“So how does he seem to you, Sasha?” Faith asked. They were supposed to leave for school any minute now, but Faith was too curious to let an opportunity like this go by. The middle school and the high school were actually closer than the elementary school, and Sasha walked the distance easily everyday. But Faith and the younger children were still relying on bus transportation carefully supervised and supplemented as necessary by Walter. As Walter put it, “No one’s grabbing Little Sugar on my watch.”

Faith hovered restlessly by the doorway, knowing Connor was probably wondering where she had disappeared to.

“He seems okay,” Sasha answered with a shrug. “Why?”

“Just wondered.” Faith’s tone was carefree, but Sasha knew Faith. She knew something.

“Okay, spill it, Fee. What’s the big mystery?”

“Nothing.” Faith evaded Sasha’s dark-eyed scrutiny with the ease that came from long practice.

“What kind of nothing?”

“Just that…” she drawled, then abruptly sped up until it was nearly impossible to make out what she was saying.

“…he’sgayandhismombeathimupandhe’sbeenworkingonthestreets.”

“On the streets? Doing what?”

“Sa-sha…” Faith said, rolling her eyes.

“Ohhh…” Sasha grinned.

“What’s his name?”

“Jazz.”

“What kind of name is that?” Faith wrinkled her nose.

“It’s a nickname,” said Jazz, coming into the living room to join them. His golden brown hair was still wet from the shower, but combed neatly, falling straight to his shoulders. Dressed in an oversized white T-shirt and faded jeans that clung to his legs, Jazz made a very attractive picture of male youth.

Faith’s eyes glowed verdant green. “He’s cute,” Faith whispered, giving Sasha a nudge. “You didn’t tell me how cute he was.”

Sasha blinked owlishly, looking like his father Sey. “I didn’t notice.”

“Hi, I’m Fee,” Faith said, offering her hand.

Jazz smiled, and it transformed him into a completely different person. “Hi.”

Faith was dazzled by the brilliance of that smile, and thoughts of Connor fell by the wayside. Here was an older boy, a good-looking older boy, and Faith totally forgot what she’d just told Sasha about Jazz being gay.

“What grade will you be in at school?”

“I don’t know yet.” He shrugged. “I’m 14. But I haven’t been to school for a couple of years. So I’m not sure. James said he would help me…you know…catch up.”

Jazz couldn’t believe that he was admitting this to people he’d only just met, but their interest seemed as genuine as it was refreshing. No one ever asked him personal questions. At least, not unless they wanted something. But those two actually seemed to care about the answers, too.

Sasha smiled. “I’m 12. I’m in 7th grade. Maybe you’ll be in my class, then, instead of with the other 9th graders.”

Jazz frowned. He didn’t want to be the oldest kid in a lower class. That sounded…humiliating. Suddenly some of the newfound glow that surrounded the idea of attending school faded.

But for some reason, he didn’t voice this to Sasha or Faith. He’d never had friends before. Maybe these two would be his first real friends.

Sasha saw his frown and said kindly, “Uncle James is a great teacher. He taught all of us before we went to school. But hey, I’m pretty good in school. So if you want, maybe I could help, too.”

“I’d like that,” said Jazz.

Faith felt the older boy’s shift in interest to Sasha and sighed.

“I wanted to thank you for the clothes. That was nice of you.”

“No problem.”

Everyone fell silent, and the longer it went on, the more uncomfortable it became. Faith said, “Well, I have to get to school. Grandpa’ll have my head if I’m late again.”

Sasha waved. When Sasha didn’t immediately follow Faith, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the door, hissing “Sasha, aren’t you coming?”

“In a few minutes, Fee,” said Sasha, wondering at her fervor to get him away from Jazz.

“Sasha, I swear you took stupid pills today,” she whispered, her eyes still on Jazz. “Can’t you see that Jazz likes you?”

“So?”

“Duh. Sasha! I mean he likes you.”

In her effort to make Sasha understand, she inadvertently raised her voice and Jazz clearly heard every word.

