew," she said warmly. "And you two must be Dr. Kincaid and Nana Beverly." She rose, extending her hand. "I'm Miss Charice, house parent to these two mischief-makers. Please – just call me Charice."
"Just 'Beverly' or 'Bev' is fine with me," Nana Bev replied, already charmed.
And then came the nightmare part.
"Oh, you don't know how sweet these boys are," Charice said, her voice thick with affection. She reached out and gave our cheeks the kind of pinch usually reserved for five-year-olds at church picnics. "They polite, smart, helpful, clean – can you believe that? – an' they just adore each other. I mean, I hope I can say that..."
Mom waved her hand. "Of course you can. They're out and proud. We all are."
Charice fanned herself, relief flooding her face. "Mmm, thank the Lord. 'Cause you never know these days with some parents. Well, lemme just say, I think they the most adorable couple. You can't teach that kinda devotion – it just come natural. Rare thing, too, to see two boys stickin' together like that."
Jack and I wanted to die. My face was so hot I was sure steam would start shooting out of my ears like a busted cartoon kettle. We stared holes into the floor, silently begging for it to swallow us alive.
Charice let us squirm for a beat, then chuckled. "Mm-hm, look at y'all blushin'. Don't worry, babies, I ain't gon' embarrass you too much – least not in front of company." She winked.
That wink nearly finished me off. I risked a glance at Jack, who was bright red and biting his lip like he was trying not to laugh at my pain. I shot him a look that said, If I die here, it's your fault.
Charice switched gears smoothly, her tone sliding back into professional. "Now, boys, why don't y'all head back to your room, unpack a bit. Let us grown folks have our boring little chat."
I glanced at my mom. She smirked, the look clearly saying, Shoo. We'll talk later.
As we slipped out, I caught Nana Bev starting to explain Jack's situation – his parents, the legal options they had come up with, all the emotional landmines. I didn't want to hear any of it. Not now. I just wanted some time alone with Jack.
Back in our dorm, the place was still eerily quiet, like someone had hit pause on campus life. Most of the guys were still home for the weekend, and the ones left behind were off pounding the track or swinging lacrosse sticks around like medieval weapons. We passed a few of them in the hall – sweaty, loud, oblivious – and then slipped into our room, which felt like an island of stillness.
I flopped onto my bed dramatically, limbs splayed. Jack stood at the window, arms crossed, staring out at the empty quad like some tragic hero waiting for destiny to arrive.
And before I could think better of it, I blurted:
"Wanna take a shower together?"
The words hit the air like a grenade.
I didn't expect him to say yes. He'd just told me a couple of nights ago that he wasn't ready to mess around again, and I'd been bracing myself for another stretch of silence and awkwardness. I had my "It's fine, no pressure" speech ready to roll.
But then he looked over, a small smile tugging at his lips, and said, "Yeah, sure. Let's go."
I practically levitated off the bed.
We grabbed our towels and toiletry kits and crept down the hall like we were Navy SEALs infiltrating hostile territory. Every footstep echoed like cannon fire. Every door creak sounded like an alarm system. I half expected a laser grid to descend from the ceiling. We peeked into the showers and conducted a full tactical sweep, checking the stalls and scanning the corners. Empty. Coast clear.
We undressed fast – not because of nerves, but because we couldn't get to each other quickly enough. The second the hot water hit us, we collided. Bodies pressed tight, arms wrapped around, mouths hungry. It wasn't lust for lust's sake – it was survival. After weeks of tension, I needed him close, needed to feel his heartbeat against mine, his breath mixing with mine. I needed to know we still fit. And some emotions just couldn't be transmitted by words alone.
We kissed like drowning men finding air. Clung like we were tethered together, refusing to be pulled apart. Sure, we helped each other find release, but it wasn't about that. It was about speaking a language only we knew, twenty minutes of saying, I'm still here. I still want you. I still love you. It was the best conversation we'd had in weeks, and not a single word had passed between us.
We dried off in record time, laughing under our breath as we rushed into clean underwear like kids sneaking candy before dinner. Then we made a beeline back to our room, adrenaline still buzzing. I collapsed onto my bed and pulled Jack down with me, wrapping him up like he belonged there. Because he did.
We just… were.
Kissing. Laughing. Groping. Whispering the things too raw to admit any other time. Healing.
"Hey, Jack?" I nudged him.
"Mmmmmm?" His voice was drowsy and content.
"I, uh… thought you wanted to wait. Before we… you know , had 'play time' again." My words stumbled out, clumsy and nervous.
