LITMIR.BIZ

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two years when I was labeled a discipline case. It happened after I hit an adult because he beat his son, then no one backed my side of the story.

      “You’re right. I like it.” I clear my throat. “I first watched it with our dad.”

      It no longer feels like someone’s yanking my balls through my ass when he refers to Carrie and Joe as his parents. The pain’s been downgraded to a railroad spike being shoved into my eye every ten seconds. The adoption became official last month. Now and forever, Carrie and Joe will be Jacob and Tyler’s mom and dad.

      I’m okay with it. What I’m not okay with is being alone—being the one without a family. Echo’s the lone string that’s held me together since I decided to walk from the custody battle, and sometimes I’m afraid she’ll get tired of my shit and snap.

      “When are you coming home? I want you to see me play.” Jacob had a baseball game today, and his team won. He had a double, a single and one home run. I missed each and every play. Not just today, but for the whole summer. “Mom said I only have a few games left.”

      “I’m heading back east after Echo’s last gallery appointment.”

      “Hasn’t she seen enough art galleries? Paintings look the same, right?”

      I laugh, and Carrie reprimands Jacob in the background. “Sometimes,” I answer.

      “Try to come soon, okay?”

      Now washing dishes on the other side of the kitchen, Carrie says, “The last game is in two weeks.” Jacob parrots the message, then the two of them have a sidebar on whether or not he has a make-up game.

      I relax back in my seat and let them talk. Jacob’s nine and thinks he’s right. Carrie has a patience with him I’m not sure I would have possessed.

      Echo slides off the hood, and her hips have this easy sway as she walks to the back passenger door. Damn, she’s gorgeous—red, curly hair flowing over her shoulders, a pair of cut-offs hugging her ass and a blue spaghetti-strap tank dipped low enough to show cleavage.

      My fingers twitch with the need to touch. I’m going to have to pull some major groveling to gain forgiveness. If I were smart, I’d find a way to say sorry without opening my mouth. Never fails that half the time I try to apologize, it comes out wrong.

      It also doesn’t help that I’m not sorry for throwing the asshole against the wall and twenty bucks I don’t own says that’s what she longs to hear.

      “So maybe my last game is in two weeks,” says Jacob, drawing me back to him. “But you need to see me play.”

      Echo’s had a rough tail end of the summer when it comes to selling her paintings, and she’s contemplated adding more appointments on the way home, which could prevent me from seeing Jacob’s game. I rub at the tension forming in my neck, hating being torn between two people I love. “I’ll try.”

      “Awesome!”

      “Tell Tyler I’ll be home soon and that I love him.” I already told him earlier, but I want Tyler to hear it as many times as possible from as many people as he can. He’s five, and because of the foster care system that kept us apart, he doesn’t have a decent grasp of who I am.

      “I will.” Jacob says goodbye and I do the same.

      As I’m about to end the connection, Carrie’s blond ponytail swings into view. “Noah.”

      My finger freezes over the touch pad of Echo’s laptop. Carrie and I have despised each other for three years and when I stopped pursuing custody of my brothers, we called a truce. I don’t hate her anymore, but it doesn’t mean I want to chat with her. “Yeah?”

      Carrie scans the room around her then settles into the seat Jacob abandoned. “Are you really in Colorado?”

      Unsure where the hell this is going, I scratch at the stubble on my face. “Yeah.”

      Lines clutter Carrie’s forehead, and she releases a long breath. “I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing. Joe thinks it’s wrong. He says that you’re doing well and that we should let the state handle this, but when it comes to you we’ve made too many wrong choices. I’m afraid this will get lost in the system and, besides, you’re an adult and you should decide.”

      “Decide what?”

      “About your mother’s family,” Carrie says.

      “What about them?” My mother told me she was an only child and that her parents had died before my birth. This past spring, Carrie’s husband, Joe, informed me that was a lie. At night, when Echo’s tucked close to me asleep, my mind wanders with thoughts I don’t dare entertain during the day. I have living blood relatives. Ones I could meet.

      “They live in Vail.”

      It’s a town north of here. “And?”

      “They emailed us, asking if they could see Jacob and Tyler.”

      “So?” Though my fist tightens under the table. Mom’s family didn’t try for custody of me when Carrie and Joe asked them to sign away their rights to Jacob and Tyler for the adoption. I may not have admitted it to a single soul, but the idea that I was forced into foster care when I had living blood relatives makes me feel like trash thrown to the curb.

      “They also asked to see you.”

      Her words land like a blow to the gut. “Little late, don’t you think?”

      Carrie picks up a napkin ring and rolls it between her hands before setting it back down. Her anxiety twists the coil within me.

      “Let me forward you the email. They say...” She trails off, and her cheeks puff out when she exhales. “They say that when we contacted them two years ago about adopting Jacob and Tyler, they thought we were asking to adopt you, too. There’s been a misunderstanding. They thought we were taking care of you.”

      Fuck. Me.

       Echo

      Noah sits inside, and I sit outside. It’s not unusual for me to give him space while he talks with his brothers, but what is unusual is the silence between us before he went in. I’ve got nothing to say to him, and he obviously has nothing to say to me.

      My hand flies over the page and what typically erases the unease and melts the apprehension doesn’t smooth away anything. My grip tightens on the chalk, and each swipe across the paper becomes more clipped and less thought out until the markings represent disoriented lines on a page and not an image or a picture or anything.

      I toss the sketch pad and the chalk onto the table and rub at the wetness forming in my eyes. Freak. The guy called me a freak, and that’s what I am.

      Noah and I are heading back home, and the nightmares I thought I was running from lurk behind every corner and coffee shop in America. In less than a month, Noah and I will start college, and I’ll have a roommate in the dorms and new classes, and a ball of dread knots in my stomach. This summer was supposed to change me, and nothing has changed.

       Noah

      Back at the parking lot of the campsite, Echo sets her sketchbook into the passenger side of the car and riffles through her duffel bag of clothes. She hasn’t spoken to me since the incident at the café. It’s not the first time Echo’s been pissed at me, but somehow this anger feels different—weighted.

      I drop the packed tent next to the open trunk and lean my hip against the car, praying Echo will at least make fleeting eye contact. It’s not like her to go this long without acknowledging me. I’ve been hoping she’d talk—give me an idea of what direction to take.

      If she said, “I hate you,” then I can say, “I’m an

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