The first time Debbie Novotny heard about Brian Kinney, Michael was in the eighth grade. It was just after spring break. He’d come home from school chattering away excitedly about the new boy in his class who’d just moved to Pittsburgh from some town she couldn’t remember. All through dinner it was Brian this, and Brian that. Michael was clearly enamored with this Brian kid.

Debbie wanted to meet him, just like she did all of Michael’s friends. Although, really, that list had been very short. She wouldn’t have said Michael was a loner, but he didn’t have many friends. And he’d never talked about someone quite the way he talked about Brian -- to the point where Debbie wondered if it was really just a budding friendship, or if it was something more.

She’d known Michael was gay for a long time. Mother’s intuition, she said. And she had a feeling that Michael was beginning to figure those feelings out for himself now -- realizing that he paid more attention to the other boys than he did to the girls, simply because his biological makeup led him to do so.

Debbie wasn’t surprised, given that her brother Vic was gay, and she’d always felt that sexuality had a genetic component. Not to mention the fact that Michael’s real father was a gay man -- and a drag queen, to boot. Hell, Debbie would have been more surprised if Michael was straight. Michael didn’t know the truth about his father, though, and Debbie didn’t plan to tell him. She’d rather him keep on believing his father was a war hero, killed in Vietnam.

Michael talked about Brian in the same way Debbie remembered talking about her junior high crush when she was his age. It seemed like in a matter of days, Michael’s world had gone from revolving around Captain Astro to revolving mostly around Brian Kinney.

Kinney. Debbie was fairly sure she’d heard the name Kinney at church recently, although she hadn’t met the family. She’d overheard that the Kinneys were new in town, so she figured chances were good that it was the same family -- Brian’s family.

She didn’t meet Brian until a week later, when she’d come home from her shift at the diner to find Michael and a teenage boy she didn’t recognize sitting on her sofa in the living room, watching some cartoon they were too old for, throwing popcorn at each other and laughing.

“I didn’t realize you had company, Michael,” she said as she hung her jacket on the coat rack by the door. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Although she didn’t really need an introduction -- she assumed this was likely the mysterious Brian Kinney, and it turned out she was right.

“Oh, uh, yeah...sorry Ma,” Michael sputtered as his cheeks flushed a bit. “This is Brian. He’s my friend from school.”

Brian stood up from the sofa and came over to her, extending his hand out to introduce himself. So this kid was a polite one. Good. Maybe Michael could learn a thing or two.

“Brian Kinney,” he said, not quite looking her in the eye. “Nice to meet you.”

“Put that hand away, honey. We don’t shake hands in this house, we give hugs.” She took a step toward him and wrapped her arms around him, feeling how he stiffened as soon as she touched him. “It’s nice to meet you too. Michael’s told me a lot about you.” When she let him go, his arms were still at his sides, and he was regarding her with a strange expression, like he wasn’t sure what to make of what had just happened. God, his eyes were fuckin’ gorgeous. Hell, the kid was gorgeous, period. No wonder Michael liked him so much. But she couldn’t help but notice that there was something else lurking behind those eyes. His eyes looked much older than his 14 years. They were guarded. Unsure. He looked at her like he was trying to figure her out.

“You boys better clean up that mess you made,” she said, pointing at the popcorn that was scattered all over the living room floor and the couch cushions. “I’m going to go start dinner. Brian, would you like to stay for dinner? If it’s okay with your parents, that is.”

Debbie saw a flicker of several different emotions cross Brian’s eyes in that moment -- excitement, hopefulness, then disappointment and resignation. That puzzled her.

“I, uh…” he paused and looked down at his feet. “I better not. I have to go home soon.”

She couldn’t help but notice how dejected he looked at the idea of going home. And there was a hint of something else there too that she wasn’t quite sure of. Was it...fear?

