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“Yes, sir,” Michael replied, the smile on his face so automatic he couldn’t frown if he forced himself to. He got custody. He was going to have Jace with him all the time. The excitement was immediately replaced with a fear that came on so strong he almost fainted.
He completely forgot Marilyn was there and pulled Haize in for a tight hug. The bailiff brought Jace over, and his ex wasn’t far behind, attempting to take their son’s hand. “You can’t have him! No! You can’t just take him from me!”
The bailiff stood between Marilyn and Jace, holding his hand out. “You don’t want to be doing that, ma’am.”
“We will arrange for a visit to get Jace’s items from her home. You won’t have to do that,” Michael’s lawyer replied. “At this moment, he is yours to take. Congratulations, Mr. Brennan.” He stuck his hand out for Michael to shake, and he returned the gesture. It all felt so unreal, like he’d wake up at any moment in his prison cell and all of this was a dream.
“Hey, Jace.” Michael hunkered down beside the boy. “I know this is all so confusing for you. Are you okay?”
The boy nodded and looked at his mom, who was crying and still trying to get to him. “Bye, Mommy.” He waved his tiny hand at her, and she fought harder to get through. The bailiff handcuffed her and escorted her from the room.
Her husband approached, appearing much calmer, but the anger was painted clearly on his face, his cheeks red and flush, jaw clenched as he opened his mouth to speak. “This is a big mistake, Michael. You can’t just take a kid away from his mother.”
“She has a chance to be in his life. The court is giving her a chance.”
“He’s a little shit, anyway. One less mouth to feed. We’re both better off without him.” He walked away, and Michael hated that Jace had heard that comment.
Haize pulled him in for a hug. “Congratulations, Dad!” She ruffled Jace’s hair. “My name is Haize!”
They walked out onto the courthouse lawn. Jace was quiet, walking beside them toward Haize’s car. There was going to be an adjustment period, and he had to understand the kid might not be receptive to things for a while. Change was hard for anyone, and though Marilyn wasn’t mother of the year, she was still his mom and he’d likely go through a phase where he missed her.
He'd give Jace space. He’d let him know he was there for him. He’d buy him new things. He’d make sure he was eating good food. The boy would come around. He had to be patient and enjoy the ride, no matter how rocky it’d be.
“What would you like to do, Jace?” Michael held his hand and allowed the child to have a say. “I took the whole day off from work. It’s up to you. We can go get some food you like. We can go to the store. The playground? You have an uncle I’d like you to meet soon, as well.” He’d prefer when Mitch was home from rehab, clean and sober. Jace had been around enough drug addicts and alcoholics.
“I wanna go to McDonald’s.”
“McDonald’s? Sounds good to me. What do you think, Haize?”
“McDonald’s sounds like a fantastic idea! Let’s go!”
It was the happiest Michael had ever felt. He didn’t want the moment to end and took in every second before it passed. Jace was with him. He was a dad. And he was going to do everything he could to make sure the kid had everything he needed. He was going to make sure he was loved and protected. He saved Jace. But most importantly, Jace was saving him and didn’t even know it.
Michael pulled up in Mitch’s driveway, his heart racing as if he had just run a race. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous to be there. It was Saturday, and his brother was scheduled to go into rehab Monday morning. He wanted to check on him and make sure he was ready, and he also wanted to share the good news about Jace. Haize stayed home with the kid after a big breakfast and a lazy morning of hanging out.
He didn’t plan to be gone long. Poor Jace had been through so many changes that he wanted to be there to help settle him in. He wanted to invite Mitch over but had to make sure he was clean before making that commitment – a calming environment was important to Jace as he adjusted.
Walking up to the porch, he balled his fist and knocked. There was no response on the other side, and he made sure Mitch’s truck was there. It was parked on the side of the house where he always left it, so he had to be home. Michael knocked again, this time a bit louder. Leaning in, he listened for footsteps that didn’t come.
He wasn’t one to just walk into someone’s home, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. Maybe Mitch was just asleep. Maybe he was passed out from drinking, which was something Michael wasn’t hoping for, but was a likely scenario. The door was unlocked, and he went inside, flipping the light on. The living room was empty – the place was filthy with pizza boxes, beer bottles, and clothing scattered throughout the room.
“Mitch?”
No response. He padded down the hallway, stopping at his old bedroom. Someone was lying in the bed, covered by a mound of blankets and pillows. Kicking the door completely open, he reached for the top layer and pulled it down.
“Mitch?” His brother was lying in the bed but didn’t respond. “Mitch?” Michael raised his voice and turned him over, revealing his face – eyes wide open, vomit in the corners of his mouth, his body already stiff. “Mitch…” Michael’s voice shook when he realized what he was seeing – Mitch was dead. His brother. His friend. Just two days before he was supposed to go to rehab.
Michael noted the items on the nightstand – his cell phone, with several alerts flashed across the screen, including a couple of text messages from Marilyn. Beside the phone was a spoon, water, a cotton ball, and a lighter. There was no syringe, but when Michael looked closer at his brother’s body, the needle was still sticking in the crook of his arm, right inside the vein.
His eyes burned. The emotions hit him hard. He slid down to the floor where he buried his face in his hands and cried. Why? Why did this have to happen? He was days away from trying to get clean.
Mitch’s phone buzzed on the table and Michael reached for it. Marilyn was now calling, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t want to know what was going on between them. All that mattered was Mitch was dead and he had to notify someone. He had to get the authorities there.
After making the call, he waited on the porch, taking in the fresh air. Life outside was continuing. Nothing stopped just because Mitch was in the house, dead in the bed with the needle still sticking out of his arm.
Kids played down the street. The mailman delivered the mail. An old lady took her bags of groceries out of the trunk of her car. Michael watched it all play out before him with tears in his eyes as he waited.
Sliding his phone from his pocket, he wondered if he should call Haize. She’d bring him back down to earth like she always did. Thinking about Mitch just inside, eyes wide gazing up, skin already transitioning, body stiff made him crave whiskey. The burning sensation. The warmth to his stomach. The buzz that would help him forget all his bad feelings.
