Two

Kian

"My teacher knows that something's wrong at home," I confided.

She exhaled heavily as she sank into the chair opposite me. "And she told you as much, did she?" Mrs. Banks commented, cradling her own mug of cocoa.

As I nodded, a worried frown formed across my brow.

"This can't go on forever, Kian. Folks were bound to find out sooner or later," she spoke gently, airing out the truth.

It seemed so final coming from her lips, which wasn't much comfort at all.

"Can I live here, with you?" I asked, clinging on to a shred of hope.

The corners of her wise old eyes crinkled as she smiled. "I'm almost eighty-five, and we're not blood-related. The clan leaders would flat-out reject it." She shrugged, stating what I already knew deep down. "But then they would have to peel you from my withered fingers before I'd hand you over to them." She gave a hearty chuckle, throwing her head back.

"What's the worst they could do to me at my age? Force me into the pit to face clan justice?" Her eyes met mine, and I saw an inner glint of defiance within them.

A genuine smile stretched my lips, and I took another sip of my cocoa, feeling the knotting ball of anxiety begin to dissipate.

"You are such a wonderful boy, Kian. Don't ever let the misfortunes of life hold you back. Everything you have ever wished for is right there for the taking. You just have to want it badly enough." Her words struck a chord inside of me, and it was at that moment that I made a promise. One that I vowed I would carry with me until my last breath on this earth.

"One day, I'm gonna make you proud of me. You'll see. I'm gonna try really hard to make something of myself. Then I can take good care of you, and Mom, and Dad too. I'll take care of everything, I promise."

Mrs. Banks chuckled, swiping the pad of her finger under her eyes. "You're a good boy," she spoke with benevolence. "How about I fix you some dinner, then we'll go take a look at the situation next door?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

I read through one of Charlie's books while waiting for dinner to cook. The mouth-watering scent of fried bacon wafted past my nose, causing me to salivate. A little while later, she brought in a plate full of waffles, bacon, and eggs.

"Say when," she urged as she poured lashings of maple syrup over the top.

I giggled in the hope that she’d keep it coming. "Kian, that's plenty," she advised, making a tsk noise as she shook her head in amusement.

My hands shook as I picked up the cutlery and began cutting up the food. That first morsel to hit my empty stomach felt like a brick landing onto concrete, plummeting with a forceful smash. Hunger pains twisted my insides, forcing me to eat slower, taking my time to ease the discomfort.

"Did you eat any lunch today?" Mrs. Banks asked, noticing me squirm.

"Mom forgot to buy groceries," I told her, offering a half-truth.

Mom never stocked the kitchen with groceries. She would usually send me to the store with a few dollar bills, and that was how we ate most nights.

"And I bet you don't have much time for breakfast either, do you?" she asked in a way that suggested she knew the truth. That there was no breakfast, and that I'd go all day without anything to eat.

"That's no good at all," she muttered, sounding irked. "Going hungry like that. I want you to call here on your way to school. I'll make you some breakfast and pack you some lunch."

I don't know what I ever did to deserve a kind old lady like Mrs. Banks looking out for me the way she did. But if it wasn't for her, I don't know how much longer I could've survived. She was my guardian angel, and I thanked the heavens for sending her to me.

After dinner, I helped to wash up the dishes. I was nervous about going home as well as nervous about school tomorrow. The second I knew it was time to leave, all my anxiety came flooding straight back.

The yellow glow of the hall light shone through the half circle pane of glass at the top of the door. Mrs. Banks knocked firmly, and then placed her hands on top of my shoulders while we waited for an answer.

Footsteps shuffled from somewhere within the house, then the door was ripped open abruptly. My father stood there with a cigarette in his mouth, his hair wild and unruly as if he hadn't combed it in days.

His eyes flashed from Betty, then down to me. "Boy, have you been bothering Mrs. Banks?" he asked, his gruff, accusatory tone sounding clipped and abrasive.

As I shook my head vigorously, Mrs. Banks answered for me. "No, quite the contrary. This charming young man has been keeping me company."

The tip of Dad's cigarette glowed orange as he took a deep drag, eyeing her with a cocked eyebrow. He made a hmph sound, scoffing at the “charming” comment as if he found that unlikely.

A small stab of hurt pierced my heart at that. Why was it so hard for him to believe that there was good in me? Wasn't he proud to have raised such a decent son like me? Wasn't I good enough?

Mrs. Banks gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze, and then she patted me. "Off you go. Get a good night's rest, and I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

I twisted around to face her. "Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Banks. Good night."

She flashed a warm smile, then gave a stern glare in acknowledgment of my dad. That cheered me up, knowing she wasn't intimidated by him because most people were, especially with the fierce reputation he carried around. As well as fulfilling his ranger duties, Dad was well known in the underground for all the illegal fights he took part in. He missed his last shot at defending his Cage fighting title, all because he couldn't lay off the booze. Now the illegal fights were all he had left.

They nicknamed him “Razor” because his teeth could cut through fur and flesh like butter. I remember the one time he brought me along, saying I needed to toughen up and learn to be a man. All eyes watched me that night. Corrupt, greedy eyes from out of the pits of Whitehaven's underworld. Those guys stayed beneath the radar of the leaders. They even managed to evade the clutches of the Alpha wolf, the five-century-old Lycan, Alec White. They were the type of criminals who could wipe you out in the blink of an eye and not even your own momma could sniff out where they buried your body.

Those were the wrong kind of people. Worse still, those same nasty people all wanted a piece of me, “the son of Razor”. Whatever promise they thought I possessed, they were wrong. I would never take a single step inside my daddy's shoes. I was gonna be somebody. I wanted good grades and then a shot at a scholarship. Then from there, I wanted to land me a job in the construction industry because that was where Forest Hills accumulated all its wealth. I would build a house for my mate and me, and we would live happily ever after. Mrs. Banks, Mom, and Dad would all be taken care of because I would earn enough money to get us by and then some.

See, I had it all figured out.