A Form of Constancy

Eli Lewis was breaking curfew—again—after he had been grounded, no less. 

Grounded was a ridiculous word to describe the house arrest that Brody was enforcing, but Eli had shrugged it off. His father had once tried to set a “curfew” back in the day—and forgotten about it the next day.

It would be pushing his luck, though, to imagine that Jack Brody was as forgetful as Nicholas Lewis, so Eli was quiet. 

He had experience being as quiet as the grave—you learned quickly that treading softly in the northern wharves at night could keep you alive. 

A chair in the living room scraped, and Eli paused by the window he had just climbed through. The hallway he stood in was dark, as was the kitchen attached to it—but the path to his bedroom led straight through the well-lit living room. Shit. 

“Why are you fighting this battle?” It wasn’t Jack’s voice he caught first. It was Anders, Liza’s former partner who had been transferred to forensics. “Maybe the kid doesn’t want to change. You know as well as I do what a lost cause looks like.”

“Yes, I do,” Jack said, and Eli froze. “And this kid isn’t one.”

“You know he”—

“I know that too many people act like this kid is some chore or some charity project,” Jack cut him off, and Eli could almost envision the man’s irritable look. “He’s not. He’s a good kid, Anders. He’s got brains and talent and”—

“He’s not some golden boy,” Anders interjected. “For god’s sake, he’s been caught selling for the Minotaur. He can’t be that smart.”

“I didn’t say he was perfect,” Jack retorted. “But he’s got a good heart, even if his head isn’t always screwed on straight.”

Eli drew himself up to his full height, not sure if he should feel insulted at that last gruff comment or grateful that Jack was sticking up for him.

Anders sigh sounded almost like a hiss. “But you have to know what this looks like on you, don’t you? A cop’s kid sells drugs and runs around with pickpockets and hackers and the daughter of some diseased whore?”

Eli nearly knocked over the small front hall table, but thankfully Jack moved across the room at the same moment.

“If you ever talk about the girl and her mom like that again,” Jack said, his voice a deadly, dangerous quiet that Eli was all too familiar with. “I will ask you to leave my house and never come back.”

A long silence followed, and Eli barely breathed.

“Fine,” Anders said finally, resignation thick in his tone. “I’m sorry. Jack, you know I’m only saying all of this because I’m worried about you. Just—promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Jack said coolly.

“So you’ll consider it, then? You’ll consider finding a different foster home for the kid?”

“I’ve already considered it,” Jack said, and Eli felt sick suddenly.

He shouldn’t—he shouldn’t feel fear gripping his gut in a vise, shouldn’t be so surprised, because he’d known, hadn’t he? He had even told Jack I can make you walk away. It had just been a matter of time—

“And I made my choice a long time ago,” Jack continued. “This kid has had enough people walk out of his life when he needs them most. I’m not going to be one of them.”

Eli did knock over the table this time, and then immediately tripped over the fallen table.  

Half a second later, Jack threw open the door to the hall, one hand resting lightly on his weapon. He relaxed slightly when he say Eli, though his expression did not soften as he stretched out a hand to help him to his feet.

“Goodnight Anders,” Jack called without turning to his friend. “Thank you for coming.”

Anders sighed heavily, downed the rest of his beer, and nodded coldly at Eli before leaving.

Jack locked the door behind Anders, and then turned back to Eli, his eyebrows raised. “So how about you tell me where the hell you—kid, are you okay?”

Eli rubbed the back of his arm roughly across his face. “I’m fine,” he said, embarrassment sharpening his tone.

“Are you hurt?” Jack looked down at him sharply. “Were you down at the wharves?”

“No, I’m not hurt,” Eli said gruffly, embarrassed that tears were still stinging his eyes. “And—yes. I was down at the wharves.”

Disappointment flashed in Jack’s eyes and settled like a weight on Eli’s shoulders.

“I—I heard what you said to Anders,” Eli said finally, pointedly avoiding Jack’s gaze. “Just now.”

Understanding softened Jack’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Anders shouldn’t have said what he did.”

“I don’t care about Anders,” Eli said honestly. “I just—I didn’t expect you to say what you said. And I’m sorry that—that I’m fucking up your life, too. Before—when I would sell for the Minotaur—it was just my life that I was fucking up—and I—I guess I didn’t think”—

“Hey.” Jack held up a hand to stop Eli’s stammering words. “I don’t need an apology, kid. You’re not fucking my life up, and I don’t want you to listen to what Anders or anyone else says, you got me?”

Eli nodded finally, his eyes on the carpet. 

“But I need you to listen to me,” Jack continued firmly, and Eli dragged his eyes up to meet Jack’s. “Everything you’ve been doing—skipping school, lying to me, selling for the Minotaur—you’re right. That’s your life you’re fucking up, and I can do whatever I can to fight for you—ground you or try to keep you home and away from the wharves—but none of it’s going to work. Not if you don’t wake up and realize that you have to fight for yourself. And you have to realize that you’re worth it.”

Eli opened his mouth and then shut it again, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes again.

“Were you selling another stash tonight?” Jack asked quietly, and Eli wanted—wanted so badly—to open his mouth and say no.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Jack sighed heavily. “You need to get to bed, kid,” he said finally. “We’ll finish this conversation in the morning.”

Eli nodded again, his shoulders curving as if they were held down by weights.

Just before he closed his bedroom door, he saw Jack drop into a chair in the living room, his head in his hands.

Eli took a deep breath, looked at the duffel bag peeking out from under his bed, and then made a decision.

A few seconds later, he reappeared in the living room.

Jack looked up questioningly.

Eli set down three different packages and an envelope.

“That’s all of it,” he said. “Everything I’m supposed to sell. And the envelope has the number of my next contact to get resupplied. I haven’t looked at it yet.”

Jack stared at him for one impossibly long minute, and then nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, kid,” he said softly, and when Eli nodded awkwardly and turned to go, Jack pulled him into a brief hug.

“Does that mean I’m not grounded anymore?” Eli asked, and Jack laughed, releasing him.

“It means you should be glad I didn’t ground your ass for another week for sneaking out again tonight,” Jack said, cuffing his shoulder. “Now get to bed.”

For the first time since he had moved in with Jack, Eli didn’t argue. Instead, he fell asleep with an empty duffel bag and the sounds of home—Jack’s creaking door, the dishwasher’s low hum, and the wind outside that Eli could have sworn was whispering to him tonight: Still here, kid. Still here.