Edge of Danger
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Janie Crouch
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17,1K
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27
Prologue
Brax smiled at the couple sitting across from him in the San Antonio Child Protective Services office. They were talking with the social worker about him coming to stay with them.
They seemed nice enough. Older than dirt—at least forty or something. But the guy—Clinton—kept a protective arm around his wife, Sheila. He spoke respectfully to both her and the social worker, whose name Brax couldn’t remember.
Of course, Brax knew Clinton could be completely fake. That under all that respect and protectiveness could be a guy who liked to hit, or worse, touch. But Brax was twelve now. He could outrun these old people no problem if he needed to. Get back out to the streets.
He’d lived on the streets last year, running from one of the care workers at a group home who had liked to touch. But being on the streets hadn’t been as great as Brax thought it would be. Hiding from almost all adults, finding places to sleep where it was safe, having to figure out where he was going to get food...he hadn’t liked any of it.
He’d survived, but there had been a little bit of relief when the cops had finally caught him and brought him back into this very office. It had been a different social worker then. Brax couldn’t remember her name either.
They hadn’t made him go back to the group home he’d run away from, so that was good. And now the people in front of him were talking about him living with them on a permanent basis.
Clinton answered something the social worker asked and Sheila looked over at Brax, returning his smile.
“Would you like to come and live with us?” she asked. Clinton and the social worker stopped talking and stared at Brax too.
Brax played it cool. “Do you have your own kids?”
Clinton shook his head. “No. We weren’t able to have biological children. Plus, we’ve always wanted to adopt.”
“Why do you want me? Why don’t you want to get a baby like everyone else?” Brax kept the smile on his face as he asked it.
Any kid who lived in the system learned their defense mechanisms. For most it was a scowl or pretending to be tough and ready to fight. Brax had discovered that he could joke and charm his way out of a lot of bad situations. Or at least smile big enough that whoever was giving him a problem would let down their guard and he could run.
Big smile, fast legs. That’s how Brax had survived since going into the system when he was nine, and it was how he would survive after Clinton and Sheila got tired of him.
“We’re not really ‘baby’ people,” Sheila responded. “We already have one adopted son. He’s about your age.”
Clinton nodded. “His name is Weston. We think you would like him.”
Brax nodded, but didn’t give the other kid much thought. He’d deal with that problem later if it was needed. Right now he wanted to get the question out that had been bugging him since he’d seen the couple walk in.
“Do you want me because I’m what your bio kid would look like if you could have one?”
Clinton was Black, Sheila was Latina. Their kids would be biracial like Brax, although Brax’s mother had been Black and his father was white, not Latina. Maybe they wanted him as some sort of trophy or something. Brax wouldn’t even mind that so much, but he wanted to know what situation he was getting himself into.
“My goodness, Brax, that’s quite rude...” Ms. Social Worker sputtered.
Clinton held out a hand toward her. “No, it’s okay.” He turned to Brax. “It’s very observant of you to even put that together so quickly. But no, we’re not interested in you because you’re biracial. Weston is Black. Luke, another boy your age who has stayed with us, is white. Race isn’t what’s important to us.”
“What is important to you?”
Ms. Social Worker started sputtering again, but Clinton and Sheila ignored her.
“We are very blessed,” Sheila said. “We have a big house where you can have your own room. We have money to be able to support a big family. And most importantly, we have love.”
Clinton grabbed Sheila’s hand, but kept his eyes on Brax. “And if you’re interested, we’d like for you to give us a try. If it doesn’t work, the group home or another foster family is always an option.”
Brax stared at them for a long moment before giving them another smile and a nod. What did he have to lose? If he needed to take off, he knew how to do that. Knew how to survive. But for now he would give Clinton and Sheila and their little rainbow family a try.
It probably wouldn’t last long. Good things usually didn’t—Brax had found that out early.
Either way, he would survive.