“Okay, honey,” she said as she stepped around him and walked toward her tiny kitchen. “Some other time, then. Maybe we could have your whole family over one night. I can make a lasagna. We’re Italian, we love to feed people.”

“Oh, I don’t know...maybe,” he said vaguely, turning back toward Michael, who had already started picking up the popcorn.

Debbie paused and regarded them both for a minute, although her attention was focused on Michael’s new friend. She had a feeling that there was something this kid wasn’t saying.

When all of the popcorn had been picked up, she overheard Brian telling Michael he really needed to get home.

“Okay,” Michael said, his tone obviously disappointed. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she heard Brian say. “Tomorrow.” He sounded distracted, like his mind was a million miles away. The tall, lanky kid in worn jeans and a shirt that was too short because it was too small for him picked up his backpack and walked out the door.

“He seems nice,” Debbie said to Michael, once the door was closed and Brian was out of earshot.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “He stands up to the bullies.”

“Are you having trouble with the kids at school again, Michael?”

“They’re leaving me alone now, thanks to Brian.”

“Well, that’s good I guess...so long as you boys aren’t trying to solve problems with your fists.”

“No, Ma,” Michael insisted. “We aren’t.”

Only a week in, and Michael and Brian were already a “we.”

The second time she saw Brian Kinney, they were at church on the following Sunday. She spotted him before Michael did, standing alongside a haughty-looking woman she assumed was his mother. He looked every bit as disinterested as Michael always was when she dragged him to mass.

“Look, there’s Brian,” she said, pointing him out to her son from across the sanctuary. The service was over, and everyone was fulfilling their social obligations before filing out of the church to go about their business. “Is that his mother?”

“I guess,” Michael said. “I dunno. I’ve never met her.”

Debbie remembered thinking that was odd that Michael hadn’t met Brian’s mother yet. Didn’t most mothers of teenage boys want to know who their sons were hanging out with? But, that didn’t matter now -- she was about to introduce herself and her son. She hurried across the room, taking a shortcut through an empty pew, heading toward them, with Michael trailing behind.

“Mrs. Kinney?” Debbie asked as she approached, holding out her hand in greeting. She preferred hugs, but figured a handshake would do since this was church and she didn’t know this woman.

Looking down her nose at Debbie, the woman nodded and said, “Yes, that’s me.” She left Debbie’s outstretched hand hanging. Her voice was prim and proper. Bordering on snobby. But her tattered clothing didn’t match her holier-than-thou disposition.

Meanwhile, Michael was greeting Brian with a, “Hey, good to see you,” and a playful punch to the arm. Debbie couldn’t help but notice that Brian winced when Michael’s hand made contact with his upper arm. Michael apparently didn’t notice, but she wasn’t at all surprised at that -- Michael was probably the most unobservant person she knew. It didn’t get past Debbie though.

“My name’s Debbie.” She lowered her hand, already a bit unsure about this encounter. “I’m Michael’s mother. Michael is Brian’s friend from school.”

“I’m Joan,” the woman said, raising an eyebrow as she turned her head slightly toward Brian. “I didn’t know you had a new friend, Brian.”

Brian shrugged and looked down at the worn carpet.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joan.” Debbie made up her mind that she was going to be nice and polite, even if Joan wasn’t.

“Pleasure,” Joan said coldly. “Well, we need to be going. Come on, Brian.” She turned on her heel and started toward the double doors at the back of the sanctuary. Brian looked reluctant to follow her, but he did.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” Michael called after him. But Brian didn’t turn around, and didn’t say anything to Michael.

“Huh, that was weird,” Michael said as they walked toward their car after exiting the building themselves.

“You really hadn’t met his mother before just now?”

“No. He said his dad doesn’t like him having friends over. But that’s okay -- we can just hang out at school, and our house.”

Michael didn’t seem to think there was anything unusual about that, but Debbie was thinking there had to be more to the story -- there was more to this kid than he was letting on. She couldn’t explain it -- she just had a feeling. And it wasn’t a good one.

