Page 21 of Shield and Savior

I even like carpooling. After school, the kids show me their work. Sometimes we get ice cream, maybe a Slurpee, depending on the situation. They make me laugh. Yesterday, as we pulled out of the school parking lot, “Does Your Mother Know” by ABBA came on the radio. All of them, including Ian, sang every word, complete with hand gestures and dance moves. Listening with the kids in the car, it struck me how dirty and inappropriate most songs are. I nearly had a heart attack dropping Maria off while Honey Badger’s collab with Débéré, “Slam into your Kitty,” blasted through the speakers. I also didn’t realize how many words rhyme with pussy.

What I don’t tell him is while this one is more fun, it’s light-years more stressful. I’m constantly on edge. Every sound in the hallway or notification on the cameras makes my heart jump. The thought of Champ’s father coming here, hurting them—well, it’s fear and rage and childhood trauma all wrapped up in one.

“But I bet the celebrities go to better places,” Champ says.

I shake out the towel and slide it onto the oven handle. “Sure, I’ve seen some cool things. I’ve been to Rome, London, Paris, and the Pokémon Center in Japan.”

Champ drops his pencil and looks at me like I’m the face of God. “No freaking way.”

“Yeah, Honey Badger is collecting all the Eevee evolutions, so it’s a required stop whenever we’re on tour.”

I should check on Honey Badger. All my Google News notifications suggest she’s fine. She’s mentally better when she works, but it also means she’s cut off from the rest of her support system. Alana normally goes to a few of Honey Badger’s shows, but as far as I know, there’s nothing on the calendar. I should check in with both of them.

Izzy stands from the floor with a groan and nudges me out of the way. She points to her son and says, “Go take a shower and get ready for bed.”

Champ hops off the stool, his toes squeaking on the floor. The high-pitched squeak triggers a memory. One of those invasive ones. It’s not like one of the cringe memories, like the time I tripped up the stairs on the bus and farted. No, it’s the same squeaking sound as the brakes on my father’s car. The sound that told me Dad was home.

He had been a military guy too, quiet but larger than life. Sometimes Mom smiled when he came home, other times she didn’t. I thought he liked spending time with me, building LEGO and watching the Rock body slam Stone Cold Steve Austin. But one day, he stood without fanfare or a fight, emptied the bank account, and vanished.

At first I thought he was a spy, or off on some black-ops mission. Every night I waited for the squeaking brakes, but only heard rumbles of planes going overhead.

A month later, Mom and I moved away. New job, new apartment, starting over somewhere fresh. Mom worked two jobs, did her best. It’s the same story as Izzy. As a kid I knew it was hard, but as an adult, shit, that’s fucking monumental.

Maybe that’s why I like being here.

I can protect Izzy and Champ the way I never was.

Izzy lifts her arms behind her head and pulls her hair into a ponytail. She misses a few strands at the back. Rolling her neck from side to side, she looks like she’s trying to get comfortable in her own body. She motions to the couch. “Wanna watch a few minutes ofThe Knights of the Night? We’re about to hit a major twist.”

“Um, yeah, sure.” I check the security cameras before meeting her on the couch. There’s always one cushion between us while Drew’s awake, but for the last few nights she’s fallen asleep and spread over the No Man’s Land of the cushion.

“Did you listen to theDraywon’s Night Podcast?” She grabs a pillow from behind her and pulls it to her chest.

“Yeah, I did on the way home.”

“Sooo.” She drags the word out and rambles, “thoughts about the Pirate King?”

I shrug, replaying the scene in my head. “I mean, I get it. Having your most popular character, who’s morally gray, discuss the virtues of murder and how some people are immune to justice was interesting. But I don’t know how much I agree with it.”

She tilts her head to the side and plays with the fringe on the pillow. “Go on. Why?”

“He’s making it too complex. People are doing what they can under the circumstances. Bad people, in terrible circumstances, do bad things. They aren’t monsters or evil. They are doing exactly what is expected of them. Sometimes you have good people who have a shitty job that demands they do terrible things.”

“Like criminals?” she asks. Like she’s sprung a trap for me. Her head tilts to the side almost begging for an answer.

“Sure, or like soldiers.” Trying to clarify, or perhaps defend myself, I add, “I did terrible things for the sake of my country, but a country is nebulous. It’s the land, the people, but it’s also really vague. When criminals do terrible things for their families, at least that’s concrete. I’m not here to judge you or your family.”

“Is that why you don’t mind protecting us?” Izzy braids the fringes together while she watches me. If she stares any harder, she’ll see directly into my brain. And she’ll be sorely disappointed when she sees it’s mainly security footage, sports stats, and various fantasies including her and her luscious mouth.

Stop it. Focus on the conversation at hand. “Your family isn’t filled with monsters.” Trying to give her something more concrete, one name comes to mind. “There’s this client, and I fucking hate him. He’s got literally everything. Talent, fame, money, awards, and a solid support system. He’s got everyone thinking he’s great. Perfect. But when a good man, in a good situation, does a terrible thing and convinces the world it never happened, that’s a fucking monster.”

The room chills. The space between us feels like we’re on two sides of a mountain range. Izzy turns her head toward the wall to the painting I hung up yesterday. It’s one of those generic lake scenes in the night, the moon reflecting on the water. She painted it during one of those wine and paint nights she had signed up for to help Champ’s PTA. I heard all about it while she was still unpacking. We sit in silence for a few minutes. Champ’s shower turns off. We missed our opportunity to catch up for now.

And I’m frustrated. I let my demons out of their iron cages. I should’ve known better.

She picks up her cell phone and taps the screen. “I wasn’t talking about the morality debate. I thought it was cool the costume designer used the same fabric for the Pirate King’s insignia and for Elaina’s ball gown.”

Oh. Well I was way off base there. “Yeah, that was cool. It links the two characters…” Lightbulb moment… “Wait, do they end up together?”

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