Page 1 of His Christmas Promise

Prologue

Alexander Drakos

It’s the middle of November, and my English teacher assigned an essay today titled ‘What I’m Grateful for This Year.’ He couldn’t have gotten any more original if he tried. I sat there the entire class period staring at my paper, getting more and more pissed as the minutes ticked by. When I went to turn in my essay at the end of the period, I crumbled it up into a ball and threw it into the trashcan next to Mr. Weaver’s desk instead of handing him a completed essay. He said he’d be calling my parents. I laughed darkly and walked out of class. What parents?

My parents died two months ago in a car accident. At seventeen, almost eighteen, the state wasn’t sure what to do with me. I argued with the powers that be to let me live on my own. They came back and said their hands were tied, that I had to live with an adult until I was of legal age. Then they moved me to a new town, and now I’m stuck in some sort of group home for teens run by Shelly and Ralph Damato. They’re nice enough, I guess.

Shelly makes sure all of us get out the door on time for school and gives us a home-cooked meal every night. I’ve never felt like I’ve had to go without while being here, even though it’s a bit crowded with seven teenagers living under the same roof. I share a room with a guy named Killian. He doesn’t talk much, and neither do I. We get along swimmingly.

A new town meant a new school. I had to leave all of my friends behind. Before my entire life changed, I went to a private school with the same kids since I was in kindergarten. I knew all the teachers and school staff. Now I know no one. They promised nothing would change, and they’d keep in touch, but I haven’t heard from them since my parents’ funeral—what a crock of shit. The night my parents died, my soul did too. What’s the point of anything anymore?

I walk into the house through the back door, which leads into the kitchen. Shelly is standing there cooking something that smells amazing, but it only pisses me off more than I already am. I don’t want to eat her cooking, I want Mom’s. My mom, not a replacement. Why the hell did they have to go out for dinner in the middle of a thunderstorm? Why did they take a different way home? If only they’d driven the usual route that wasn’t flooded, or even better, stayed home, they’d be here now. I keep thinking back over that night, wishing for the thousandth time it ended differently.

“Hey, Alexander. How was school today?” Shelly asks with a warm smile on her face.

“Fine.”

“We got a call from Mr. Weaver a little while ago. Do you want to talk about it?” Ralph asks, walking into the kitchen, giving me a worried look.

“Not really. I’m going to my room.”

Ralph sighs. “When you’ve put your stuff down, come back and set the table, son.”

“I’m not your son. I’m not anyone’s son, not anymore,” I growl, stomping out of the kitchen and down the hall to my room.

“It’s okay. I’ll go talk to him,” a sweet, angelic voice murmurs.

I throw my bag against the wall as soon as I get in my room and start pacing. I don’t belong here. Hell, I don’t belong anywhere. I pull my suitcase out of the closet and open it up. I’m grabbing clothes out of my dresser when there’s a soft knock at my door. “Alexander, can I come in?”

No matter how pissed I am, I can’t be mean to Zoe. She doesn’t deserve that. “Sure,” I sigh.

She walks in and spots the suitcase immediately, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits down on my bed and pats the spot next to her.

I shake my head. I’m still too pissed, and I don’t want that touching her. Zoe deserves the world, not the crap she’s been handed.

She smiles. “You know, it’s not so bad here. I’ve lived in dozens of foster homes since I was little, and this is the best one.”

The anger I’ve been feeling immediately disappears, and I drop the clothes I’m holding back into the drawer then walk over to sit with Zoe. “I’ve never asked you before, why are you in here?”

“You talk like it’s a prison sentence.” She rolls her eyes and laughs.

“Isn’t it?”

She tilts her head to study me. “Not if you don’t look at it like that. Shelly and Ralph only want to help us. No, they aren’t our parents, but they feed us, make sure we have somewhere warm and clean to sleep at night. They take care of us. That’s more than what I had before coming here.”

I hate that this is what she’s known her entire life. Up until a few months ago, I’ve been a lot more privileged than most. “So… what happened with your parents?”

Zoe studies a spot on the carpet. “I never knew my dad. He died when I was three in the War in Iraq, and Mom is an alcoholic .”

“Is?”

She nods. “Yeah, ever since I was in diapers. She’ll get her life together long enough to get me back, so the state doesn’t take me away for good. Things are good again for a few months, then little by little, she starts drinking again, and I’m taken away to a new home. It’s the same every single time.”

“Why didn’t… I mean, why hasn’t…”

Zoe smiles at me. “Why haven’t I been adopted?”

I nod, and Zoe shrugs, smiling sadly. “I guess it’s because Mom keeps promising it will get better, that she’ll do better. I know she loves me, but the bottle and her grief has a tighter hold on her. Then again, maybe it’s because I’m too old.”

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