Over the next several weeks, she came home most afternoons to find Brian and Michael together somewhere in her house. If they weren’t in the living room watching television, they’d be holed up in Michael’s room reading comic books, or horsing around in the backyard.

One afternoon, just a couple of weeks before the end of the school year, he and Michael were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework -- something productive, for once -- and she noticed there was a large, dark-colored bruise poking out from under the edge of Brian’s shirt sleeve.

“What happened there, honey?” she said curiously, reaching out to lift his sleeve up a bit more.

But he was quick to stop her, using his other hand to pull his sleeve from her fingers and back down to cover the mark. She’d seen enough, though.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I bumped into a doorway, that’s all.”

It seemed like an awfully big bruise for bumping into a doorway.

After that day, she started taking notice when Brian would show up with bruises, although she didn’t ask about them anymore. She noticed when he’d grimace as he got up to leave, and limp a little on his way out the door, like he was trying not to but couldn’t help it. There was definitely something going on there. Debbie didn’t know exactly what it was, but she knew she didn’t like it.

Over the few months since Brian and Michael had become friends, Debbie and Brian had build up a bit of a rapport. She’d started treating him as if he was her son, too. He’d started returning her hugs, going from hesitant to melting a little bit into her arms like he was relieved to have someone to hold him, especially on the days when he showed up with bruises. Sometimes he didn’t seem to want to let go. The way he felt in her arms when she hugged him made her incredibly sad, because she had a feeling that no one ever hugged him at home. She wondered if anyone had ever hugged him before she did, that first time she’d met him. What a horrible way to live, she thought to herself.

One day, she came home from a weekday shift at the diner to find her boys in their usual position, watching television in the living room. Everything looked normal, except that Brian had a black eye. She didn’t say anything about it at first, wanting to wait until she got Brian alone so she could ask him about it privately, in hopes she might get the real story. She prepared dinner for the three of them, just as she did most nights. She’d taken to feeding Brian because she felt he was too skinny, like maybe he wasn’t getting enough to eat at home. Debbie might not have had much money, but there was always plenty of food to be had at the Novotny house.

After they’d finished eating, she told Michael to tell his friend that he’d see him tomorrow, and sent Michael upstairs to start on his homework. She waited for Michael’s bedroom door to close, so she knew he’d be out of earshot.

“Brian, can I talk to you for a minute?” she said.

The sullen boy still standing by her kitchen table shrugged noncommittally. He looked wary, though.

“What happened to your eye, honey? Did you get in a fight at school?”

“No,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor. She didn’t figure he had, but she had to ask.

“Is somebody hittin’ you at home?” She cut right to the chase. She’d had enough of standing by and watching while her son’s friend showed up with more and more bruises and injuries that she had a feeling were happening at the hands of one, or both, of his parents.

He didn't answer; just looked away. His face almost looked...ashamed?

She didn't need him to answer her then. She already knew. And it made her sad for him. Sad, and scared. And angry. She didn't understand how or why someone could hit their child. Not like that. Sure, she’d slap Michael when he was out of line, but it was always out of love, and never with the intention of hurting him. Whoever was doing this to Brian was clearly trying to hurt him. And they were succeeding.

At that point, Debbie could clearly see there were two sides of Brian -- the happy, slightly goofy side that came out with Michael, and the sullen, quiet side that came out when he had to go home. It made her sick to think of the damage that was being done to this kid every time she had to send him home -- not just physically, but emotionally. They were breaking him, and she felt powerless to stop it.

Over the next several months, Debbie tried several times to convince Brian to let her get him some help. Telling him that he didn’t have to put up with this -- there were options, things that could be done. To let her go to the police, or report what was happening to child protective services, so someone could help him. But he wouldn’t let her. He kept telling her no. And he always looked so scared any time she brought it up. Petrified, actually. He’d plead with her not to say anything, and it broke her heart. So she kept quiet, against her better judgment. The last thing she wanted was to alienate Brian, and make him feel like he could no longer come over to her house without fearing that she’d “out” him to the authorities. She knew how badly he needed the sanctuary he got when he was at her home. So she never said a word to anyone.

