Tessa allowed a few seconds to pass before continuing our previous conversation.
“So, is Faith the reason you kept pushing love away?”
I took a sip of wine. “When the foster system separated us, the process of getting her back was taking forever. I was starting to lose hope when Sarah took me in.”
My voice softened involuntarily at the name, some of the tension easing from my shoulders.
“By then, I’d built walls so high that I couldn’t see over them anymore. Life had become a series of waiting for the other shoe to drop. But my foster mom, Sarah …” I shook my head, turning slightly toward Tessa. “She was different.”
I felt warmth creep into my voice, despite everything that happened later. “She didn’t just house me; she noticed me. She’d catch me searching the web for footballs, and I’d find the exact one in my bedroom a few days later. When I dozed off studying on the couch, I’d wake up with a blanket tucked around me and a glass of water on the coffee table. Little things that made me feel …” I cleared my throat. “Seen, I guess.”
It was the small things, I’d discovered, that made you feel the most loved.
Tessa reached out, her fingers ghosting over my clenched hand. After a moment, I relaxed my grip enough to let her fingers intertwine with mine again.
“We’d spend hours out in her garden,” I continued, my thumb stroking Tessa’s skin. “Just talking while we worked. She never pushed, never demanded answers, but somehow, I found myself telling her things. About Mom’s chocolate chip cookies. About Dad teaching me to throw a baseball. About wanting to help people the way the ER doctors had tried to help my parents. And the way I used to care for Faith’s wounds after our foster dad …” I trailed off, the pain choking the rest of that sentence.
Tessa tried to hide it, but I heard her sniffle.
“One evening, I told her I wanted to be a doctor. Instead of dismissing it as impractical for a foster kid with no financial means, she immediately started researching premed programs and scholarships.”
Tessa trailed a finger along my leg, patiently waiting for me to continue.
“She was also the first person I told about our previous foster father.” I cleared my throat. “She tried to hide it, but I saw her shoulders shake, saw the redness around her eyes. She promised I’d never experience anything like that again. Said she …” I swallowed hard. “She loved me.”
Loved. What a powerful word, capable of bringing people together. Or starting wars.
“Besides Faith, I’d forgotten what love felt like. Having someone genuinely invested in my well-being, my future …” My damn throat tried to clench again. “For the first time since that accident, I started to believe that everything was going to be okay. Sarah was actively working the foster process to get Faith into our home so we could be together again. I joined a baseball team where I met Ryker, and I started to hang out with him. A lot. Like any ordinary teenage boy and his best friend.” My breath hitched. “But then one day, I came home from school …” Tessa pressed closer, her body a gentle warmth against my side as my voice grew distant. “There was a stranger at our kitchen table with Sarah. A new foster system administrator.”
The memory of what happened with Sarah brought me back to that pivotal day.
I walked into the kitchen, and my entire world stuttered to a stop. The air still smelled like the chocolate chip cookies Sarah had made yesterday. Cookies she’d promised we’d make together every Sunday once Faith came home. But instead of warmth, I found a stranger sitting at our kitchen table with a manila folder. My gaze darted from that folder to Sarah, who sat opposite the woman, red-eyed and already crying at the sight of me. My stomach caved in on itself.
“What’s going on?” I stepped forward, my pulse spiking. “Did something happen to Faith?”
“Sit down, Blake,” the stranger said.
“Is she okay?”
“Faith’s fine.”
“Then what’s this about?” I questioned Sarah.
I didn’t like the tragic look on her face. Didn’t like the apologetic, pleading stare she was giving me. Didn’t like how the room felt like a funeral waiting to happen.
“Faith has to live with me,” I said, my voice cracking. “She’s the only family I have left, and we need each other.” My chest constricted like it was caught in a trap. “Please. Whatever must’ve happened with the paperwork, please fix it. Please get Faith here.”
The lady folded her hands. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible now, Blake.”
My heart crashed to my feet. Faith had to live with me. What if she was with another abuser? What if she was scared or hurt? She didn’t even go to the same school as me, so I’d have no idea it was happening. I had to be able to protect her, and she needed me as much as I needed her. Being separated from her was absolute torture, like my soul was split in half, and the only way I got through this was knowing that we’d been getting closer to having her come live with us. For good. But suddenly, that was coming to a halt?
“Why?” I slammed my fist on the table, the impact sending tremors up my arm.
“Blake, sit down,” Sarah pleaded.
But she no longer resembled the mom I’d come to know. Something was different about her. Just last month, she’d helped me paint Faith’s room pink, her favorite color.
“Your sister will be home soon,” she’d promised, squeezing my shoulder with paint-stained fingers.
