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  Momma had Griffin step on the measuring tape sticker on the tile floor so we knew what size he needed.

  “What do you like? Colorful? White? Black? Hi-tops or low tops?” I pointed to different shoes as I asked.

  Griffin just shook his head. “Any are fine. Just would like them to not hurt my feet,” he whispered.

  Momma pulled Griffin close and kissed the top of his head.

  I noticed he tensed up, but after a second, he leaned into her embrace. Momma’s hugs would do that to you.

  Griffin pulled away, blushing. “I’ve never had new shoes, so I’m not picky.”

  I grabbed four pairs in his size and placed them on the bench. “Start with those and see what you like.”

  Griffin decided on a pair of mostly white sneakers with a black logo. “It feels like there are pillows on my feet.”

  “Let’s take a look at some books and movies before we head to lunch.” Momma wiped a tear from her eye and led us toward the books and movies.

  Ten minutes later, Griffin stood in awe of the movies. He held two Disney storybooks in his arms already.

  “I’ll just get these two books. I can get a lot of books from the library,” Grif had stated while picking his two books. “I mean, if you have a library card,” he stumbled over his words as if he was afraid he’d overstepped his boundaries.

  “Of course, child,” Momma gushed. “We’ll get you one of your very own. Now, go pick a couple movies. Make ‘em your favorites. You can rent all the movies you want from the library along with your books.”

  So, Griffin stood looking at the movies. Disney movies.

  “Why you like Disney movies so much?” I picked one up and looked at the back. “I mean, I’m not against them, they just seem kinda childish.”

  Griffin sighed. “I guess because they give me hope. A lot of Disney movies teach lessons about not letting your past get you down, being yourself and loving yourself, not judging others, reaching for your dreams, and believing in yourself. Disney movies make me feel like there’s hope for me.”

  “Wow,” I breathed. “Okay, I can see it.”

  “The future isn’t going to know what hit it when you’re unleashed on it, baby boy,” Momma assured Griffin. “Both of you, I know you’re both going to do amazing things and don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  Momma had Griffin and me run to the restroom while she checked out. I think she probably didn’t want Griffin to see the total for all she bought him. I knew she got money from the state for caring for foster kids, but I had a feeling Momma dipped into her own personal money to cover all of what we picked up for Griffin.

  Once we were in the van, Momma asked us if the local burger place was okay for lunch.

  When it was obvious Griffin didn’t have a clue about eating out, I told Momma it would be great for lunch.

  “Are you rich?” Griffin whispered.

  I thought for a moment. “I’m not rich. My dad is rich. He makes sure Momma and Pops have enough money for themselves and for me. So, I get nice stuff, but Momma and Pops don’t spoil me. At least not usually. Like I can’t just get anything because I say I want it.”

  “Wow.” Griffin blew out a breath.

  Momma whipped the van into the burger joint. “Hope you’re hungry, boys! I’m starving.”

  The three of us trooped into the restaurant and waited to be seated.

  “Whoa,” Griffin whispered. “This is like a real restaurant?”

  I gave him a look. “Yeah, it’s real.” I frowned.

  As the hostess led us to our table, Griffin shrugged beside me. “I just never been to a real restaurant. Just fast food, mostly cold from a drive-through.”

  My heart wobbled between feeling so damn sorry for this kid and being so damn thrilled he’d been placed with Momma and Pops because I knew he’d get to experience all he’d missed out on and more.

  Griffin seemed overwhelmed by the menu.

  “You like burgers and fries?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “You want to get what I’m getting? It’s a double burger with cheese, fries, a milkshake, and a drink.” I pointed at the meal I was going to get.

  “That sounds like a lot of food. What if I can’t eat it all?” Griffin worried his bottom lip.

  “You can do your best,” Momma assured. “And if you can’t eat it, I’m sure this bottomless pit will help you finish it up.”

  I grinned.