One night just a few days before Christmas, Debbie awoke with a start to what she thought sounded like someone knocking on her front door. She rolled over and looked at the clock. It was a little past 1 a.m. Who would be knocking on her door at this hour? Whoever it was, they must have been needing something important to be knocking so late at night, so she figured she’d better answer it. The knocking continued as she climbed out of bed and slid her fuzzy, pink bathrobe over her shoulders, tying the sash around her waist to hold it closed

“I’m coming. Keep your pants on,” she muttered as she walked down the hallway, past Michael’s bedroom and down the stairs. When she pulled back the curtains that covered the window in her front door, she nearly gasped at what she saw.

Brian was standing on the other side, a thin trail of blood running down the side of his face from a cut just above his left eyebrow. He wasn’t wearing a coat, and he was shivering. He was cradling his right arm against his body with his left, and he looked like he’d been crying.

Debbie felt like she couldn’t get the door unlocked fast enough, because her hands were shaking so badly. She knew she should have stepped in sooner, no matter what Brian said. Now, that bastard had really hurt his kid. She’d seen a lot of bruises, and that was bad enough, but she’d never seen blood.

Once she got the door open, she ushered Brian in with a gentle hand on his back, glancing from side to side across her small front yard and down the street, like she was checking to see if there was anyone else around, even though she knew there probably wasn’t. It was just a habit she had, that she couldn’t explain. She shuddered at the thought that Brian had walked all the way over to their house, in the December chill with no coat, by himself, so late at night. And injured, no less.

She didn’t even have a chance to speak before Brian was apologizing, as if his mere presence was an inconvenience.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sniffling. She looked at his eyes and could see that he was trying not to cry. The pain he was in was etched all over his face. “I… He told me to get out. I didn’t… I didn’t know where else to go. I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“Honey, don’t apologize. You know you’re always welcome here...any time.” She reached out to touch his face, where he was still bleeding from the cut above his eye. He flinched and swayed a little on his feet. “Come on,” she said, as she started walking toward the kitchen and gestured for him to follow. “Sit down here.” She pulled out a chair from the table. “I’m going to get some things so we can get that cut cleaned up, okay?”

As she walked back up the stairs toward the bathroom, where she kept all of her first aid supplies, she said a prayer of thanks that Michael was a heavy sleeper. She just hoped he’d stay asleep until she got Brian taken care of, so he wouldn’t have to see his friend in that shape. She also knew that Brian probably wouldn’t want Michael to see him that way either. She’d known him long enough at this point to see that he liked to put on a tough act most of the time -- like nothing bothered him. It was only an act, and that much was clear to her, but Michael fell for it. Brian had quickly become something like a sort of hero to Michael, and she wasn’t about to destroy that illusion -- it seemed to be important to both of them.

Vic, who was home from New York and spending a couple of weeks in Pittsburgh with Debbie and Michael for the holidays, opened the door to the guest bedroom just as Debbie was about to walk into the bathroom, giving her a quizzical look. She held her finger to her lips so Vic wouldn’t speak, then mouthed, “It was Brian.” She didn’t need to say anything else. She’d already confided in her brother how horrified she was at the atrocities that Michael’s friend was having to endure at the hands of his parents.

Vic nodded in understanding and whispered, “Let me know if you need me.”

Debbie nodded as Vic closed the door again.

Once she’d located the antiseptic, she grabbed a handful of gauze and a couple of adhesive bandages. She was no medic, but she hoped she’d be able to take care of this on her own. That it wasn’t bad enough to need stitches. She went back downstairs, consciously trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible so as not to wake Michael. As she came around the end of the banister, she could see Brian trying to move his right arm, squeezing his eyes shut and sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as he did it. Shit. Even if he didn’t need stitches for the cut, whatever was going on with that arm was probably going to require a trip to the emergency room.

