I’ll take it though.
The relationship I have with King, with him and his baby brother, both mean so much to me that I’d hate to spend our time together fighting or in silence. King is helpful and kind; he’s funny and intuitive. We enjoy a lot of the same things, and watching movies with him after Prince falls asleep is something I cherish. So, I’m grateful he isn’t a brat for me no matter what the reasoning behind it is.
Just like I’m grateful for every second I get with the five-year-old tugging on his dress shirt.
My gaze shifts to Prince as he turns to face his brother, showing off theitchy and hotbutton-down that looks the same as his, the dark jeans, and little combat boots that are nearly identical to the ones King is wearing.
Prince could be King’s clone.
His hair is a little more brown than black, and his eyes lack any green at all, but if they were the same age, I know everyone that sees them would think they were twins. Prince even has Rochelle cut his hair in the same shaggy style King wears his.
It’s adorable really, the way the little boy dotes so hard on his big brother. He wants to be just like him when he grows up, and Prince even managed to talk his parents into getting Beau to approve him joining an out of club soccer team, exactly like they did for King around the same age.
These boys, my relationships with them, I can easily credit them as one of the main reasons why I’m still here at all. Cal and Rochelle treat them like gold but the idea of leaving them behind, of hurting them by doing something stupid after being some sort of fixture in their lives since they were born… that idea guts me.
“Do I got something on my face?”
I blink and shake my head, only now realizing I’ve been staring at Prince, most likely weirding out the little boy. “Nope. You’re as handsome as ever.”
He gives me a big smile—a smile that’s missing two front teeth—before tugging at the collar of his shirt again.
“You don’t have to wear this for very long.” I sigh as I walk over to my dresser and start packing his bag. “Beau doesn’t want the kids there too late.”Because he sends the women and children home after an hour or two so the men can get up to god knows what.“So, you’ll go and wish him a happy birthday, eat a slice of cake, then maybe have a chance to play with the other kids for a bit before your mom takes you home.”
“Are you coming with us?” Prince asks expectantly.
“Yeah, Stevie. Do you get to leave when we do?” his brother chimes in.
But I shake my head. “Unfortunately, no. Beau is my dad so it’s only right”—and required—”that I stay for the whole party.”
Prince frowns in disappointment as I turn, but when I look to King for a little help in making this sound like it’s not a big deal, the seventeen-year-old is scowling at me.
Weird.
Again, King has seen Beau beat me more times than I’d like, which was never, and it’s not like my father is particularly good with children. All of the kids in the club are afraid of him and steer clear whenever they can, but King hasn’t seemed to care much either way since he developed the attitude that came with age. But the look on his face now says otherwise.
“It’ll be fine,” I say as my eyes bounce between their handsome faces. “I always stay until the end, you know that, and I promise—”
“Boys!” All three of us look to the hall as Rochelle’s voice bellows through the house. “King! Prince! You better not be hiding Stevie in a closet again!”
Prince and I giggle at that because she will never let me live that down.
During their summer break, I had the boys all the time. They stayed almost every other week because of various things Beau had Cal doing, and since I have a reputation as themost funnest babysitter everto live up to, we played all kinds of games to pass the time.
Well, Prince and I did. King only joined in after we begged.
But one night, I thought it’d be a good idea to play hide and seek, and managed to get both Moreland brothers on board. Of course, Prince wanted to seek first, so King and I took off in different directions to hide, my ideal spot being the utility closet by the back door. Problem was, that closet was hardly ever used and I’m almost positive the door was original to when the house was built in the sixties, so once I went in, the janky old knob got stuck.
Of course, none of us knew that until Prince gave up searching for me.
When he and his brother started calling my name and I tried to come out but instead found myself trapped in the utility closet until Rochelle came to pick them up, well, that was not only scary for a few good reasons, it became something she hasn’t missed the chance to razz me over.
“Oh good,” Rochelle says with a smile as she appears in the doorway of my bedroom next to King. “I was worried I was going to have to find a screwdriver and start removing door knobs again.”
“Not this time, Mama.” Prince giggles before itching around his collar for the hundredth time.
She walks toward her youngest son, the smile on Rochelle’s face growing as she pops the top button and tries to get him to stop fidgeting. “That’s a relief.”
“You look real fancy, Mama.” He looks up at her with a toothless grin and I have to agree.
