The Choices We Make - 2. The Introduction

Jace lay with his head propped up on one arm as he lightly caressed his boyfriend's bare chest. He couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful body resting peacefully beside him. Brody's olive skin glowed with verve and vitality. He had a handsomely sculpted chest covered with well-trimmed black hair. His dark erect nipples were the size of quarters. Though broad of chest and shoulders, he didn't look too big or too square, just perfectly proportioned. His abs were hairless and defined without looking like a laundry tool, taught and sexy rather than ripped and artificial. A trimmed happy trail started at his navel and slowly widened until it met his equally trimmed pubes. With slim waist and hips, the hair and the V created by his obliques merely added to the impression that his entire body was built to draw eyes downward.

Brody's forearms and legs sported a healthy but not excessive amount of black hair, as did his face, which he never shaved entirely but instead always left with the right amount of scruff. His head was covered with wavy, thick, lustrous black hair that he kept short and wore in a messy, just-out-of-bed style. He'd inherited most of his features from his father's Italian heritage, though his crystal blue eyes came out of nowhere considering his mother's were hazel and his father's were brown; Jace couldn't complain, though, since those eyes added a certain exotic mystique to Brody's overall appearance.

He loved watching his boyfriend sleep. It often overwhelmed him with the sensuous impression of peaceful strength and sublime beauty. Not to mention he couldn't seem to get his fill of Brody, the visual, the touch, the ardor, all of it. Seeing him this way, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, breath deep and regular, made Jace shake his head time and again, pondering just what he'd done to deserve a man of such inner and outer perfection.

Finally accepting he needed to wake Brody, somebody who slept like a rock—they joked constantly about his ability to sleep through the end of the world with nary a problem—Jace leaned down and gently kissed his boyfriend's chest, dropping light pecks atop the two hickeys with which he'd marked Brody the night before.

I have to stop doing that, he admonished himself, because he can never take his shirt off with all the love bites I leave on him.

But Jace knew he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. He liked marking his territory. More than that, he liked putting his lips to Brody's skin and watching him writhe and listening to him moan, especially when he drew blood to the surface in those places that drove Brody nuts with erotic energy.

His kisses continued up his boyfriend's chest to his neck, then his jaw, then his cheek, and finally his lips. His hand, meanwhile, kneaded and caressed Brody's chest, working closer to his nipple—Brody's nipples were one of his most sensitive spots.

With their lips against each other, Jace finally pinched Brody's nipple and twisted it, not hard enough to hurt but definitely hard enough to send a jolt of electricity through his body. When Brody gasped, Jace slid his tongue into his mouth and deepened the kiss.

"Mmmm..." Brody moaned as his arms came up to encircle Jace, pulling him down atop the larger boy and holding him close.

Unfortunately, though he wished otherwise, Jace drew back before he'd had his fill. It was already later than they'd intended and Brody'd told him the night before that he absolutely couldn't be late for work. Not again anyway. Or at least not so soon after the last time he'd been late.

"Hey..." Brody whined.

"Work."

"Don't wanna."

"Want to."

"Alright, Helene, thank you for the English lesson."

"I can't help it if my mother's a staunch supporter of proper language use."

Brody chuckled, shaking his head. Helene was a warm and generous and caring woman, but calling her a stickler for proper language use seemed a massive understatement. Thought not a grammar Nazi, the woman certainly didn't mind correcting lazy or improper English.

"What time is it?" Brody asked as he stretched, a satisfied groan rumbling in his chest, making Jace smile. He loved the sound of his boyfriend's voice, deep and resonant, but he liked it even better when he heard and felt it through Brody's chest. The rumble was comforting, familiar, wanted.

"Almost seven."

"Too early."

"You have to be there at eight."

"Don't wanna."

"Want to."

"How about you do something more satisfying with that mouth?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Another kiss. I can't get enough of those."

Jace smirked and shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Morning breath."

"You just had your tongue in my mouth trying to suck my soul out of me, and now you're complaining about morning breath?"

"Not yours, silly. Mine. By some strange quirk of the universe, you never have morning breath. I, on the other hand, am not so lucky."

"I wasn't complaining."

"You never do."

Jace dropped a chaste kiss on Brody's lips before slipping from beneath the covers. As he headed toward the bathroom, Brody never let his eyes wander away from the breathtaking naked man who'd just left his bed.