She sat down in the chair alongside him and spread out her supplies on the table. She soaked one of the gauze squares in antiseptic so she could use it to wipe the cut clean.

“This is probably going to hurt, honey,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, but I have to do it. You don’t want that cut to get infected.”

Brian nodded and closed his eyes again. She could see the muscles of his jaw contracting in his cheek as he clenched his teeth, either in anticipation of the pain from the antiseptic touching his cut, or from the pain in his arm. She wasn’t sure which.

Debbie reached out and touched the damp square of gauze as gently as possible to the jagged opening in the skin above Brian’s eyebrow, wiping it clean with as light a touch as she could. She heard him breathe in sharply, but he didn’t say or do anything else. Debbie was fairly sure that all of this was hurting her even worse than it was hurting Brian. And, in the back of her mind, she felt guilty for not protecting him. For not saying anything. For letting Brian convince her to stay silent when she should have been the adult and stood up for him. And that was exactly what she planned to do this time. First thing in the morning, she’d be on Jack and Joan Kinney’s doorstep to give them a piece of her mind.

“What happened?” she asked gently, as she continued cleaning the blood from the side of Brian’s face. Thankfully, it seemed that the bleeding had just about stopped, although she still wasn’t sure that the cut might not benefit from a few stitches, just so it wouldn’t scar.

“I don’t really remember,” he said. “Doesn’t matter anyway. It never does.”

“Did you hit your head on something?”

“I think...the coffee table, maybe. He pushed me, and I fell. I think. I don’t know. It’s all kind of...foggy.”

“Does your head hurt?” she asked as she covered the cut with a bandage, having to place it at an angle so it wouldn’t be over his eyebrow. “Not just the cut.”

Brian nodded his head slightly, and she noticed that it looked like that action hurt as well. Shit, she thought to herself. He might have a concussion too. The more things were compounding, the madder Debbie was getting. She could spit nails at Brian Kinney’s good-for-nothing parents right now. It was probably a good thing it was so late at night, and Brian needed her attention, because otherwise she might go straight over to their house and murder them with her bare hands.

“What’s going on with your arm, honey?”

“I fell on it. I can’t...I can’t move it. It hurts too much.”

“Can I see it?”

He tried to nod again and closed his eyes. He moved his left arm out of the way, so that it wasn’t holding the right against his body anymore. It moved downward slightly, and he hissed at the pain from the movement. She didn’t see anything unusual about the arm itself, so she pulled the collar of his shirt to the side as gently as she could, so she could take a look at his shoulder. She could easily see that it was swollen, and it didn’t quite look right. This was definitely going to require more medical attention than she was capable of.

“I think we should go to the hospital,” she said. “That arm needs an x-ray or two, to be sure it’s not broken.”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice suddenly much louder and more urgent. She really hoped it wasn’t loud enough to carry up the stairs and wake Michael. His eyes were pleading with her. “We can’t. That’ll… It’ll… It costs too much. We don’t have the money.”

“I’ll figure it out, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about money, okay?” Christ, this kid was breaking her heart. “You need to see a doctor. I’m not taking no for an answer. Now, I’ll be right back.”

She went back upstairs, this time to retrieve a large scrap of fabric from her sewing table, in hopes of using it to create a makeshift sling so Brian wouldn’t have to hold his arm. Vic was at the door to the guest room again when she came back into the hallway.

“I’m taking him to the hospital,” she whispered, as quietly as she possibly could. “He’s hurt bad.”

Vic nodded. “I’ll stay here with Michael,” he said.

“If he wakes up, don’t say anything. Tell him I got called into work, or something. I’ll figure out what to tell him later.” She had absolutely no idea what she was going to tell Michael. Or what Brian would want her to tell him.