He looked at me, steady and sure. "You know I can never say 'no' to you, Nicky. I belong to you. Even if you hate me and break up with me and kick me out on the street, I'll still belong to you."
The words punched the air out of me.
"Well… I really needed that. Needed to feel you again," I whispered.
"Me too, Nicky. Me too."
And then – knock knock knock .
"Are you boys decent?" Miss Charice's voice boomed through the door, rich with amusement.
Jack and I froze like burglars caught mid-heist.
"We're decent now ," I called back, cheeks blazing so hot I was surprised the smoke alarm didn't go off.
"Well, the coast is clear," she chuckled. "Lunch is done, and we're heading out for the afternoon part of the tour. Hurry up and get dressed."
Jack and I sat up slowly, still holding onto each other, and then our eyes met. We grinned – big, stupid, can't-hold-it-back grins.
Jack snorted. "So much for stealth mode."
"Yeah," I muttered, laughing into his shoulder. "We're terrible spies."
For a while, I'd worried we were drifting apart. That the thread between us was unraveling, fraying too much to hold.
But now?
Now it felt like we'd tied a new knot. Tighter. Stronger. And I couldn't have been more grateful.
On our way out of the dorm for the second half of the tour, we made the mistake of stopping by the common room – and wouldn't you know it, the whole crew was camped there like they owned the place: Christian, Jonah, Danny, Kit, Emery, and Mark, sprawled across couches and beanbags in varying states of travel exhaustion. Apparently, they'd all just trickled back from home and wasted no time reclaiming their territory.
Miss Charice was in rare form. She marched into the center of the room like she was presenting a royal court. "These fine young men," she declared, voice full of flair, "are wonderful, smart, talented, respectful, and include a couple of Harrison West's top scholar-athletes."
She gestured toward Christian and Kit, who immediately sat up straighter like they'd been knighted with invisible swords.
That's when Nana Beverly zeroed in on Christian.
Her eyes widened, traveling from his broad shoulders to his clean-cut jawline, lingering long enough to make the rest of us squirm. She fanned herself dramatically, face turning crimson. "Is it me," she asked, "or is it getting hotter than Hades in here?"
No one moved.
Then she leaned in closer, voice dropping but still loud enough for everyone to hear: "If I were fifty years younger, young man, I would do unspeakable – unholy – things to you. Things that would scandalize the neighbors. Things that would get me arrested in three states and banned from polite society."
The room collectively imploded.
Jack let out a strangled "Nana!" while Christian's ears turned beet red. Emery actually slapped his hands over his face and whimpered, "Oh, my God, I can't be here." Kit muttered, "Brain bleach. I need brain bleach." Mark made the sign of the cross. Danny whispered, "Somebody call HR."
Jonah, naturally, doubled over, wheezing. "She's a menace," he gasped, pounding the couch arm. "An absolute menace."
Christian, for once in his life, was speechless. He just sat frozen, like he'd been hit by a truck carrying Nana Bev's innermost thoughts.
Before she could elaborate – or, God forbid, get into details – Miss Charice swooped in, voice booming like salvation. "And this little devil right here is our young Jonah. Resident troublemaker. Cute as a button, but Lord help me, he keep me busy!"
Jonah yelped as she caught him by the ear and dragged him into a hug, and the moment passed with a rush of nervous laughter.
"Oh, isn't this delightful!" Nana Bev said, utterly unfazed. "It's so nice to see such a solid and diverse set of friends for Jack and Nick."
Six teenage boys simultaneously forgot how to make eye contact. They squirmed like puppies caught in a spotlight, cheeks blazing red.
And then came the torpedo.
"And all of you boys are fairies , too?" Nana Bev asked brightly, as if she were asking about the weather.
The room detonated.
Full-on belly laughs erupted from every corner. Even my mom nearly spat out her water. Emery looked like he might faint from sheer secondhand embarrassment if Kit hadn't had an arm wrapped around him, holding him upright.
Jonah, of course, saw his moment and seized it.
He clutched his chest in mock horror and pointed dramatically at Christian. "Ma'am," he began in his most theatrical stage voice, "my dear brother here does, in fact, spend his days frolicking in the grass with other handsome boys in very tight pants. They slap each other's buttocks with suspicious enthusiasm and then shower together afterward. Not to mention, most of his best friends are … fairies , as you say. But alas – he's tragically heterosexual."
The laughter doubled. Even my mom had to cover her mouth to keep from choking.