  In the end, Griffin ate all but about three bites of his burger and five fries. He looked to be on the verge of a food coma as he slurped the rest of his vanilla shake.

  Momma paid for our meal and we headed home.

  “Pops will be ready for a break from the babies,” Momma joked. “Griffin, I’ll get all the new clothes washed. You boys have the rest of the day to play. Tomorrow we’ll make sure everything is ready for school.”

  I groaned about going back to school.

  Griffin looked anxious, but he said, “School isn’t usually that bad. It’s warm, you get food, and the teachers are mostly nice.”

  I felt like an ass.

  “Well, feel free to help me with my homework,” I teased and bumped his shoulder.

  Griffin nodded. “I will.”

  That night a fierce lightning storm woke me. The storm was far enough away that the thunder was still a far-away rumble, but the flashes of lightning were so bright they lit up my dark room as if the sun were shining. God, I hated lightning. Thunder was bad too, but at least thunder couldn’t start a fire or kill a person like lightning could.

  As I rolled over, ready to cover my head and try to sleep through my fear, I saw Griffin sitting up in bed. “Hey, you okay?”

  Griffin sniffed. I knew he’d been crying even before the lightning bolt shone light into my room and revealed his tear-streaked face.

  I rolled from bed and padded my socked feet over to Griffin’s side. “You scared of the lightning too?”

  Griffin drew his knees to his chest and wiped his eyes on the pajama bottoms Momma had thrown in the shopping cart at the last minute. “Kinda. The lightning is sort of scary when it’s so bright.”

  “You hate the thunder?”

  “Yeah, especially when it shakes the house.” Griffin turned his head to look at me. “Sometimes the thunder can hide other sounds.”

  “Like what?”

  “When my parents used to fight, I didn’t mind if it thundered because it would hide the sounds of their words.” Griffin shivered.

  “They used to fight a lot, huh?” I sat on the edge of his bed.

  Griffin sniffed again. “Fight, scream, throw things. My dad would slap and punch.”

  “Oh, God. That’s bad. I’m sorry.” Another flash of lightning was followed by a distant rumble of thunder. “Is that why you’re in foster care?”

  “No.” Griffin shook his head and was quiet for so long I almost thought that was all he was going to say. “My dad got really mad one night. He shot my mom and then himself.”

  My heart clenched and my eyes stung. I reached out and touched Griffin’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

  Griffin scrunched up his face. “I wasn’t sad he was dead. But I miss my mom. She tried to be good.”

  “Boys, you need to be in bed.” Momma appeared in the room out of nowhere.

  I jumped, already spooked by the lightning storm and Griffin’s story. I wondered how long Momma had been at the doorway.

  “Scoot together if you want to chat until you fall asleep, but back in bed, both of you.”

  Griffin gave me a look that said he was ready to scoff at Momma’s suggestion if I did or start pushing his bed across the room if I gave the slightest indication I was okay with it.

  “You want to?” I stood.

  Griffin scrambled out of bed and helped me scoot his bed across the room until it was flush with mine.

  Momma gave us both a hug and kiss and told us to go to sleep.

  Maybe it was having a person so close. Maybe i
t was the gratitude I felt in my heart that I’d never dealt with anything as scary as what Griffin had been through. Maybe I was just tired after a long day of shopping. My mind raced with what I had learned that night and how good it felt to have Griffin near and how weird it was that I’d gone from being mad about sharing my room to happy that Griffin was there.

  “Grif?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry you’ve had a pretty sucky life.” I reached out and patted his hand. “But you’re in a nice place now. Momma and Pops will take good care of you. And I’m your friend, no matter what. You can tell anyone that.”

  Griffin was quiet for a while. “I’ve never really had a friend.”

  “You’ve got one now.”

  Griffin yawned. “This is a nice place. I’ve never really had one of those either.”

  I squeezed his hand.

  We drifted off to sleep. Our friendship had taken root.

  2

  Griffin Murphy-Sanders

  I stared at the text from Quincy and smiled.

