The Foster Family (2 page)

“Careful, now.” A hand reached for me, inserting itself into my narrow view of the too-bright world. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I fucking well am not! Who?” I finally pried my eyelids open and glared around. “Where the fuck am I?”

Two blurry men in shorts and sneakers and a lot of bare skin stood over me. They both had the right outline against the clear, torturous blue of the sky to be buff. Shirts trailed from the waistbands of their shorts. They both reached down big, tanned hands to within my nearsighted circle to steady me.

“These yours?” one of them asked, holding up a dark, squiggling blur.

“Gimme my fucking glasses.”

White split across both fuzzy faces.

“You have a special pair just for fucking?” One man tilted his head slightly. “That’s kind of kinky, isn’t it?”

“Charlie.” The other of the men glanced in the speaker’s direction. His voice was slightly admonishing, but not without humor. I just wasn’t sure if the amusement was being directed at me or not.

“Give me my fuc—” I let out a huff. “Can I please have my glasses?” I held up a hand, fully expecting it to get slapped aside and laughter to follow.

I knew how these things went. As soon as they realized I could see fuck all without the lenses, they’d keep them just out of reach to see how desperate I’d get to have them back. It was a common tactic, and a lot of experience with being on the wrong end of it reminded me that just sitting there being polite was the quickest way to get them too bored to continue the torment. Eventually they’d toss the glasses off somewhere and leave me alone.

Instead, a warm, strong hand gripped mine, and an even stronger tug encouraged me to scramble to my feet before I got my arm yanked out of my socket. As it was, my foot slipped again and I landed, face-first against a broad, sweaty, slightly hairy chest. I was not handed my glasses. They were gently set in place on my face, and once I had blinked the world back into focus, I found myself confronted by two very good-looking men, probably close to ten years older than me, arms crossed, faces almost stern as they studied me in turn.

“Missed the bus to the hotel, did you?” the one not named Charles asked.

I blinked at him again.

“The party last night, kid,” he said, indicating with a wave the golf course clubhouse down the beach. “You miss your ride home? Because I gotta tell you, sleeping on the beach, not such a stellar plan. Your suit’s toast, for one thing.” He gently straightened one of my lapels and pulled the drooping flower I’d stolen from a bouquet free of the pocket. He tossed it with a flick into the waves.

I looked down at myself and the three inches of water lapping around my feet.

“Tide’s coming in,” he went on. “I mean seriously. We’ve caught couples still necking on the boardwalk this early in the morning, but waiting to get washed out to sea? It was just a dance. Even if your girl left you on the dance floor, it can’t be that bad.”

“What the hell would you know about it?” I muttered.

They glanced at each other, then back at me as I patted my pockets for my keys and phone.

“You okay, kid?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, going a little frantic when I found nothing but empty pockets. “Sorry I slept on your precious beach. Later.” I turned to go back the way I’d come the night before, hoping I’d find my missing life somewhere in the sand, but the way was impassable. The tide had devoured the beach right up to the stony cliff face that jutted out toward the sea about fifty feet off. It had claimed another inch of my pants as I stood there. My back was caked in saltwater and sand from lying on the ground, and my feet felt like ice inside my shoes.

“You’ll have to come up through the garden,” not-Charles said. “You can’t get back to the club along the beach now, and in another fifteen minutes, this section will be about six feet under water.” He turned to slosh through the ankle-deep water to a set of steps leading up through a carved-out section of the cliff. “Coming? Because you can stand there all day, but”—he tilted his head—“I don’t like your chances. You’ll be under the waterline.” He pointed to the evidence on the cliff face.

“I’m not short,” I protested.

They both smirked, but facts were facts. Six feet of water was about eight inches more water than I could comfortably stand flat-footed in and still be able to breathe, and since swimming in a suit was beyond stupid, I followed them up the steps.

Their lawn was a good six feet above the high-tide mark, and it was, indeed, a garden and not just a yard with flowers. They led me down a stone path bracketed on either side by a fresh spring emerging from well-tended evergreen shrubs. In about ten feet, the trail opened up onto a wide lawn. The grass had begun to turn from the yellow of winter to the new, bright spears of green poking through the thatch. Canvas and burlap still covered plants apparently a bit too tender for the local winter climate, but at their feet, daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips provided a riot of color against the rest of the early spring drab.

“Wow.” I couldn’t help it. Azaleas and lilacs perfumed the yard, showing off with bright-pink and soft-purple flowers. It smelled like growth and promise.

Both men grinned, one at the yard, the other at his friend.

“Charles is fond of his little project.”

“Fond of my little project.” Charles smacked the other man on the arm. “And Malcolm is an ass.”

“It’s a beautiful garden,” I said, because it was, and because I could appreciate the amount of work that went into it. If I was even remotely more financially stable, I’d still be deeply ensconced in the local college’s excellent botany program. As it was, I worked part-time at the local nursery, shared a tiny room in a house with a self-centered ass who had taken me in to reduce his rent, not because we had anything in common or because we got along. I dreamed of one day maybe having a yard I could experiment in, but the more time that passed, the farther off that reality seemed to get.

“Oh great. You too?” Malcolm groaned and turned toward the house. “Lord help me, he found another one.”

“Another one what?” I asked, pushing my glasses up my nose as I turned in place to take in the view.

“You really do like it,” Charles said.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I would kill to have a setup like this. Man!” I wandered to the edge of the grass and crouched. “These are romance daffs.” I cupped a delicate white-and-pink bloom between my fingers.

Charles crouched next to me. “Malcolm buys me a few bulbs every fall.” He touched the bloom with one finger.

“So….” I glanced over. “He doesn’t actually hate your garden or anything.”

Charles shrugged. “He indulges my joy.”

Glancing at the ring on his finger and then at him, I nodded. “Sounds sweet.”