A little taller than Brody's five ten, Jace stood maybe six feet and weighed ten pounds less. He was slim but not skinny, his muscles defined but not pronounced. Brody often thought of his boyfriend as having something a little smoother than a runner's build. Not sinewy at all, Jace was just... perfect.

He had alabaster skin, so light and free of blemish that it appeared almost translucent. He was virtually hairless except for his head, his face, his pubes, his armpits, and his lower legs. Every bit of that hair was light brown with natural highlights, straight as a ruler, and felt like satin.

But his eyes captivated Brody more than anything else: forest green flecked with gold, soulful, expressive, deep and mirthful and telling. Brody could get lost in those eyes. Hell, he often did.

Even with his back to the open bathroom door and without a glance, Jace chuckled before calling over his shoulder, "It's not polite to stare."

"Can't help it. I have the hottest boyfriend on the planet."

"Please," Jace groaned as he flushed the toilet.

As he grabbed his toothbrush and the toothpaste, preparing to dispatch the morning breath that he always thought was worse than it really was, he sneaked a peek through the doorway and found Brody with his arms behind his head, his eyes locked on Jace's every movement.

"The truth is," he said, "I have the hottest boyfriend on the planet."

And that was precisely how he felt. Brody was so unbelievably sexy. Jace couldn't understand how the hot exotic jock could ever find a lean bookish nerd attractive, but he didn't question it because he knew it was true. Brody proved it every day with both words and deeds.

After rinsing, Jace returned to the bed and slipped under the covers, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend as he pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

"Mmmm..." Brody moaned into his mouth. Jace accepted the offering with glee.

When they parted, lips swollen and wet, pupils dilated, Jace smacked Brody on the chest and told him, "Time for you to get ready for work."

"Don't wanna." Before Jace could correct him he added, "Don't want to."

After a quick kiss, one less erotic than the last, Jace admitted, "I don't want you to go. So on that we're in agreement. But you said—"

"I have to go. I know. That's what I said. Doesn't mean I want to go, only that I have to go."

"Is Trish working today?"

Brody frowned but still answered, "Yeah."

"Then at least you'll have some fun."

"Not as much fun as I could have with you," Brody announced before grabbing Jace and rolling over on top of him, settling his full weight on his boyfriend, claiming his mouth with a searing kiss. Then he leaped off the bed and walked to the bathroom. "It's not polite to stare," he called over his shoulder with as much mischief in his voice as he could muster. Which was quite a bit.

Jace shrugged. He'd stare if he wanted to. Besides, who wouldn't want to stare at a hot naked jock ambling across the room, his ass bouncing just so, his broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist resting atop thick legs. Every muscle danced under taught skin, causing Jace's blood to flow south.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and began thinking about other things, like his plans for the day and Brody working with Trish and... Well, Brody working with Trish. That always killed his sexual excitement.

"Stop thinking about it," Brody called from the shower.

Jace could only chuckle. They knew each other so well. And Brody understood that Jace felt some measure of jealousy when it came to Trish. She'd been Brody's first girlfriend and his first kiss. Sure the big oaf of a jock liked boys and girls, but he liked boys better, which pleased Jace. But that didn't make it any less bothersome that Brody had been Trish's boyfriend for two years before Brody finally admitted how he felt about Jace.

If I'd said something sooner, Jace thought. Maybe if I'd said something before he did, Trish wouldn't be an issue.

He listened to Brody in the shower, humming amidst the spray of hot water, realizing he needn't worry so much about Trish because Brody loved him, he loved Brody, and by golly they were planning a future together. No matter what came before, he had Brody now, in this moment and, assuming everything went according to plan, he'd have him forevermore. And that suited Jace just fine.

"It's silly to be jealous," Brody said as he stepped out of the shower and began toweling himself dry, his eyes never leaving Jace's intense gaze.

"I'm not jealous."

"It's something you're prone to."

"Did you end that declarative with a preposition?"

"Stop being Helene long enough to hear what I say rather than how I say it."

Jace dropped his gaze for just a moment, long enough to shake his head at his own silliness. "You're right, you know. And I'm being daft for feeling threatened."

"You don't feel threatened," Brody declared as he marched across the garage apartment, towel over his shoulder.

"Then what do I feel?"

Leaning over the love of his life, Brody let his lips rest against Jace's as he whispered, "You feel regret that you weren't my first kiss, regret that you weren't my first date, regret that you weren't the one I held and touched."

