alcoholic. John, whose folder is last, was left at a train station when he was six and was in and out of different foster homes until he settled with my dad.
By the time I’ve finished discovering their histories, I’m wrecked from crying and broken-hearted. I had always thought that my childhood was difficult. I looked at the other kids in my class who had parents who were married and cute siblings and houses with white picket fences as the norm. It felt dysfunctional to be different, but I had a momma who loved me and put me first and a set of circumstances that meant there wasn’t a threat to my welfare. I had stability, and what did these boys have? Trauma and devastation, loss, and abandonment. With my whole heart, I wish that I could erase all of the hardship from their lives, but I can’t. Nobody can.
I can see why my dad ended up helping so many of them. He must have become addicted to making a difference, and for that, I am so proud of him.
These boys should be proud too. They have all had good reasons to follow the wrong path. Any one of them could have found consolation in the bottom of a bottle of alcohol or pills. Any one of them could have resorted to numbing their pain with a syringe. But they didn’t. They’ve chosen to fight for futures that are better than that. They’ve decided to cling to each other, providing a familial bond for now and into the future.
I admire them so much for what they are trying to do.
Gone is the feeling that their desire for this arrangement is wrong in any way. Living in a polyamorous unit might not be the norm, but it’s right for these boys, and I want it to be right for me.
Beneath everything, there has to be complete trust, though, and I’m still not sure why they haven’t told me about Tristan.
22
When the boys get back from training, they stomp into the house without the usual rumble of laughter and conversation. Instead, there’s a bleakness that I wasn’t expecting, mainly as it’s Harley and Hunter’s birthday, and we’re supposed to be setting up the house for a party soon.
Gordon disappears upstairs, and I open my eyes questioningly to Trey, who shakes his head mournfully. “Gordon had to apologize to Cox,” he says. “Coach insisted. He threatened to suspend him… we thought it was going to happen, and that would have been the end. There are scouts at every game now, and Gordon needs to play. It’s the whole reason that Cox was winding him up at the gym.”
“So what happened?”
“I thought Gordon’s head was going to explode. He went so red in the face when he said sorry. It looked like he had to yank that word out of the bottom of his very soul. And then he had to run penalty laps of the field while we did our training. Cox was laughing the whole time. I don’t know how Gordon didn’t tear that asshole’s head off, but he knows how important these next few months are for all of us. He didn’t want to risk us stepping in and getting on Coach’s bad side, so he sucked it up.”
“Shit,” I mutter, and inside, guilt settles like a cold black sludge. If I hadn’t jumped in and run my mouth, none of this would have happened. Gordon would have held his temper yesterday and wouldn’t have had to face so much humiliation. Once again, my mouth has ended up hurting someone I care about, and it feels terrible. “It’s my fault.”
Trey’s face falls, and he rests his arm over my shoulder, pulling me against him for a side hug. “It’s not your fault, Maggie. Not at all. The bad blood between Gordon and Cox has been there since we were in high school.”
“But if I didn’t open my mouth…”
“There would have been another reason for it all to explode. Gordon should have known better, and he takes full responsibility for his actions.”
“So what now?”
“Now, we get ready for the party, and I’m sure Gordon will relax once he gets a drink in him.”
“Okay,” I say.
Trey presses a soft kiss onto my forehead, and I wrap my arms around his middle. “We haven’t gotten to spend much time together,” he says. “My brothers have been monopolizing you, but maybe we can hang out tonight?”