He flushed deep red, but it was hard to tell if he was angry or upset.

A guilty look on her face, Faith clapped both hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Jazz. I didn’t mean—“

“Yeah, you did.” Now Faith could see. He wasn’t so much angry as he was hurt. “Guess it never occurred to you that gay people need friends, too, huh? Just because—“

“I didn’t mean—“

Jazz continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “—I talk to someone or even like someone, it doesn’t mean that I feel that way about him.”

Sasha had been listening intently and he finally found his voice. “Hey, you don’t have anything to prove to me. My parents are gay.”

Jazz stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t have to make fun of me, man.”

“I’m not making fun of you, Jazz. I’ve been around gay people over half my life, and I’m not stupid enough to think that just because a gay guy likes me, he wants to sleep with me.”

Jazz nodded. “How do you know I don’t want to sleep with you? You’re kinda cute, y’know.”

To Jazz’s surprise, Sasha laughed. Far from threatened by the possibility, he was amused. “You could try, Jazz, but you wouldn’t get very far. I’m definitely straight.” So straight, it hurts sometimes, Sasha finished in his head, thinking of the 14-year old girl he still lusted after.

Sasha reached out and placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. Though Jazz was older by two years, Sasha was clearly the taller and the broader of the two. “I’ll be your friend, Jazz. I’m not worried about you coming on to me.”

Jazz smiled gratefully. “Up till now, I’ve never had any friends,” he confessed. “Everybody either ignores me or they want something. I bet you can guess what they want, too.”

“Jazz, just say no.”

“It’s not that easy, Sasha. No one’s ever liked me for me. But I keep…*hoping*.”

“Well, screwing around isn’t going to get you friends, Jazz. It’s just plain dumb. With all the stuff that’s out there, it’s a good way to end up dead.”

Sasha’s dark eyes lost their fierce gleam and grew sad. “I know we just met, and God knows you don’t have to listen to me, but I’d hate to see you end up that way, Jazz. Really.”

James listened from the other room. Sasha had said some insightful things in his short life, but this took the prize. Jazz was at an age where peer pressure meant more than authority. They’d made inroads already, but James was well aware that at least part of the reason it was working was because Jazz was cooperating. Sasha’s help in the meantime was positively invaluable.

His mind made up, he joined the trio, noting Faith’s frozen posture near the door before anything else. “Fee? What’s wrong, honey?”

Faith met his cobalt blue gaze with wide-eyed anxiety. “I made a terrible mistake, Uncle James.”

“You did?” he asked.

Jazz looked on with interest, Sasha at his side. Faith nodded. She looked almost tearful.

Without looking at Jazz, she unburdened herself. Her heart a mass of conflicting emotions, she poured it all out. “I talked about Jazz like he wasn’t even here, and everyone knows how much I hate being treated like that,” she said, her speech rambling but not disorganized in the least.

“I assumed that he was after Sasha, and the only excuse I have is that I was mad. Mad because I wanted him to like me, too. Only I knew that could never happen. Not if he’s gay. And I just—I just…I’m sorry.” Faith did cry then, silently, tears tracing silvery trails down both cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Jazz,” she said with conviction, finally struggling to meet his eyes. “I should know better.”

Jazz was mesmerized by the amount of attention he was getting. If this was how his new life was going to be, he could get used to this. People, even people his own age, actually cared about what he thought and felt.

“I hope you can forgive me.”

Jazz smiled. “I already have.”

Walter raced his motorcycle up the driveway that led to Davenport’s property. It was a long dirt road that Davenport inherited from the previous owner, and it remained unpaved, thanks to the multitude of other tasks that took top priority in Davenport’s life. To be honest, Walter loved taking the Harley up that road, wind stinging his cheeks till they were stained as red as the bandanna around his head.

Davenport heard the engine and came outside to greet the older man. “Walter! Everything okay in your neck o’ the woods?”

Walter slung his still limber frame off the Harley and carefully balanced it against the side of the house. “Pretty much. Sugar sent me.”