"And?"

"But you were, Jace."

"No I wasn't," he responded with a bit too much venom.

"Yes you were." Brody sat on the edge of the bed, his face still millimeters from Jace's. "I loved you before I settled for Trish. She was the next best option, Jace. I didn't think there was hope for me and you, so I settled. Now that I have what I wanted all along, you need to stop worrying about it. You're all I need and all I want and all I'll ever hope for." He dropped a passionate kiss on his boyfriend's lips before admitting, "And that was another prepositional ending, by the way."

"Asshole." Jace couldn't keep the smile off his face or out of his voice. He felt more than silly for doubting Brody. Nothing could feel this perfect and destined without being real and meant.

"By the way, you need to stop with the linguistic crap. That's your mom's thing, not yours." Brody stood and walked to the dresser.

"She made it my thing. I can't help it."

"You're such a nerd." He didn't turn to look at Jace as he put on a pair of boxer briefs.

"I'm not a nerd."

"Yes you are. You're a hot bookish nerd who turns me on all the time, the sexiest little bookish nerd in the world."

Jace watched Brody as he opened the closet door and began browsing for something to wear. "If I'm a nerd then you're a jock."

"I'm okay with being called a jock. But I'm not a dumb jock."

"No, definitely not a dumb jock."

Pulling on a pair of jeans without looking back Brody said, "Besides, I'm not just any jock. I'm your jock."

"And if I were a nerd, I'd be your nerd."

"You are a nerd. You're my nerd. And I love you without reservation."

"I love you, too."

Brody slipped a tee shirt over his head before turning around. The moment his eyes settled on Jace he smiled, ducked his head, shrugged, asked, "Whoda thunk it?"

"Who would've thought it, you mean," Jace corrected without thought.

"Right."

Watching Brody approach the bed, Jace couldn't help but think he was the luckiest man alive to have such a fantastic man in love with him.

"Who would have thought what?"

Leaning down, Brody placed an affectionate kiss on Jace's lips before standing, his eyes locked on his boyfriend's.

"Who would've thought it would be you and me?"

"Forever."

"Forever and ever."

Jace shrugged, looking sheepish, then said, "You looked like you needed a friend."

After placing another kiss on his boyfriend's lips, Brody walked to the door, pulled it open, paused, looked at Jace, admitted, "I did need a friend. I just didn't think he'd be the man of my dreams. But he's that and a whole lot more."

Before Jace could respond, Brody said, "Gotta go to work. I'll see you later. I love you."

And with that, he pulled the door closed, leaving Jace to his own thoughts, thoughts of meeting, thoughts of destiny, thoughts of loving a man so much it hurt.

"You looked like you needed a friend," he muttered. "Who knew you'd be so much more than that?"

* * * * *

Thirteen Years Prior

"Mom..." Jace whined. "Do I hafta?"

"Have to," Helene Langstrom corrected her son. "It's 'do I have to,' and the answer is yes, young man."

"But Mom..."

"Do you want some cheese with your whine this morning?" she asked with half a grin and raised eyebrows.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Just a silly joke."

"I don't get it."

"Of course you don't. Understanding comes with age."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Jace, but what were we talking about?"

"Uh..."

"That's what I thought," she mumbled, biting back a chuckle.

Helene made a sport of using confusion to redirect her son's sometimes prosaic grizzling. He wasn't a complainer by any stretch of the imagination, but like every other five-year-old on the planet, he sure knew the right tone of voice to use so everyone inside of five blocks could hear his displeasure.

"Why don't you go on in and find a seat, honey?"

"What if they don't like me, Mom? What if nobody likes me?" Jace whimpered, unshed tears welling in his beautiful green eyes.

And there was the other problem with her son. Helene couldn't understand why he never felt sure of himself, why he always assumed no one would like him. For such a gregarious child, his lack of self-confidence sometimes worried her. Sometimes.

"Don't be silly, Jace." Turning him toward the classroom and waving a hand around the half-full room, she continued, "See all those kids? They're in the same boat you're in right now. It's their first day, too. They've never been to school before. They probably don't know very many of their classmates."

"Really?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of awe and a hint of comfort.

"Pardon me," a woman apologetically said as she sidled through the door while attempting not to bump the kneeling mother and her adorable son.

"Of course," Helene responded automatically, gently pulling Jace out of the way as the other woman slipped by, her own son pulling her along in his wake.

