Page 115 of My Family

The staff bathroom has become our sanctuary lately.

We squeeze into the same shower stall even though there isn't really room for both of us. Ethan pulls me close beneath the hot water, and I wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest.

For once, neither of us needs anything more complicated than that.

He washes my hair.

I wash his.

He kisses me under the water, slow and warm, and by the time we finally leave, the anger has mostly drained out of me.

Chapter 35. Liam

Two weeks after the tournament, the smoke is the first thing that's weird, because it's not cigarette smoke.

It's fucking barbecue smoke.

It was supposed to be cold but sometimes fall gives us days like this. It's sunny, and the weather is exactly right, not too cold and not too hot, because the heat would probably destroy my mood.

There are tables everywhere in the courtyard, even on the old soccer field. There are condiment stations with real pickles. There are red plastic cups stacked in pyramids.

People are arriving all the time.

A grandmother arrives with a huge casserole dish, flanked by two women and a man who might be a very tired priest. At least, he's dressed like one, which is very fucking weird, but this is Aspire, so you never know.

They hug a boy called Fred, surrounding him, touching his face, his arms, the backs of his hands, as if checking if he's alive. He's lanky and has brown hair, a face full of freckles. The boy stands rigid in the center of their attention, his eyes blinking too fast, and then the grandmother says something and his face just comes apart, and she catches him.

I look away.

It's the first Family Day at Aspire. Griff told us he always wanted to organize something similar, but the budget was never enough. This year, though, they got a huge donation. I remember Harry's dad and what he had to pay to get those boys transferred, and I wonder if that's where the money came from.

Across the yard, a woman in a yellow sundress holds her son's face between her hands and stares at him like she's memorizing him. The boy's called Rabbit, but his real name is Juan. He's called Rabbit because he has two big ears.

A man in work boots and a stiff new jacket stands three feet from Santana, who won't look at him, both of them staring at the space between their shoes.

There are children.

Toddlers and elementary-schoolers, running around, chasing each other, and they might not have any clue where they are.

And I hope, for their sake, they never find out how to end up here.

Jack screams when he sees his mother, Berenice, and his sister, maybe in her mid-twenties, with the same warm eyes as Jack and a toddler boy perched on her hip, the child's fist wrapped around a strand of her hair.

She has red hair. She's covered in tattoos, way more than Jack.

Jack barrels into her like he's trying to tackle her to the ground, full force, both arms around her, and the boy between them squeals and hugs Jack too.

They hold on.

She's saying something into his shoulder.

Then he holds his mom for a long time.

She pulls back and holds him at arm's length. Then she grabs his arm and pulls him aside, toward the edge of the yard where the big oak throws its shadow, her mouth moving fast now, his sister and nephew following.

The toddler bounces on his sister's hip.

I'm happy for him.