Davenport smiled apologetically. “Derry and I haven’t seen much of you guys lately…between work and the kids and….”

Walter shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Dav. I live in the house that Spyboy and Sugar built, remember?” He laughed and Davenport grinned back at him.

“In other words, life is good.”

“That it is, Dav. That it is.”

“So what does Nikita want?” Davenport inquired.

“She wants to throw something together for the new kid. So the rest of the family can meet him and all.”

“Ohhh…” Davenport replied. “Well, I haven’t actually had more than a couple of words with him myself.”

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“What? That he’s here? Hey, we’ve got enough people here now to form a small army. How can I complain?”

“No, I mean…first Smoke moved in…and then James. And now this kid. That bother you? Losing your privacy?”

Davenport laughed, a merry light dancing in his midnight black eyes. “What privacy? Walter, you live with Michael and Nikita. Is there such a thing as privacy once you have kids?”

“Now that you mention it, no.” Walter removed his leather gloves and smacked them together restlessly. “So…you’ve met the kid, at least. What do you think?”

“About what? He’s a nice kid.” At Walter’s studious look, Davenport continued, “What? You think he should have horns and a tail? He’s a teenager.”

“You think he’d enjoy a party then?”

“Probably. Don’t most kids?”

“Yeah. But this one’s not like most kids.”

Davenport frowned. “Don’t tell me this is about him being gay. I never expected you to be bothered by something like that.”

Walter’s bright blue eyes narrowed. “You mean because I’m an aging hippie? Free love and all that?”

“Well…no, Walter. I just never pegged you as an elitist of any kind.”

Walter relaxed against the Harley, his leather-encased legs still muscular enough to kick start the cycle instead of relying on the ignition. “I’m not, Dav. I’m more concerned about the fact that the kid is a teenager than anything else. We don’t know jack about what he does, if he’s sexually active, if he’s into drugs. All those things that make him an irresistible role model to the younger kids we’ve got.”

“This is not about hate at all. This is about how much I love my grandkids and what I’d do to protect them, Dav.”

Walter spoke quickly and fiercely, and when he was finished, Davenport could see that, contrary to what Walter said about Nikita sending him, he was here on his own. In a very real sense, the kids were Walter’s mission. They always had been. From the birth of the Samuelle twins to the birth of the Davenport twins, Walter cared. He might be gruff and he might very well be the unchallenged champion when it came to acting like a cranky old man. But he cared. That was just the way he was.

Davenport gave him a considering look before his face was transformed by a blindingly bright smile. “Let’s go meet him then.”

***

James was in the process of flying out the door when Davenport stopped him. “Hi, James,” Davenport said softly. “You’re in a hurry, huh?”

James took one look at Walter, who was standing impatiently behind Davenport, and shook his head. “I can make up the time. What’s up?”

“We really haven’t had a chance to meet the new kid. Just thought we could come in and get to know him a little. If that’s okay with you.”

James nodded, but when he spoke, it was to say, “He’s not here. Sasha took him to school. We thought that since the two of them hit it off right away, Jazz might adjust better to going back to school if he had someone closer to his own age to ease him through the transition.”

Walter sighed. “You trust him, James?”

“Which one? Sasha or Jazz?” James regarded the older man with a sardonic smile. “If you’re worried about Jazz acting out, stop. He’s a good kid. I’d bet money on it.”

Smoke entered the room at breakneck pace, slowing only to pull on his jacket. The edge of a brown paper bag clenched between his teeth, he struggled with the zipper of the jacket, giving his lover an exasperated look. James smiled briefly at Walter and Davenport, then turned to face Smoke. His hands automatically working the zipper into a closed position, he pulled the zipper up all the way to Smoke’s neck, feeling like a proud mother getting her little boy ready for a big day at the playground. “What’s that?”

“Breakfast,” Smoke said after taking the paper out of his mouth.

“Pete, you need to eat better than this.”

“No time for the lecture, Jamie. I don’t want to be late.”