Oh that poor boy, she pondered as she watched them weave through the tables and chairs toward the spot by the windows the boy motioned toward, he looks positively frail. I wonder what's wrong with him.

* * * * *

Jayne Anne Windham allowed her son to pull her into the classroom. "Pardon me," she offered shyly as she and Brody attempted to get through the door without knocking over the woman kneeling there cajoling her son, clearly trying to get the cute youngster to boldly face his first day of kindergarten.

Thankfully I don't have to face that, she thought. With all he's been through, Brody's so well socialized and so uncaring of his appearance. To him, the first day of school is just one more thing he has to face. Compared to everything that came before, he doesn't seem to think this will be a problem at all.

But, as mother's are wont to do, Jayne Anne had to temper the approval she felt for her son's seeming lack of fear in the face of even the most daunting circumstances. Three years, most of which he spent in the hospital undergoing all manner of tests and treatments, years of overwhelming pain and anguish and suffering both from the leukemia and its cure, had left Brody a quiet, introspective, strong-willed boy with confidence to endure most anything, which was all well and good in his mother's mind. But the other side of the coin was that he seemed to shrink in on himself most of the time, spending more than a healthy share of his days inside his own head. In addition to and despite his lack of nervousness around people he didn't know—he'd spent most of his life dealing with an unending parade of people he didn't know in environments unfamiliar and frightening—he appeared for all intents and purposes to be a rather shy boy.

Ben was right. He needs kindergarten so he's around other kids, has a chance to learn social interactions with his peers, realizes he's not alone regardless of what he's been through.

Brody drew his mother forward, his stride sure and his path clear, expertly guiding her amongst the other children and through the maze of chairs and tables. He'd never been in a classroom before, but by golly he knew where he wanted to sit if he absolutely had to be there.

As soon as he arrived at the seats adjacent to the wall of windows facing the beautiful courtyard with its trees and fountain and benches and flowers and ample sunshine, he spun on his heels and leaned toward his mother.

"Do you think it's alright if I sit here, Mom?" he asked, his voice hushed and respectful.

Yet more evidence of his ordeal, she knew, the quiet surety, the graciousness, the veneration for the feelings of others, the innate deference to proper social deportment. She hoped the genteel, well-behaved child leukemia had created indicated the young man he would someday become.

"I'm sure it's fine, Brody," Jayne Anne replied. "And if the teacher has assigned seating in mind, he'll let you know when class gets started."

"I hope he lets me sit here," he remarked in the staid manner she'd come to expect.

No five-year-old should be so well-mannered, she thought, but he was basically raised by a bunch of doctors and nurses. He never had time to learn about being a child. All the children he grew up with were in the same position he was in—sick, fighting for life, living day in and day out with a bunch of medical personnel who, irrespective of their intentions, never stopped being learned adults no matter what the children needed.

"Would you like me to ask him if you can stay in this seat?"

After he settled into the chair, quietly pulling it forward so he settled comfortably against the table, he turned to her and whispered, "Would you please?"

"Of course, honey. I'll do that on my way out, if that's alright."

"Yes."

"Did you bring all your supplies?"

Brody hefted his backpack onto the tabletop and pulled it to him with an arm slung over its bulky form. "Yes. Right here."

"Are you feeling okay?"

Brody didn't quite understand what he'd been through, but he very much understood he'd been sick for a long time, for as long as he could remember in fact. He also knew he wasn't completely recovered yet, but his parents said every single day that he was getting better, growing into a strong boy. So when one of them asked if he was feeling okay, he gave it serious consideration, basically performing a full inventory of his body and mind, checking to see if anything felt worse than the day before.

Finding nothing amiss save uncertainty about the whole kindergarten thing, he told her, "Yes, Mom. I'm fine."

"Good." Jayne Anne squatted beside the tiny chair her son sat in, resting one arm atop the table, and quietly explained, "The school knows you've only been out of treatment for a few months. They've promised to be mindful of how you look and feel. But don't you dare hesitate to let them know if you don't feel good, you hear me, Mr. Man?"

"Yes, Mom," he giggled. That nickname made him feel silly, always did, and he loved her for it.

She hated that nickname. It popped into her head one day when she realized her child was more an adult than anyone his age, due entirely to his health and the time spent around adults who tried to be childlike yet failed miserably in the attempt, turning her little boy into a little person too formal and too intelligent and too out of touch with his age. But she used the moniker anyway; it always brought a smile to Brody's face. For whatever reason, it brightened his mood. She just couldn't find fault with anything that did that.