"And the rest of us," Jonah continued smoothly, "I'm afraid we are all queerer than a chihuahua wearing a tiara."
That just about killed me. I was wheezing, doubled over. Jack's face was streaked with tears from laughing so hard. Nana Bev, on the other hand, looked like she'd been handed the juiciest gossip of her life. She wasn't scandalized so much as positively delighted in a Victorian-fainting-couch, fetch-my-smelling-salts kind of way. She promptly reached for her trusty flask to steady her nerves.
Jonah, never one to stop while ahead, swept across the room like he was on Broadway. He gave my mom an exaggerated curtsey, then threw his arms around her.
"It's good to see you too, you little stinker ," she said warmly, hugging him back.
"And happy fourteenth birthday," she added.
Jonah fluttered his eyelashes. "Ah yes," he sighed with faux melodrama. "I do hope I don't grow up too fast, but you know… life ."
Before Nana Beverly could circle back to "unspeakable acts" or start naming states where she'd get arrested, Miss Charice clapped her hands and rescued us.
"Well, I think it might be best if these two stay back and catch up with their friends," she said smoothly, "while us older ladies head on out for the rest of the tour and the meetin's."
My mom shot me a look over her shoulder that screamed: Don't even think about sneaking off later, Nicholas. Meanwhile, Miss Charice gently steered Nana Bev toward the door.
"They're ever so charming," Bev gushed, flask in hand. "Though I might need a drink. Bartender? Oh, Bartender? Could I get a Manhattan over here?"
I briefly considered donating one of my leftover Clonazepam to the cause. Fortunately, I hadn't needed a single one over the weekend as I had expected. She could wash it down with whatever was left in that flask she'd been nursing all day. Nana Bev was a character, all right. But it did make me question if she was really the one who should be legally responsible for Jack's well-being, if things went that way.
The moment the door shut behind them, the six of us bolted for Jack's and my room like someone had just yelled free pizza.
Once we were crammed inside, the interrogation began.
"Okay, spill it," Christian demanded. "Have you two made up or what?"
"Define 'made up,'" I hedged, stalling.
"Yeah," Jack added, deadpan, "are we talking Disney Channel kiss or… HBO special?"
We both blushed.
Hard.
Mark whistled low. "Well, that answers that."
Danny grinned and added, "Just don't traumatize the housekeeping staff, okay?"
Cue more groans, more laughter, and Jack burying his face in my shoulder.
Of course, they wanted details. Every eyebrow was waggling, every smirk loaded. Somehow, Jack and I had become the most sexually active teenage boys in our entire friend group – which was saying something, considering Christian's history. However, there was no way we were going to hand over that kind of blackmail material. We weren't stupid. A single loose detail could be twisted into a running joke and resurrected at the absolute worst possible moment, potentially causing trouble with the administration again for years to come. So, we just grinned, blushed, and stonewalled.
"Gentlemen," Jack said, putting on his best serious face, "what happens behind closed doors remains classified."
Christian groaned. "Oh, please. You two are like the Pentagon of gossip. No leaks. None. It's disgusting."
Jonah leaned forward dramatically. "I'm filing a FOIA request. You legally have to tell us."
That earned him a couch cushion to the face.
Eventually, the energy in the room leveled out, and we dug into the pile of ancient board games crammed into the common room closet – "Trouble" with half the pegs missing, "Battleship" with Sharpie doodles on the carriers, and an "Uno" deck so warped it looked like it had survived a flood. We took turns playing while the rest heckled from the sidelines like we were ESPN commentators.
Jack and I curled up together on my bed, whispering, trading little kisses, and basically ignoring everyone else like the disgustingly mushy couple we were. The chaos buzzed around us, but in our corner, it felt soft and quiet, just the two of us.
Naturally, it didn't take Jonah long to weasel his way under the covers with us. He wriggled in between us like a satisfied housecat, practically purring as Jack absentmindedly stroked his blond curls and I rubbed slow circles on his tummy.
"Mmm," Jonah sighed. "Finally. This is what luxury feels like. I deserve this."
"Luxury?" I snorted. "You're literally sandwiched between two sweaty teenage boys."
"Exactly," he cooed. "Five stars. Would recommend."
I noticed Danny giving us the side-eye, hovering awkwardly as if he wanted in. Jack smirked, tilted his head toward him, and said, "Come on, Danny. Don't be shy. We're only charging five bucks an hour."
"Just send the invoice to my dad," he giggled.