“You’d better not be. I’m subbing for your professor this morning,” James countered, unable to keep from smiling. He loved moments like these. Smoke was never certain how to act in that context. James loved it when Smoke became all shy and flustered. It was so at odds with both his appearance and the way Smoke presented himself.

“Ahh, Jamie, there’s a quiz,” Smoke said, almost pleading with his light blue-gray eyes. “Do you grade on a curve?”

“Do I have to?” James chuckled. He tucked a long wayward strand of black hair behind Smoke’s ear. It was a familiar gesture to Smoke, but one that never failed to convince him of how deeply he was loved.

His light eyes warming themselves on the face he called beloved, Smoke said, “No, I studied.”

“Good.”

Smoke bent his head to kiss James and then with a wave, he was gone. James turned back to the two older men, only to find them regarding him with something akin to amusement. “You two are just so good together, James,” said Davenport.

James smiled almost shyly. “We’re happy,” he said simply. “I thought I would take a run by the high school—“

James saw the interested look creep into Walter’s eyes and silenced him with a sharp glance. “Not because I don’t trust him, Walter. I just wanted to see how he was making out. He’s not all that used to…people. Or at least, not to people treating him decently.”

“Yeah,” Davenport agreed. “He reminds me of a dog I saw once. Whipped and beaten so often, it didn’t know how to react to someone nice.”

Davenport absently rubbed the back of his left wrist. He was so deep in thought for a moment, he didn’t realize that both James and Walter were staring at him. “Oh, that,” he said, shrugging off their compassion. He rubbed the scar again. He was only a boy when it happened. The dog was so abused, it couldn’t be blamed for biting the very next person that approached it.

He never gave up on that dog.

He wouldn’t give up on this kid either.

Sasha gave his newfound friend an unabashed grin of monumental proportions. “No way, man!”

“Yes! I did!” Jazz chuckled. He liked Sasha. Maybe a little too much. But he could control himself. Infatuation had a lot to do with the pure joy he felt at having freedom, real freedom, for the first time in his young life, and much less to do with Sasha himself. But in a way, he did feel something special for Sasha because Sasha was his first real friend.

“You’re pretty cool, Jazz.”

Jazz flushed with pride at the compliment. Sasha wasn’t easy to impress. He’d seen a lot, done almost as much, in his short lifetime. One of Sasha’s best qualities, though, was his animation, his enthusiasm for life. Any life. They were like brothers who were separated at birth, only to find each other and recognize one another in ways others could only guess at.

“Thank you.”

Jazz acted totally on instinct when he patted Sasha on the shoulder. Sasha looked down at the older boy’s hand, then at Jazz himself. He wasn’t confused. He very well could have been. But he wasn’t. He didn’t mistake the affection of a friend for the desire of a would-be lover. Despite his age, Sasha’s level of perception was remarkable. It wasn’t just that he was kind. But he was intuitive, too. Like his actual father, Sey, and strangely enough, like his adoptive father, Declan, as well.

Afraid that Sasha might misunderstand his intentions, Jazz dropped his hand. “I didn’t mean anything by—“

“I know.”

“It doesn’t bother you? Really?”

Sasha shook his head. “I’m your friend.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Jazz said with a trace of bitterness he couldn’t keep from showing. “By people who wanted something.”

“Yeah, but Jazz, with me…what you see is what you get. I don’t want anything from you. I’m just…your friend.”

“Why?” For Jazz, who wanted desperately to believe in something very much like friendship, it was hard to come to terms with what other people saw in him. Surrounded by ugliness most of his life, he had no reason to believe in his own beauty.

Sasha smiled. “It’s not that complicated, Jazz. I like you.”

Before Jazz could acknowledge that, something caught his attention across the athletic field.

The trio of older teenage boys eyed the couple like the predators they were. All of them were in a public area. In plain sight. But that didn’t stop the trio from treating the two younger boys like prey.

“Hey, look what we got here!” said the ringleader. Sasha glanced quickly at the three boys, then at Jazz. He tried valiantly to ignore the boys, but something warned him that things were going to get tense. In fact, there was something almost familiar about the leader of the three. Sasha just couldn’t put his finger on it.