"The nurse is supposed to meet you before lunch to help you take your medicine."

"Oh Mom..." he whined. Or tried to.

It always sounded forced to her ears, like an adult playing at being a child. She appreciated the effort, though, as if her son were gifting her with a taste of what they'd both missed during his first five years of life.

With a silly scowl she scolded through a chuckle, "Don't you give me sass, Mr. Man."

Again he snickered, blushing.

God he looks so much better when he blushes. I'll be happy when his olive skin darkens back to its original tone.

Jayne Anne leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his forehead before giving him a quick hug.

"You be good, you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom."

"I'll be right outside the class when school is out. Don't wander."

"I'll be okay."

"I know you will. But I worry about you anyway."

Brody ducked his head and turned away, suddenly feeling quite shy, maybe even embarrassed. He might not understand everything that'd happened to him in the past, but he fully understood it'd been pretty bad. He suspected he'd understand even more as he got older.

He watched his mom stand. Just before she turned and walked away, she ruffled his black wavy hair.

With a grin she realized she was terribly happy his hair had grown in before school started. She'd been so worried he'd go to school bald on top of still looking sickly and being thin enough to appear unhealthy.

"Bye, kiddo."

"Bye, Mom."

* * * * *

Helene had watched the other woman with her son, still wondering what might be wrong with him. He seemed normal, if not a bit subdued, and she knew the administrators wouldn't let a kid into class who had something contagious.

"I guess I'll go," Jace lamented with melodramatic flair as he shuffled noisily into the classroom, eyes downcast, hands jammed into his pockets as his backpack wiggled from his jerky movements.

She stood and stepped aside as other parents came and went. For reasons she couldn't quite fathom, she paused rather than leaving. Her unprovoked delay became all too comprehensible when, after a brief chat with the teacher, the mother of that poor sickly child scooted sideways into the hall as another set of parents wandered in with their precious daughter between them.

"Excuse me," Helene said, placing a gentle hand on the woman's arm.

Jayne Anne turned, setting an inquisitive gaze on the woman who'd stopped her. "Can I help you?" she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"I was... I was just wondering if your son is alright," Helene remarked, not so much asking a question as hesitantly fishing for answers.

"Yes he is, thank you," Jayne Anne declared, straining to keep her face from scrunching up in a sour expression of disapproval. She'd tolerated far too much nosiness and furtive looks of worry and innuendos implying Brody might be dangerous to other children. At least in the hospital he'd been surrounded by others dealing with the same or similar health problems, but away from that safe environment she was discovering that too many adults who should know better spent far too much time digging into her family's personal business, as though hoping for a tasty tidbit of gossip.

She started to turn away, fighting to keep from lashing out at yet one more idiot who used her son's illness as cause for stupidity. Thus she was pleasantly surprised when the woman asked quite gently and with a not inconsiderable amount of genuine concern in her voice, "And are you? Are you alright?"

Looking back to the woman, Jayne Anne wondered only for a moment if a lie would be better than the truth. Then she told her, "As well as can be. When your son's been fighting leukemia for three years and he's still struggling to be a normal kid with a normal life, I suppose being alright is a subjective thing."

She had no clue where that level of candor came from. Talk about too much information.

Yet the woman again surprised her. "I can't imagine what you've been through and I can't imagine what your son has endured. I only asked because you look so stressed and tired—"

"He looks worse."

"Oh," Helene gasped, then giggled when Jayne Anne chuckled behind her hand. "Well, now that you've said it, I can agree, but I'm guessing he looks better than he did."

"You have no idea."

Finding an interesting level of courage and concern bubbling up inside her, Helene held her hand out and offered, "My name's Helene. Helene Langstrom."

"Jayne Anne." She took the hand and shook it with friendly warmth. "Jayne Anne Windham."

"That's Jace, my son," Helene admitted as she gestured into the classroom, "with the end-of-the-world posture."

Both women snickered as they watched Jace walk right over to Brody. Well, maybe not walk so much as scoot and meander and shuffle. Brody's gaze had already been locked on Jace as he approached, and the women observed the two boys chat quietly before Jace dropped into the chair at the same table, never turning away from Brody as the boys talked and nodded and smiled.

