She frowns. “I know you didn’t. But I’ve thought about it, and I think that might be the best for my grandson. If the offer’s still on the table and you’re sure, I think we should let him decide.” Her hands shake as she wrings them together. “But only if he understands that I only want what will make him happy.”
“Of course,” I say softly. “I’ll talk to him.”
She hobbles into the kitchen, and I head to Isaiah’s room. His door’s closed, and I’m surprised when he answers my knock right away.
“Hey, bud. How are you feeling?”
He tilts his head to the side, looking over my shoulder. “Where’s Teagan?”
“Oh, that’s why you let me in so fast. I get it. You only put up with me so you can get closer to my girlfriend.”
He shrugs. “Can you blame me?”
“She had to meet her mom and the other bridesmaids to get their wedding henna done.”
He wrinkles his nose. “What’s that?”
“You know, the designs on the hands and feet?”
“Oh, right.” He nods. “I bet she’ll look hot with that.”
I grunt and sink into the couch. “I’m pretty sure she’s doing it for the sake of tradition and her cultural heritage, and not to look hot.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Marta says you’ve had a rough couple of days,” I say gently.
“I’ve been taking my meds. I’m fine.”
Life isn’t about going through the motions, bud. I look around the room, imagining what it would be like to have him live with me. I was having a good day when I brought it up with Marta, but on my bad days, I’ve been ashamed of myself for the suggestion. I had no right. And then all the shit with the viral picture happened, and every person who called me a hero reminded me how much I’ve failed this kid. I can’t fix it by moving him in with me and trying to be some sort of guardian.
And yet . . . after talking to Teagan last night, I feel a little lighter. Nothing’s changed. My grief for my friend and my guilt surrounding everything that happened that night is all still there, but maybe this heaviness isn’t going to last forever.
“What is it?” Isaiah asks. “Is something wrong?”
I draw in a deep breath. “Marta’s worried about you.”
“She’s my grandma. She worries. It’s pretty much her job description.”
“Of course. She’ll always worry, and she’ll always try to make it better if she thinks you’re unhappy.”
“No one in my position would be happy right now.” He exhales heavily. “No one around me is even happy. I’m in the way, Carter. Especially now.” He waves both hands to the clunky cast that goes all the way up to the top of his thigh.
“I’ve never thought of you like that. And neither has your grandmother. In fact . . .” I blow out a breath and realize I’m nervous. This kid means the world to me, and I don’t want to fuck this up. I know I can’t fix what’s broken, but if my relationship with him can give him something solid, I’m going to try. “A few months ago, I asked Marta if she’d consider letting you move in with me.”
He straightens. “You did? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She didn’t want to let you go. She loves you, and she’d just lost her son.” I shrug. “It actually hurt her feelings that I’d even asked.”
“It’s not about her,” he says, and there’s so much excitement—hope—in his eyes that my chest swells. “I’m not used to living with Grandma. I love her, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to be a guy. And she lost a son, but I lost a dad, and she doesn’t know what that’s like either. But you get it.”
“She’ll let you move in with me if that’s what you want. She loves you and wants what’s best for you.”
“But what about you? You don’t have kids but you’re suddenly gonna have to take care of me?”
I scoff. “Oh, hell no. You’re far too old to be taken care of. I mean, I’d have rules and you’d have chores, but don’t get it in your head that life at my place would be like a vacation, because I’m not about that.”
He laughs, but his bright eyes dim and he leans back, his gaze locking on his lap.
“But I would like to have you there. If that’s where you want to be. I have the room, and I love you. You’re pretty much my fifth brother, like it or not.”
“That’s cool of you, Carter,” he mumbles, but I can see the change in his posture—the way his expression went from hopeful and excited to withdrawn again. “You don’t have to be my friend just because you were there that night, you know,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “It’s not your fault he died, so it’s not your job to take his place.”