Danny dove onto the bed so fast he nearly knocked Jonah off. "Worth it!" he crowed, wedging himself in. Jonah squealed and elbowed him.
"Hey! No refunds if you drool on me."
"What if it's not drool, but something else ?"
" EWWWWW!!! Gross! "
For a while, it was ridiculous and perfect. No tension. No stress. Just us being idiots again.
Well, almost.
Because then, out of nowhere, Kit piped up. "Okay, but when's my turn for snuggles?"
Jack and I burst out laughing, and before I could even answer, Emery clapped him on the shoulder, smirking. "I've got a snuggle for you right here."
Then he goosed Kit on the butt.
The room exploded.
Kit yelped, clutching his backside. " EMERY! WHAT THE HELL? " His face went crimson.
Jonah rolled off the bed, wheezing, "Oh my God, I think he left a handprint!"
Mark was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. "Dude, that sounded like a gunshot!"
Christian shook his head, grinning. "You're all hopeless. How did I ever get mixed up with you guys?"
Jonah sat up suddenly, chest heaving, curls sticking out everywhere, eyes alight with mischief. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced in his best game-show voice, "we have entered the official Harrison West Snuggle Olympics. Gold medal goes to yours truly, Jonah Donahue, for outstanding achievement in cuddle pile insertion and overall sass."
He raised both arms like a victorious boxer. Danny threw a pillow at his head.
"Runner-up goes to Danny," Jonah continued breathlessly, "for bold enthusiasm and excellent form. Kit, unfortunately, is disqualified for crying about his ass in front of the judges. Better luck next year, sweetheart."
The laughter roared again. Emery actually fell off his chair.
By six on the dot, Jack and I had peeled ourselves out of the madness and headed for the dining hall. My stomach fluttered with nerves as much as hunger. It was time to meet back up with Miss Charice, my mom, and Nana Beverly to hear what had come out of their meetings, and hopefully – finally – find a solution quickly and put this mess behind us so we could return to our lives.
I just wanted to be a normal boy. To attend class, study, spend time with a few loyal friends, and have a boyfriend I didn't have to worry about losing. I didn't want the constant drama, the chaos, the shadows hanging over everything. I didn't want to live in fear of someone taking Jack away or being punished just for French kissing my boyfriend on the quad, or remembering the sick feeling of being cornered by a gross house parent who should've protected me. I just wanted life to feel simple again. Peaceful. Ordinary. To love without fear, and to be loved without consequence. Was that too much to dream of?
Nana Bev treated us to dinner at what she loudly proclaimed was "the best steakhouse in town." Which sounded impressive until you remembered two things: one, we were in rural Michigan; and two, she had never actually been here before. So "best" was relative. The food was fine – prime rib thick and pink, potatoes drowned in butter and cheese, asparagus limp as overcooked shoelaces, and creamed corn that looked like it had survived the Clinton administration. The air was heavy with the smell of grilled meat and the faint scent of spilled beer from 1997.
Bev, of course, was already three sheets to the wind before we even sat down. She carried her flask into the restaurant as if it were part of her jewelry set. The poor waiter hadn't even introduced himself before she waved him over with a royal flourish: "One Manhattan. Strong. Two cherries. Chop-chop." By the time the Caesar salads arrived, she was on her second. She flagged him down to prep her third before the second even hit the table.
Jack stared at his salad like it had personally betrayed him, stabbing at the romaine with his fork. My mom rubbed her temples like she was keeping her brain from oozing out. I tried to pretend I was cheerful.
"So…" I said. "What's the good news? I assume there's good news?"
Bev hiccupped – loud, operatic – and raised her glass to toast a porcelain cat statue perched behind the bar.
"Is this going to be a problem?" I whispered to Mom, tilting my head toward Bev, who was now serenading the cat with "My Funny Valentine."
"I don't know," she whispered back. "The case is strong. We have leverage. Her lawyers are good. But she's going to have to hold herself together if this goes to court."
I frowned. "Yeah, but can she really take care of Jack? Like, really?"
Jack stabbed another leaf of romaine. "Still here, guys. Not an orphan in a Dickens novel."
That's when Bev let out a belch that rattled the silverware – and then face-planted straight into her salad. Caesar dressing splattered onto the tablecloth. The waiter froze mid-step, staring in horror, before recovering and pretending nothing happened.
"Impressive," I muttered.
Jack winced, sinking lower into his chair. "God, why is this my life?"
Mom cleared her throat and went into her Doctor Voice™. "There is good news, boys. Quite a bit, actually. As long as we let the lawyers do what they do, we're in a good position."