"My son's Brody. It looks like our boys are getting to know each other," Jayne Anne remarked.

"Seems like a good idea. You look like you could use a break, maybe even a friend. Would you let me buy you a cup of coffee?"

"That sounds wonderful, Helene. Thank you." The look of relief on Jayne Anne's face told Helene she'd been right all along. Though not as much as her son, obviously, this woman had still been through her own level of torment for years.

"I'm parked right out front. Let me drive. I can bring you back to your car later."

"That would be nice."

* * * * *

"Hi," Brody greeted as the other boy stopped and stared. After a moment of silence he added, "I'm Brody."

"I'm Jace."

The boys continued looking at each other as more silence spread between them.

"Are you sick?" Jace suddenly blurted out, his cheeks immediately flushing.

Brody let his head drop in disappointment. He'd been worried he might attract attention because of how he looked. He'd really been hoping to find a new friend or two. Well, to find a friend period since he didn't have any. He'd made lots of friends in the hospital, but Dallas was just too big for any them to live near enough to go to the same school.

When this pale-skinned, brown-haired, green-eyed boy reached the table, Brody thought for a moment that maybe he was going to make a new friend after all. But then he'd asked about being sick. Of course he'd ask that. Most everybody did.

Meeting the boy's gaze again Brody admitted, "I was. For a long time. I'm not now, but I'm not completely better."

"Takes time, huh?" the kid asked.

"A long time." He hadn't meant to let so much sadness leak into his voice, but there it was anyway. Oh well.

"Can I sit here?"

A momentary flash of hope exploded across Brody's features before he slipped back to his stoic demeanor.

"Sure."

Jace pulled the chair out and dropped into it like a sack of potatoes, not even removing his backpack first. When it hit the back of the chair, though, he remembered it, slid it from his shoulders, and pushed it onto the tabletop without too much care.

"So what'd you have?"

"When?"

"When you were sick, silly. What'd do you have?"

"Leukemia."

"Luke who?"

"Not Luke anybody. I had leukemia."

"Leukemia..." Jace repeated, letting the word slowly move through his mouth as he tried out its flavor.

"It's a kind of cancer," Brody offered, hoping that would clarify matters. At least as much as a child of five could clarify and another child of five could understand such matters.

"What's cancer?"

Brody shrugged. "Something bad." He didn't fully understand what it was, but he knew enough to know that much.

"Huh..." Jace glanced over his shoulder, having thought he needed to wave to his mom to let her know he might actually survive his first day of kindergarten, but he turned his attention back to Brody the moment he realized his mother was yammering with some other lady out in the hall.

"Is that your mom?" Brody asked.

"Who?"

"In the hall. Wearing the pretty flower dress."

After another quick glance over his shoulder, Jace nodded. "Yeah."

"She's talking to my mother."

"Oh. That's neat." Jace turned in his seat and began rummaging in his backpack. Like he'd suddenly thought of something important, he swung back toward Brody and asked, "Maybe they'll be friends. So you and me can be friends. If you wanna be my friend. Do you? Wanna be my friend?"

Brody almost giggled at the boy's nervous behavior. But he didn't. Because he wanted a friend. Needed one. Even if only one.

"Yes, Jace, I'd like to be you friend and I'd like you to be my friend."

"Okay." With that, Jace turned back to rummage in his backpack.

* * * * *

At two years old, Jenny, was a healthy, vivacious, rambunctious child. And a messy eater. Jayne Anne wiped a bit of dribble and a lot of food of her daughter's face before coaxing her to take another small spoonful, most of which would squeeze out of puckered lips.

As a mother, rearing a child came naturally to her, yet Jayne Anne constantly felt pangs of guilt for wishing Brody had been a healthy child. She'd missed so much. And sometimes, though she'd never admit it, she wondered if having their daughter while Brody suffered was a selfish move by her and Ben. It had been an accident, sure, getting pregnant the furthest thing from both their minds. Yet it had happened, which left her sometimes wondering if they'd inadvertently been planning for the worst by having another child.

She shook her head to dislodge and discard the errant thoughts. Then Jayne Anne glanced at Brody as he slowly devoured a bowl of sugary cereal. She preferred he eat healthy meals, but the doctors had made it clear he should be allowed to eat whatever he could and would eat, at least for several more months. It would help him add weight and it would help his stomach acclimate to a steady supply of solid foods.