  Quincy: You having fun, bitch?

  Me: Yeah, where are you?

  Quincy: My dad’s.

  Me: Again? Damn, man, sorry.

  Quincy: Yeah, for the week. It’s not bad.

  Me: Awww yeah, I get the room to myself.

  Quincy: Jack off all you want.

  Me: Nah, it just means I get to watch Disney movies and cry without you making fun of me.

  Quincy: And jack off.

  Me: Okay, and jack off.

  Quincy Sanders was my brother, my best friend, and my family.

  I came to Momma and Pop’s as a scrawny, scared, traumatized ten-year-old, and Quincy took me under his wing and made the bad not so terrible.

  Momma and Pop officially adopted me when I was twelve. Have to admit, never thought I’d have a true family. My childhood was shit until I met the Sanders. They turned everything around. And Quincy quickly became my protector, my supporter, my friend.

  I kinda hated when Q went to see Max. I respected the fact that he loved his dad and wanted to spend time with him. In fact, if I was being honest, I was probably pretty damn jealous that he had a rich and caring, if somewhat distracted, father. But when Quincy was gone, I was lonely. The house was always full. Momma and Pop were always there for me, and I truly loved them like I never thought I’d love any adults.

  My mom had tried her hardest, I really believed that. But she couldn’t overcome her addictions, her demons, and her fucked up love for my dad. When he killed her and himself it left me all alone. My first couple foster homes were the absolute worst. The parents only wanted the check from the state. The kids were ignored, the houses were barely clean, and the adults were angry or uninvolved at best.

  But then I was placed with Momma and Pops and all that changed.

  For the first time, I was clean, clothed, fed, and safe. I was allowed to be a child. I got to play with other kids. I was allowed and expected to go to school. For the first time in my short life, I was wanted. Maybe even loved.

  Two years after coming to the Sanders’ house, I knew I was loved when they asked me if I wanted to be theirs forever. Did I want to have Momma and Pop as my parents? Quincy as a brother? A forever home? Hell, yes.

  They completely understood why I wanted to keep my last name to remember my mom; Momma didn’t even blink when I asked if I could have the last name Murphy-Sanders. Explaining why I wanted to honor or remember my mom when she wasn’t all that great in the first place was hard, but my heart always felt the need to keep her close. Momma, Pops, and Quincy never even questioned my decision.

  Quincy and I took to being brothers somewhat easier than we took to being best friends. We did everything together, but we were and had always been, a walking contradiction. Q loved comedies and action movies; I loved Disney movies. The more they made me cry, the better. Q was thick, dark, and strong; I was thin, fair, and scrappy. Q loved Legos and sports of all kinds; I loved dancing and costumes and makeup. He had money; I had only what Momma and Pops could provide. And what they provided was more than enough and so very much appreciated. Max was beyond rich and provided for Quincy. He didn’t lavish Q or spoil him. But Quincy never wanted for anything. Once I came to Momma and Pops’ there was no need not met. But they couldn’t provide my every want. However, I never felt like I had less. Q always shared and thought to include me in everything he could. But I won’t lie, I often felt like I was less. Not because of anything Momma, Pops, or Quincy did. Just my messed-up head always telling me I’d never be Quincy’s equal.

  School was the only area where I felt ahead of Quincy. He complained endlessly about school; I found comfort in books and learning. School seemed to be the way out of my traumatic past. Momma and Pops had vowed to be there forever, but I couldn’t rely on them to pull me free. An education was my ticket to everything I dreamed of.

  The school I went to was a lot different than Quincy’s. Max paid for Q to go to a fancy private school. I went to the public school in Momma and Pops’ neighborhood. Since so many of the kids in their area went to private schools, the public school got very little funding from the state because it had such a small enrollment. The building was run down, most of the students came from poverty, and the teachers were overwhelmed and burned out.