As the older teens moved closer, Sasha started to back up, one arm flung protectively across Jazz’s chest. “What are we doing?” Jazz hissed.

“Trying to get away from the inevitable,” Sasha quipped dryly.

“This happen to you a lot?” Jazz asked, nervously eyeing the oncoming group.

“Not really. Not for years.”

“Then how do you know something’s going to happen?”

“Sometimes you just…*know*.” And Sasha thought of his father, Declan, and his sixth sense for trouble. He wondered if it was possible to inherit a trait like that from someone he didn’t share a blood tie with. Nevertheless, he felt like he and Declan were related.

Suddenly an image flashed into Sasha’s mind and he knew. “Claude!”

“Who’s Claude?”

“I am,” said the ringleader, who was nearly toe to toe now with Sasha and Jazz.

I remember you, thought Sasha. You were the ten-year old bully who tried to attack Skye.

I remember you, thought Claude. You were the six-year old kid who made me lose face in front of my buddies.

“I can still defend myself, you know,” said Sasha, never taking his eyes off Claude.

“I bet you can. But the last time, you had that yummy little blonde with you. What was her name again?” Claude’s mouth formed a wicked grin that was meant to be intimidating.

Sasha gritted his teeth at the older boy’s description of his beloved. Claude licked his lips as only a sixteen-year old boy bent on thwarting a rival can do. “I’ve been waiting for that one to grow up just a little bit more.”

Resisting the urge to yell, “Leave her alone!”, Sasha practiced the control he’d learned from Declan, even as the emotions that he’d inherited from Sey seethed within.

Jazz leaned close enough to whisper, “Who’s he talking about?”

Sasha’s breath whistled in and out one more time before he answered. “Skye.”

“That’s right! Skye! What a delicious little piece of—“

His hand planted firmly in the middle of Sasha’s back, Jazz felt the twelve-year old’s body shudder in reaction. “Don’t!” Sasha shouted, beginning to feel his control erode.

“Who’s Skye?” Jazz whispered.

“My girl.” Only two words. But the heartfelt emotion packed into those syllables was palpable. Sasha could have answered any of a hundred different ways. My soul, my heart, the best part of me…but when he said, “My girl,” Jazz knew exactly how he meant it.

Claude snickered. “You long-haired hippie boy…guess it figures you would find the prettiest little fag to hang out with. You doing both of ‘em?”

“Why? You afraid you’ll miss your turn?” Sasha countered, a steely glint in his dark eyes that should have warned Claude.

“You frigging—“ One of the nameless, faceless boys that called Claude friend grabbed him by the arm, ostensibly to hold him back.

That’s when Jazz stepped forward. His entire body swaying seductively, he epitomized everything that Claude thought he hated. Right before Sasha’s eyes, Jazz began running his hand lightly up and down Claude’s arm, his lambent crystal green eyes sparking as they traveled audaciously over Claude’s broad frame.

What are you doing? Sasha wanted to scream. He wasn’t sure if Jazz was trying to make things worse or if he really thought that seducing the enemy was a viable alternative to getting beaten up until they graduated.

Claude’s hormone-laden sixteen-year old brain couldn’t handle the sensual way that Jazz touched him. He would have moved away, but in a stunning turnabout, Jazz seized control of the situation. His hand slid over Claude’s arousal one moment, his fingernails digging in sharply the next.

Gripping Claude’s genitals tightly with one hand, Jazz struck with a clenched fist before Claude could even begin to react. As Claude howled with pain and doubled over, Jazz elbowed him in the face, effectively breaking his nose. His leg then shot out, catching the older teenager behind the knee to pull him forward and off-balance. Seconds later, Claude found himself sitting flat on his butt, alternately clutching his genitals and his nose.

His eyes blurred by tears, Claude shouted, “You’re dead, fag! You’re freaking dead!”

Sasha glanced at Jazz admiringly. “You gotta show me that move! Where’d you learn it?”