His diet during treatment had been horrific. Everything cooked, nothing raw like fruits or vegetables, plenty of starch, no citrus or spice, as little dairy as possible, and on the restrictions went. Mind you, that diet lasted a short while before he started having difficulty keeping anything down. Then came intravenous feeding coupled with whatever foods he consumed that didn't come back up.

Bananas. Strangely enough, Dr. O'Neill had told them bananas would be Brody's best friend despite being uncooked. When asked why, he informed them in an embarrassed tone that bananas were the only food that tasted the same coming back up as they did when they went down.

Now, of course, Brody hated bananas. Nobody could blame him.

Aware of his mother's gaze but not meeting it, he asked, "Can Jace spend the night tonight?"

Ben winked at his wife before turning to his son and asking, "Who's Jace?" He'd heard all week about Jace, so he damn well knew who the kid was.

"I told you. He's my friend."

"From where?"

"I told you. He's my friend from school."

"And you want him to spend the night?"

"Yes."

"After only one week?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that too soon?"

"Is it?"

"That's what I was asking."

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Maybe not. Is it safe?"

"Is what safe?"

"Jace spending the night."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Maybe he's dangerous."

"Jace?"

"Isn't that who we're talking about?"

"But he's not dangerous."

"How do you?"

Finally looking up from his cereal and glaring at his father as though the man had suddenly turned senile, Brody sighed in a dramatically exasperated fashion before explaining, "He's just a kid, Dad, like me. He's not dangerous."

"Are you sure?"

That's when he caught the mischief in his father's eyes. "Come on, Dad..." he moaned. It sounded alien from his lips since Brody never complained.

When he caught his wife's gaze, Ben realized she was smiling with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

"And what do you know about this?" he inquired, a smile blossoming on his face.

"Remember the woman I told you about, Helene, the one I met the first day of kindergarten?"

"Of course. It's only been five days, baby doll. I might not be a youngster anymore, but I'm not senile."

"Yet," she jibed through a giggle.

"We're the same age, woman!" he laughed.

"Technically you're older."

"By a few months. That hardly counts."

"Excuse me."

Both parents turned immediately toward Brody. He'd watched them engage in their silly antics time and again. And though he loved the levity and joy his parents often displayed with each other, their lighthearted banter and childish joking often bringing a smile to his face, he really wanted an answer to his question.

"What is it, honey?" Jayne Anne asked.

"Can Jace spend the night tonight?"

Ben and Jayne Anne shared a look before both fell into fits of laughter.

"You're so serious sometimes, kiddo," Ben told his son once he'd caught his breath.

"I'm sorry. I thought you'd forgotten my question. I'll wait."

"Of course we hadn't forgotten, sweetie," Jayne Anne assured him, ruffling his hair. She'd have to get out of that habit soon, but she was still enjoying the fact that it was growing back, so thick and black and lustrous. Getting her fingers into it was a personal joy she couldn't quite deny herself. At least not yet.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure of what, Brody?" Not sure what happened to the conversation, his son's unflinching seriousness had Ben worried. Just a little. Which came easily and naturally, all things considered.

"That you hadn't forgotten."

"Of course we're sure."

"Sure of what?"

"What?"

"That's what I was asking."

"I think your mother and I might have missed something."

"What did you miss, Dad?"

"Well...

"I thought so."

Dumbfounded, both parents stared at their son, attempting to figure out what just happened.

Brody stared back, his expression blank. Until that mischievous sparkle showed up in his eyes. Just before the corners of his mouth started to twitch up into a grin.

* * * * *

Ben gave his wife a sidelong look, curiosity defining the thoughtful scowl on his face.

"What?" she asked.

He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating the hall and the rooms beyond. Mostly indicating their son's room.

"Have you ever heard him laugh like that?"

Jayne Anne cocked her head, eyes slowly meandering about the room but seeing nothing. She had all her attention focused on the giddy chuckles and snickers and occasional uproarious laughter sneaking out beneath the closed bedroom door.

Even as her eyes widened and she turned back to her husband, Ben nodded and admitted, "Me, either." Then he smiled.

Sure, they'd heard Brody laugh, sometimes loudly and sometimes softly, but neither of them had ever heard the kind of wholesome, heartfelt, carefree laughter they heard that night as Brody and Jace hid away playing all manner of games and whispering and wrestling and... well, being kids.

She snuggled against Ben, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

"Yeah," he breathed, "it sure as hell is."