Right on cue, Bev lifted her head again, a romaine leaf stuck to her cheek like war paint, and slurred, "See? I told you – I'm useful! " Then she attempted to jab her fork into the creamed corn and missed entirely, jabbing the table instead.
Jack's face was pinched tight, his hands clenched in fists on his lap. I could see it – the worry creeping in, the doubt. This wasn't funny to him anymore. He wanted stability, not chaos. Money wasn't the same as family, and for all Bev's affection, he was starting to realize how fragile she was. How fragile this was. I was pretty sure Jack was thinking it wasn't much of a mystery why he felt so screwed up—when every branch of his family tree seemed like a cautionary tale. His parents were disasters, and Bev, for all her wild antics, was still wobbling on the edge of control. But at least she was kind, and she wanted to help. That counted for something.
Mom pressed on, a true pro. "First of all, the tuition situation is resolved. Bev pulled out her checkbook in the Dean's office and paid for next year in full – tuition, dorm, books, meal plan, laundry, everything."
Jack blinked. "She did what?"
"She paid it all," Mom said, shrugging.
Jack sank back into his chair, stunned, but not relieved. Not fully. Because he wanted more than a check, he wanted a family. A home. And watching Bev wobble in her chair and nearly knock over her Manhattan didn't exactly scream stability.
"The next step is for the lawyers to send a letter to your parents," Mom continued. "And I'm going to try to explain the two real options we have now."
Jack froze at the word parents. His jaw clenched, and his eyes dropped to the table, but he nodded weakly for her to go on.
My mom sat across from Jack at the table, her voice steady but kind.
"Okay, Jack, you really have two paths right now. The first is temporary or permanent guardianship . That means your parents are still legally your parents, but the court gives Nana Beverly the authority to care for you – make medical decisions, deal with school, and keep you safe, among other things. It's quick, it's straightforward, and judges are used to approving it in situations like yours. The downside is that your parents still technically have rights, and they could try to challenge it later. But in the meantime, it gets you out from under their control right away. They'd also still be financially responsible for you, at least on paper. It would just depend on whether Nana Bev chose to pursue that or not, which could get ugly."
She paused before continuing.
"The other option is termination of parental rights . That's permanent. If the court approves it, your parents will no longer be considered your parents in any legal sense. They'd have no say in your life, no power to interfere. It would give you the cleanest break possible. But it's much harder to get, and usually only happens if there's an adoption waiting – for example, if Nana wanted to adopt you. And it also means no more child support. Financially and legally, it would all fall on her, which I don't think would be a problem in her case."
My mom reached across the table, resting her hand lightly on his. "So those are the two roads. Guardianship is easier and faster, and it provides protection immediately. Termination is final and absolute, but it's more challenging, slower, and carries greater weight. It really depends on what you want, Jack. This has to be your choice. Just know that guardianship is the more practical step for now, and it keeps you safe while still leaving doors open for the future."
Jack stared at the table for a long time, his thumb rubbing circles against the grain of the wood. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hoarse.
"So, if I go with guardianship, they could still come back and… try to take me away?"
My mom gave a slight nod. "They could try, yes. However, the court wouldn't simply hand you back to them without thoroughly examining the situation. Guardianship gives you real protection, Jack. It's not flimsy."
Jack swallowed hard, his jaw tight. "And if I go with the other thing… the termination one… then they're gone. For good."
"Yes," she said gently. "But it's a long, difficult process. And once it's done, there's no undoing it."
He let out a sharp breath, running both hands through his hair. "God, I hate this. Why do I even have to decide stuff like this? I didn't ask for any of it."
"You're right," my mom said softly. "You shouldn't have to. But you've been put in a position where your voice matters now. We want to make sure the court hears what you want."
Jack's eyes glistened, but he blinked hard, fighting it back. "Then I guess… I guess guardianship makes more sense. At least for now. I don't want to drag it out forever. I just… I just want to feel safe again."
My mom squeezed his hand. "That's all any of us want for you. And this is the fastest way to get you there."
Jack nodded, but his lip trembled as he whispered, "I just hope it's enough."
"There's a little more to this that I need to explain, Jack," my mom said gently, sliding her hand over his and holding his gaze. "Because your grandmother lives so far away, someone here needs to have the legal authority to handle your day-to-day care. That's where I come in."
Jack nodded and listened intently.