“On the street. Same place I learned everything else. The hard way.”

The other two teenagers advanced on Sasha and Jazz. Sasha was far too quick for either boy to land a punch on him. Trained in the more traditional martial arts, Sasha leaped into the air, his right foot connecting solidly with one teenager’s chest. The force was enough to knock him off his feet. The older boy gasped as pain shot through him when he tried to move again.

Sasha and Jazz instinctively stood back to back, forcing the other member of the trio to come to them without a hope of touching either one. Blocking the punches with his arm, Sasha looked for an opening. He finally found one and pointed it out to Jazz, who smiled enigmatically. They double-teamed the remaining boy, who seemed strangely grateful to be lying on the ground.

Brushing the leaves and grass from their clothing, they watched as two of the three older teenagers scattered to the four corners of the Earth. Claude would have glared at the victorious couple, but he was still trying to catch his breath.

That was when Walter, Davenport, and James showed up. Sasha prayed for Declan’s forgiveness when he found out. He knew he shouldn’t be fighting. With anyone, but certainly not the bully he had bested as a rebellious first-grader. I hope you understand, Da. I didn’t do it cause I love fighting. I did it cause you taught me that it’s right to defend yourself, if you have no other options. And Da? Sasha continued in his head. I just couldn’t let them hurt Jazz.

To say that Davenport was suspicious would be a terrible understatement. But he had no proof. He wasn’t even sure he would look for any. “What happened here?”

Sasha hated lying, but he would do it again. For friendship. For Skye. For Jazz. “He…um…tripped and fell. Broke his nose. Didn’t you, Claude?”

Claude’s eyes gleamed, but hurt as he was, he knew when he was finally beaten. Shit, maybe if he was really lucky, no one would find out that it had been the same kid as last time. Not to mention his friend, who obviously found better things to do than polish his fingernails. “Yeah…that’s right. I…uh…tripped.”

Davenport looked from Claude to Sasha to Jazz. He shook his head when he finally met Walter’s eyes. Dammit all to Hell and back, Walter looked pleased. Like he’d discovered something unexpected in the new kid.

Walter smiled to himself. He had. If the kid was willing to defend himself as well as Sasha, there was definitely something worth saving there.

James traded glances with Jazz. You will tell me all about this after school, he said silently. Be glad to…*Dad*, Jazz answered back without saying a word.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. The feeling of exhilaration lasted for hours. Jazz felt like he could do anything, positively anything, and he knew that it wasn’t the adrenaline high that came from fighting. This was different.

Acceptance.

He could feel its balm pouring over his internal wounds, soothing them, healing them. He had never really belonged anywhere. But now he did. If he had said any of this to Sasha, Sasha could have told him that he knew exactly how he felt. No one had ever risked as much for him. No one had ever wanted him in their lives for more than a minute…or an hour.

Somehow, James had understood. He didn’t press Jazz for details, though he was undoubtedly entitled to ask for them. That too caught Jazz’s attention. The way that the family closed its ranks around its own. They trusted each other. And once you were accepted inside its confines, they trusted you, too.

For once, he looked forward to the rest of his life.

***

Chris listened to his mother. Nikita was in full planning mode. In an effort to make Jazz feel at home, she decided to have a large-scale barbecue on the back lawn. Everyone was coming. Everyone was contributing something. Whether it was homemade potato salad or quiche.

Nikita laughed at the thought of that last one. Michael liked quiche, but he preferred to cook it himself. He claimed that even Declan could not cook quiche as well as he did. She didn’t know whether it was sheer vanity or not, but she couldn’t deny him anything. Turning to her twelve-year old son, she chuckled huskily and said, “Whoever said that real men don’t eat quiche never met your father.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?” she responded without looking up.

Chris shuffled his feet a few times before uttering a heartfelt sigh. Nikita’s head came up sharply. If there was one thing she had a nose for, it was angst. “What’s wrong, Chris?”

“Do I have to come to the cookout on Saturday?”

“Don’t you want to?”