  But I thrived at school. Momma said I was one of the smartest and most driven kids she’d ever known, and she was excited to see how far I’d go. I soaked up anything and everything. I knew from sixth grade that if I was going to get to college, I would need scholarships. Momma and Pops assured me that we’d qualify for need-based scholarships. But I wanted to score as many academic-based scholarships as possible.

  Quincy and I began plotting our college plan in middle school. We’d go to the same school. Period. Quincy would do something with sports; I’d do something with business and cosmetology. We’d room together, study together, go out on double dates.

  But the only way that was going to happen was if I got through school with flying colors.

  My phone buzzed again.

  Quincy: Don’t jizz on my bed.

  He added a crying laughing emoji.

  I snorted. We had pushed our beds together the first week and never moved them apart. Momma bought queen size sheets and put them over the two smaller mattresses to keep us out of the dreaded crack in the middle. I always figured Q got the best end of the deal because he liked to sprawl out. I kept to my own little area.

  I sighed and absently ran a hand over his side of the bed.

  I missed him.

  I turned from my musings back to the movie. Aladdin. I loved all things Disney. Period. Aladdin struck something in me. Poor guy, coming from nothing, falling in love with the princess.

  I wasn’t in love with a princess. I wasn’t in love with anyone.

  Quincy: You still jerkin’ off? Thinking of me? Perv.

  I laughed again, but my dick was taking things a lot more seriously. I was sixteen years old. I think it was like a mandate or something that I had to jack off as many times as day as possible. I never went overboard. A couple times a day, especially in the shower, seemed completely reasonable. Q talked about jacking off incessantly. I immediately imagined him stroking himself and got harder.

  What the hell?

  I wouldn’t think of my foster-turned-adopted brother while I jacked off.

  Next to his bed.

  I couldn’t think of Quincy while I pumped my hard cock in my hand.

  With his pillow so close and smelling like him.

  I squinted my eyes closed and tried to think of anything sexy while I stroked myself. My tip was leaking, and I smeared it around. My balls drew up tight and I knew I was going to come. The last image in my head as I painted my stomach was of Quincy squeezing his thick, throbbing cock and exploding.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  What the actual hell?

  I had never really found myself attracted to any girls at school. They were pretty and
I wanted to style their hair and do their makeup, but I didn’t think about their boobs or their butts.

  I found the guys at school somewhat more appealing. But I always found my head categorizing them as taller than Quincy, shorter than Quincy, or eyes not as great as Quincy’s. The comparisons went on forever.

  With a tissue, I wiped the spunk from my stomach as these realizations hit me. It wasn’t that I’d never considered these things. It was just that I’d never allowed myself to think about what they meant.

  Okay, so I was a normal, hormonal, horny, and curious teen guy. Nothing wrong with that. I’d been texting with Q before my solo session, that was probably why he popped into my mind.

  And all the times I’d subconsciously compared other guys to Quincy? He was my best friend, my brother, and I spent almost all of my time with him. He was what I knew. It was normal to compare.

  Right?

  I wasn’t sure why, but I was having a lot harder time wrapping my brain around what it meant that I’d just jacked off to an image of Quincy than the fact that I found guys more attractive than girls.

  Shit.

  I couldn’t like Quincy.

  He was my brother.

  Okay, not my blood-related brother. But still.

  Plus, there was no way in hell that Q felt that way about me. He talked about girls a lot. I didn’t think he had a girlfriend, but he was always asking me if I thought certain girls were pretty.

  No way he’d be picturing me while he jacked off.

  I sighed. My head and heart were heavy with confusion.

  I turned back to my movie and watched Aladdin pine after Jasmine.

  Quincy flopped on the bed and scared the shit out of me. “Dude, let’s do something.”

  He got back from Max’s house early that morning and was clearly itching for something to do. Momma and Pops had taken their two current foster kids for family visits and wouldn’t be back until the next day.

  “You could do your homework,” I suggested as I read my book assigned for next week’s classwork.

  “Yuck, no.” Q bounced on the bed. “We could watch porn.”