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My sweet man had barbecue glaze smeared around his mouth, and he waved a forkful of pork chops in the general direction of the patio. “He’s with Madison.”
“Got it.” And exhale. I could eat now.
“You’re cute as fuck, boss.”
Not now, Crew.
“I know.” I crammed half a potato skin into my mouth and chewed slowly, willing my brain to power the fuck down.
Crew grinned faintly. “When you’re ready to talk foster-care arrangements with Adrien, he’s all set.”
What the hell?
I turned to Joel.
He chuckled and nudged my shoulder with his. “I’m sorry, baby, but I know how you get. I wanted to get a head start—and I had questions.”
Mercier cleared his throat and set down his plate on the grass. “Unfortunately, I’m in no position to make promises about adoption—though, I don’t foresee any issues—but extending the foster-care situation won’t be a problem. Keith Davis is wanted for armed robbery, so even when we find him, there isn’t a chance in hell he’s regaining custody of the boys.”
I swallowed my food, and it slid down slowly, heavily, as the gravity of the moment hit me. Was this what Darius and Gray had gone through when they’d waited to hear if they could adopt their kids? I had this painful fear that my dream ofpermanentwould crash and burn. That we’d only be granted the temporary solution.
Joel reached over and kissed my cheek. “I know it’s not the guarantee you wanted, but it’s enough for us to actually ask the boys if they’d like to live here permanently.”
Right. Yeah. He was right. That’d been my half-assed plan too. Talk to Mercier, extend the foster-care arrangement, then ask the boys what they wanted. And only then, if they wanted to stay with us, could we start fighting for adoption.
Could this actually be happening?
“I think they’ll wanna stay temporarily, at least,” I admitted.
Crew snorted softly. “With all due respect, boss, but your confidence is shit on this matter. I playBattlefieldandCall of Dutywith Jack and Nicky, like, two or three times a week. Trust me, he wants to live here.”
Goddammit, I should eavesdrop more often.
“What do you say?” Joel nudged me again. “All in?”
I grinned, nervousness and hope and all the fucking worries buzzing through me.
“All in.”
* * *
The last kid fell asleep around one in the morning.
Madison had crashed at the same time Julian did, a little past nine.
It was just us grunts left.
Emerson and I emptied the house of chairs so everyone could get a seat around the table, and in the meantime, Danny lowered the volume on the stereo, a few of the others filled the table with snacks and alcohol, and Gray and Ryan started a fire in the grill, mostly for the light. The two patio lights I had by the door didn’t always notice movement farther out.
It was on Joel’s list of things to take care of. He seemed to enjoy little projects around the house.
I had no complaints.
Crew was the first to haul out his cigar.
“I’m gonna tell your pop you’re smokin’,” Ryan said.
“First of all, he’ll take that as a compliment since I come from his gene pool,” Crew replied, not missing a beat. “Second of all, fuck you, Gramps. Celebratory cigars don’t count.”