Chris stared at his impatient feet for several moments. They wanted to whisk him away. Right now. Before he embarrassed himself.

When Chris didn’t answer, Nikita searched for a clue to what might be bothering him. Her first choice was always Emmy. “Emmy’s going to be there, Chris.”

“I know,” he said morosely.

“Don’t you want to see her?”

“Maybe she won’t want to see me,” Chris said, his blue eyes turned black with pain.

“Did you two have a fight?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged.

Suddenly he blurted out, “It’s not my fault!”

“What’s not your fault, sweetie?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, try, honey.”

“No, I mean, that’s the problem, Mom. I never know what to say.” Chris’ face looked bleaker than she had ever seen it. His anguish was genuine.

“What happened?”

“Emmy was…um…wearing that pale pink dress. The one that makes her hair look so pretty. I love the way her hair looks when it falls across her shoulders. Almost like a real princess.” Chris couldn’t believe he had actually said what came into his mind. And to his mother.

Nikita smiled. She had a feeling that she knew where this might be going.

“Did you tell her that?”

“No! I mean…I wanted to. I always want to. But I couldn’t find the right words, Mom. Why can’t I tell her how I feel? I used to.”

“You’re both growing up, Chris. It’s not that it’s harder to feel those things, but sometimes it gets harder to say them. Maybe you’re afraid that she doesn’t feel the same way anymore. Or maybe you’re afraid that she’ll laugh at you.” Nikita stroked Chris’ blond hair, so like her own.

“Emmy wouldn’t do that,” Chris said with complete certainty. “But….”

“Suppose she likes someone else, Mom? Suppose he can tell her that kind of stuff? And she…*likes* it?” Suddenly Chris reached out for Nikita, hugging her in a totally uncharacteristic way, burying his face against her chest. He inhaled the scent of her, her Mom-scent, and it helped, it truly did.

“*Is* there someone else, Chris?”

“Not exactly.”

Chris pulled away from his mother, mildly embarrassed by his loss of control. “I met that new kid, Mom. Jazz.”

When Chris didn’t continue right away, Nikita prompted him. “What’s that got to do with Emmy?”

“He kept telling me how pretty she was,” Chris said, his eyes filling with tears. “He likes her, Mom. I can tell. And why would Emmy look at me that way when I can never tell her nice things like he does?”

“Oh, Chris,” Nikita sighed. “You’re jealous.”

“But I don’t want to be.”

“Sweetie, I don’t think you have a choice right now. But when you get older, you won’t be. Cause you’ll know you can trust her not to love anyone else the way she loves you.”

She could have told him that Jazz had no romantic interest in Emmy or anyone like her. But that would have seemed like a violation of Jazz’s right to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. Besides, the threat was real to Chris, no matter who stood in Jazz’s place.

“Oh, and Chris? The words will come to you someday. When the time is right for you and Emmy to be together.”

“Then you believe it, too, Mom?” Chris looked so hopeful, light shining out of his blue eyes again.

“That you two will be together someday? If that’s what you and Emmy want, Chris, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”

That was his Mom. Sometimes it was so clear to him why his father loved her so much.

It was a beautiful day. Sunny. Warm. Not the usual Spring weather. Not a hint of clouds lurked in the calm blue sky.

Nikita gave the bright red tablecloth on the oversized picnic table one last tug before pronouncing her preparations were at an end. “Done.”

Michael wrapped his arms around his wife, staring out over the back lawn to survey the results of all their hard work. “Should be a nice day, Kita.”

Nikita pulled his arms more tightly around her waist. Lately she had such a craving for the slightest bit of affection Michael showed her. At first, she thought she might be pregnant again. But no, it wasn’t that. The feelings that first drew them together seemed to grow more intense with each passing year. The certainty that they belonged together, the ways that they completed one another…made her think that they would truly love forever. Nikita knew how lucky she was. No matter how she might have hated her years in Section, she could not wish them away. Without them, she might never have found the other half of her heart and soul.