Mom gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "When the court grants Nana Beverly guardianship, she can also sign a Power of Attorney that lets me take care of things for you here in Michigan. That means if you need a doctor, if school calls, if there are forms to sign – I can step in right away. You won't have to wait for Beverly to fly in or worry about your parents. You'd have someone right here, every day, to handle the small things, the emergencies, and everything in between. And, Jack…" She smiled softly. "I would be so happy and honored to do that for you."
Jack blinked at her, his mouth parting like he wasn't sure he'd heard right. His hands curled into fists against the table, then relaxed as his eyes filled.
"You'd really do that? For me?" he asked, his voice breaking.
"Of course," she said gently, reaching to squeeze his shoulder. "We already love having you here. You matter to us, Jack. You're like family now."
That was all it took. Jack covered his face with his hands, shoulders trembling, the tears spilling faster than he could stop them. For the first time in longer than he could remember, the weight pressing down on him cracked open into something lighter – hope, safety, belonging. He choked out a laugh through the sobs and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you so much."
I slipped an arm around him, holding tight while Jack cried, both of us knowing in that moment that he wasn't just being looked after – he was wanted.
Bev, meanwhile, was currently leaning precariously sideways, humming to herself, Manhattan #3 untouched but looming like Chekhov's Gun. "…then I'll likely file for full guardianship."
In the end, the plan sounded solid – smart, even – but there was still one big ugly but hanging over all of it.
"But if your parents find out the 'interested party' is your grandmother," my mom said gently, "and they have any dirt on her, or just want to make more people miserable… well, this could get harder, and we have to be mentally prepared for that."
We all glanced over at Bev, who had somehow managed to migrate across the restaurant like a migrating bird in sequins. She was parked in a corner booth, sipping yet another Manhattan and carrying on what looked like a very emotional, one-sided conversation with a china hutch. She gestured dramatically at it, nodding with tears in her eyes, like it had just confessed its deepest regrets about the decline of American manufacturing.
Jack sighed heavily. "Yeah. That checks out."
By the time dessert rolled around – some questionable cheesecake with the structural integrity of pudding – we were drained. Mom handled the bill while Jack and I half-carried, half-steered Bev out the door. She giggled like a kid who'd just discovered helium balloons, hiccupped through the parking lot, and collapsed into the SUV. By the time we were halfway back to the school, she was out cold, snoring against the window.
Mom dropped us off at the dorm. Bev was flying back to Seattle in the morning, and honestly, none of us were sure how much of this she'd remember – or if she'd even remember she had a long-lost grandson. If she happened to look at her bank statement, though, she might figure it out pretty quickly. The cost of a full academic year at Harrison West, including all add-ons such as books, laundry, and extracurricular activities, was a substantial amount. A whopping $65,000 per academic year!
Back in our room, Jack and I showered in turns, then climbed into bed in just our boxers. We didn't kill the light right away. Instead, we lay there facing each other, the dim glow of my desk lamp making everything feel quieter, softer, like the world had shrunk down to just us.
"She gave me hope," Jack said finally, his voice low. "And then I watched her get drunk off her ass and talk to furniture."
"Yeah," I admitted. "It wasn't… great."
"I wanted to believe she could fix everything. It wasn't what I expected."
I reached out, threaded my fingers through his hair, and smoothed it back gently. "I know."
That broke him. He curled into me, resting his head on my chest, and the tears came – slow at first, then harder, until his shoulders shook.
"I don't have anyone else, Nick," he choked out. "Just you. And your mom. And Mr. Bojangles. That's it. You're my whole life."
I pressed a kiss into his hair, my chest tightening. "I'm not going anywhere, you hear me? We'll figure this out. Your next year's already paid for, so you're not losing school. We just need Nana Bev to hold it together long enough to give her lawyers the green light, and you know my mom will be right there pushing her. Honestly, I think it's going to be fine. You'll get the guardianship, and my mom will get whatever that other thing was to help take care of you, and then everything falls into place. And once it does, we can just… live our lives. So, trust my mom, okay? She's feisty and stubborn as hell, and she's going to fight for you. And I promise, I will, too."
He didn't answer, but the way his arms tightened around me said more than words ever could. His breath was hot against my chest, his heartbeat thudding against mine, like he was trying to fuse himself into me so he wouldn't ever have to let go.
He trusted me.
And that trust took a long time to earn.
And lying there, with his face buried against me and my fingers tangled in his hair, I realized how much I wanted to deserve that trust. How much I wanted to be the one who held him steady when everything else was falling apart. The protector. The boyfriend. The safe place.
For him, I would try to be all of it.
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