Page 71 of Big Bad Wolfe

“So you’ve said.”

“Don’t embroider fantasies with happily-ever-after-endings.” He yanked the door open. “Don’t set yourself and the kid up for heartbreak.”

She simply smiled at him. “Casey is in room twenty.”

“Jillian, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Her warm velvet gaze held his, much too discerning for comfort. “I understand a lot more than you realize, Champ.”

Stomach churning, he strode out of the office. Between the kid and the woman, he was ready to check into a padded cell.

He walked down the hallway, a condemned man prodded irrevocably toward the electric chair. Outside classroom twenty, he stood apart from the knot of eager parents, dreading the moment the bell would clang and shove him into a firefight totally unarmed.

A trickle of cold sweat dribbled down his spine and he rolled taut shoulders.Jesus, Wolfe, it’s just one little kid. Suck it up.

The bell jangled, and he jumped. The door blasted open and a screaming horde of midgets streamed out. The kids shoved, giggled, and yammered like miniature jackhammers. Shouldering backpacks, they shouted greetings.

Casey spotted him and a wide grin creased his face. He hopped a skip of pure joy. “Hi, Zane!”

An odd flutter squeezed Zane’s chest. Probably anxiety. “Hey, kid. Your aunt is tied up, so we’re on our own for the afternoon.”

“Awesome!”

During the ride home, Casey jabbered about his day. Zane understood about half the torrential blitz. Luckily, Casey seemed satisfied with occasional noncommittal replies, sparing Zane lame attempts at conversation.

When they reached the house, Zane sent the kid to wash his hands. After an amused inspection, he sent him back with instructions to use soap. He’d pulled the same trick many times as a child.

Casey returned to the kitchen trailing water from dripping fingers. He stared up at Zane expectantly. “What’s to eat?”

“What do you usually eat?”

“Ice cream with sprinkles?” the little boy asked hopefully.

Zane laughed. “I’m a rookie at this, not Jar Jar Binks. Try again.”

The child found that hilarious. “Okay, how about a peanut butter samwich?”

Apparently, the kid didn’t have sky-high standards. Zane’s knotted shoulders relaxed. “I can manage that.” He found a container of peanut butter in the cupboard next to the fridge.

“With strawberry jam and pickles, please, Zane?”

Pain sliced through him, and Zane nearly dropped the peanut butter. That’d been Trev’s favorite after-school snack. He gulped, fighting for control. “You like pickles, strawberry jam, and peanut butter mixed together?”

“Yep. It makes Aunt Jelly gak, though. Why?”

Another buried memory surfaced and Zane smiled. “As I recall, the kids at our grade school had the same reaction.” He fixed Casey’s sandwich and a couple for himself, minus the pickles. He poured two glasses of milk, put everything on the table, sat down. “One time my brother made twenty bucks on a dare by eating seven peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.”

The kid slid into his chair across from Zane. “That isepic!What’d he buy with it?”

“Candy bars and a stack of superhero comic books.” Zane and Trev had been fond of superheroes back in the day. Zane had wished for years for a hero to rescue him and Trevor. An imaginary superhero to battle a real-life monster. But by the time one finally showed up, his little brother lay bloody and broken.

No longer hungry, he pushed aside his plate.

“I don’t got a brother. Or a sister. Robbie Ray has a bigger brother called Donnie Ray. What’s your brother’s name?”

Zane gulped. The name hadn’t passed his lips in over a decade. “T-Trevor.” As he finally choked it out, unexpected, bittersweet relief washed over him.

The little boy cocked his head. “Where is he, your brother Trevor?”

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