She smiled and leaned back against him, contentment washing over her in a great wave. “I love this,” she said, waving a hand at the landscape before them.

“What?” he asked softly, his breath wafting across the nape of her neck.

“What we have. Our house. Our children. Our lives.”

“Oh, doucette, I don’t thank you nearly enough,” Michael breathed into her ear.

“For what?”

“For loving me. For staying with me. For making my dream real.”

Oh, my. That was a veritable speech for Michael. And the poetry of what her strong, sometimes silent, sometimes inarticulate husband said made her heart ache.

Curling into his arms with feline grace, Nikita murmured “I love you, Michael.” She snuggled under his chin, and he gratefully entwined their hands.

He was content just to stand there, holding her in his arms. He was not a man who expected much from life. Section had seen to that. But more and more, he was thankful for what (he believed) God had seen fit to give him.

For half his life, he lived as if the next day didn’t matter, and for the most part, it didn’t. Till he met an impulsive, headstrong street kid with nothing left to lose but her humanity. Again and again, Section forced him to challenge her. And against all odds, she refused to surrender.

He buried his face in her pale, jasmine-scented hair, loving the feel of her hair. Loving the feel of her. Loving her. His bright angel.

***

He might have thought her asleep. Her sapphire eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even. But her lips parted, and she whispered, “Make love to me….”

“We’re about to be descended upon by a pack of ravenous relatives and their children, doucette,” Michael protested, albeit rather weakly.

“Please….”

“Yes….”

He bent her over the table, his mouth taking hers in a kiss that was more tender than sensual. Nikita offered up a soft sigh, and quickly, he captured that, too.

They were so preoccupied that they never registered the addition of another person to the equation.

“Daaadd…jeeez…I mean really…you’re not going to do this when everybody else gets here, are you?”

Michael whirled to face her, surprise written across his face. “Faith!”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s me. I mean, I know you guys love each other and all, but sheesh, what if someone else saw you? What would they think?”

“They’d think your father and I are in love, Fee,” Nikita said, a bit more sharply than she intended.

“No kidding, Mom,” said Faith, rolling her eyes. “At your age, too.”

Faith grabbed a potato chip from the table and chomped hungrily on it. Michael’s arm never left Nikita’s waist, but he regarded his oldest daughter impassively. “Faith?”

“Yes, Dad?” she said, surprisingly oblivious to the undercurrents emanating from Michael’s direction.

“You should never be ashamed of your parents loving each other. It’s what brought you into this world.”

Faith blinked. “Wow, Dad. That was pretty good.” Faith selected another potato chip from the bowl on the table, eyeing it carefully, her attention on the chip instead of on him.

Michael turned to his wife and hid his face against her neck. For a moment, Nikita wasn’t sure whether he was taking up where he left off, which would not only impress Faith, but Nikita, too, or trying desperately hard not to laugh.

When Nikita felt Michael’s tongue on her neck, she almost lost her grip on him. She dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter, made even more uncontrollable by feeling her husband’s shoulders silently shaking. “Mi-chael!” she sputtered, playfully batting at him.

“Ssh,” Michael managed to whisper. “I think Faith is losing her healthy respect for authority.”

“I hate to tell you this, Michael, but I don’t think she ever had one to begin with.”

The loud crunch of a potato chip caught the attention of both of them. “Ummm…maybe you guys should take a break or something? Upstairs?”

“Well, okay,” Nikita grudgingly conceded, her light blue eyes still filled with laughter. “If you think so, Faith.”

“Yeah, Mom, you two definitely need a break. You work way too hard for normal people.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at his daughter, but Nikita swatted gently at his arm, warning him to let it go. “Don’t—“ Michael narrowed his eyes, giving his wife a look that said “I’m giving in, but don’t push your luck.”

Faith paused in the middle of eating another chip, her hand halfway to her mouth. Michael nodded imperceptibly at her.

“Don’t eat all the potato chips.”

Good advice, Dad. Words to live by. Boy, has Mom got you under control or what? Must be love, Dad. She doesn’t know voodoo.