Charles rose. “Almost as romantic as passing out drunk on a stranger’s beach after your first freshman party.”

“Fuck off.” I stood and stomped toward the house.

“I’m sorry!” he called, laughing as he spoke. “That was low.” He caught up to me and put a hand on my arm. “Really. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I shrugged him off. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

“So your girl go home with some other guy?”

Stopping on the threshold of their tidy-looking bungalow, I shrugged. “Sure. Something like that.” I was reluctant to drag my sandy, salt-encrusted self through their home. “I should go around.”

“Don’t be silly.” Malcolm reappeared carrying a tracksuit and towels. “There’s an outdoor shower over by the gazebo. It’ll be cold. We haven’t hooked up the solar”—he glanced at Charles—“gizmos yet, but you can wash the salt off and change, at least.” He handed me the clothing. “You can’t go traipsing around the city in that.” He indicated my soaked, ruined,
only
suit.

“Look, it’s fine.” I pushed the offered items back at him. “I was jackass enough to pass out on the beach. My problem. Not yours.”

“We’re only wanting to help,” Charles said softly. I wasn’t prepared for him ruffling my hair or the sand that tumbled down into my face.

I sputtered and stepped back. “It’s fine.” I flailed at his hand as he pulled it away.

“Are you being stubborn on purpose, or is this just a natural trait you have?” Malcolm asked, good nature glossing over the slight irritation in his tone.

“I’m not—”

Charles lifted both eyebrows.

“Being stubborn on purpose,” I finished lamely.

“Good.” Malcolm thrust the clothing and towels at me again. “Because believe it or not, everyone on the planet isn’t going to leave you standing alone on a dance floor. Go get cleaned up.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

They both flashed smiles my way, and I headed for the gazebo as they reentered the house.

M
ALCOLM
SLIPPED
off his runners, padded toward the fridge, and counted down from five in his head.

Four… three… two….

“That”—Charlie pointed out the back door—“cannot be real.”

“One.” Malcolm sighed. “What can’t be real, Charlie?”

“Are you kidding me?” Charlie grinned, ear-to-ear. “Mal, we just found a stray on our beach. A completely adorable—”

“Muddy, lonely, hungover little pup.” Malcolm sighed.

“Oh come on!” Charlie’s grin didn’t even waver.

“You… no!” Malcolm pointed an accusing finger, then turned his back in self-defense.

“I’m just sayin’.”

“Please don’t.”

Charlie made a soft sound in his throat and Malcolm curled his arms over his chest. “Charlie, I swear to god.”

“Mal.”

“If you say you want him.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
Gods, please don’t say you want him. I don’t have the energy for another one.

Truth to tell, he didn’t think he had the strength to let another one go once Charles got bored with his new toy.

“Can’t we at least feed him breakfast? Did you see how skinny he is? I bet he lives on mac ’n’ cheese and coffee.”

“He’s just a kid. He probably lives in his parent’s basement.” He snatched a pan off a hook and put it on the stove. “And he’s probably straight,” he added as an afterthought. Although he didn’t actually think he’d mistaken the way the kid had eyed them both. Straight guys didn’t look other guys over quite like that.

“I bet he’s not as young as he looks.”

“He swears too much.”

“It’s just breakfast.” Charles grinned again. “Besides. You always get them straightened out.”

Yeah. And then they leave to find their forever guy.

He studied his lover. They were never the forever guys and he was getting tired of the revolving door.

“Just one meal, Mal. Come on.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes as a soft meow floated up from around his ankles and a fluffy ginger tail disappeared under a chair before he’d registered the yielding caress of fur. It always started with
just breakfast
. But he pulled out a spatula and ordered Charlie to get eggs and bacon from the refrigerator. It was petty to throw curt little demands at him like that. He knew it was. It only made him feel worse that he knew it and did it anyway. He was becoming That Guy.

“You owe me,” he warned as his lover followed every additional order quickly and to exacting detail.

The admonishment only made Charlie grin bigger. It wasn’t the sort of payment he ever had an issue with forking over.

“I love you, Mal.”

“Just promise me you’re not going to get attached.”

Charlie smiled contentedly. “Attached?” He stooped and ran a big hand over the tiny cat’s ginger back. “What’s he talking about, huh, Georgie? What’s ol’ Malcolm talking about?”

“Gods help me,” Malcolm muttered.

C
HARLIE
GLANCED
up but his lover had turned his back to poke at the bacon in the pan.

“But I’m not the one who gets attached, am I, Georgie?” he whispered, tickling the fur behind the cat’s ears. “This one’s different. I can feel it.”

He’d make it different. Mal deserved that this time.

Patting the cat one last time before he climbed to his feet, he ran a hand down Malcolm’s back. “He likes the garden,” Charlie said. “That’s good.”

Malcolm nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” He smiled and leaned into the hand at the small of his back a bit. “Too bad he’s a high school student and not a gardener if he loves it so much.”

“I’m not a high school student, actually.”

“That was fast,” Malcolm said, turning from the stove.

“Are you fucking kidding me? That water is cold as f—” He bit his lip as Malcolm tilted his head slightly. Charlie knew the exact look of stern patience that would be on his lover’s face and he hid a smile. “Really cold,” the kid finished, a pink flush creeping into his cheeks.

“So.” Malcolm went back to his bacon. “If you’re not a high school kid, you’re fresh off the bus. Seriously, that party was a frat-boy mess last night.”

“Well.” He glanced from Malcolm’s back to Charlie. “Yeah. Well sort of. I went. But I…. It didn’t work out. Exactly.”

“Did it work out even sort of?” Charlie guessed.

He shook his head, glanced once more between them, and the flush took over his cheeks as he hung his head and slumped against the counter. “He didn’t even acknowledge I was there.”