She turned and walked back down the stairs. Pausing for a moment at the bottom, she looked toward her kitchen, where Brian was still sitting at the table. He was breathing too fast, and he was crying now, either because he was in pain or because he was scared. Unfortunately, Debbie figured it was probably a little of both. She didn’t have much money herself, but she’d come up with something. She hated that Brian was so worried about money and not making his parents angry that he would refuse medical attention when he was so badly hurt.

Stretching out the fabric to its full length between her hands, she folded it over once and then tied the end into a knot. She held the makeshift sling in her hand as she walked back over to the table.

“Let’s see if we can get this on your arm, honey,” she said, “so you don’t have to hold it up.” He nodded, and she slipped the end with the knot over his head and let it rest on his other shoulder. “I know it’s not exactly your taste, but it’ll do for now.” She looked down at the fabric, which was covered in rainbow-colored butterflies. She’d been using it to make herself an apron to wear at the diner.

He laughed a little, and she thought she saw the ghost of a smile turning up at the corners of his lips at her lame little joke. Even as small as that smile was, it made her happy to see it. He didn’t smile nearly enough.

Thirty minutes later, Debbie was sitting in a plastic chair in the corner of an exam room in the emergency room of the hospital near her home. It was a small hospital that was basically just an emergency room and some operating rooms, with a couple of floors of patient rooms. No trauma center or anything fancy, but it would do for the basics. And it was probably cheaper.

Brian was lying on the bed, his arm propped up on pillows. He had his head leaned back and his eyes closed, and Debbie thought if he wasn’t in as much pain as he was in, he would probably be falling asleep. He’d complained about being dizzy in the car, and she’d had to pull over once so he could throw up on the side of the road. She was fairly sure now that he had a concussion. He looked so innocent, lying there in the bed, his well-worn clothing dark against the bright white of the sheets. His shirt was stained with blood. It made Debbie physically hurt to think of the emotional pain and baggage this kid was carrying, that was aging him beyond his years. No kid should have to deal with the shit Brian Kinney had to face every day, and especially not at home, from his own parents. The people who were supposed to love him and protect him.

They spent two hours at the hospital, while a couple of different doctors examined Brian, checked his reflexes and his memory and asked him some questions about what had happened, which he answered vaguely. Debbie knew at least some of that was purposeful. He was covering for his parents. Probably because he was afraid if the wrong person found out what was going on, things would be even worse for him.

They took him for x-rays, and gave him some pain medication while they waited on the results.

Debbie had nearly dozed off in the chair when Brian’s voice brought her back to consciousness.

“They never wanted me, you know,” he said softly. “When mom was pregnant with me, dad tried to get her to have an abortion. But, she’s Catholic, so...you know. Here I am, whether they want me or not.”

His words hit Debbie squarely in the chest, crushing her. She wondered why he was suddenly remembering this, and why he was telling her. He never told her much of anything about his parents -- she usually had to pry information out of him when it came to his home life and the causes of all of his bruises and lacerations. She’d gotten a few details out of him over time, but this was a big one. Maybe it was the medication, chipping away at the walls he’d built around himself. The walls that Debbie hated to think of -- that a 14-year-old had to be so guarded with everything. That Brian felt compelled to protect himself in that way. Debbie wanted so badly to protect him, but she wasn’t sure how she could.

She reached out toward the bed and stroked the top of his left hand, which was resting on the mattress at his side.

“Oh, honey…” Debbie honestly didn’t know what else to say. She was at a loss for words. And, fuck, that didn’t happen very often to Debbie Novotny. She hurt for this kid -- for all that he had to endure. And to know now that his father had wanted to abort him, and that he knew about it, no less -- that was almost more than she could bear. She could feel the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She blinked them away, not wanting him to see how much hearing this hurt her. She wanted him to be able to confide in her if he felt comfortable to do so, and she couldn’t be falling apart while he did that. If she did, she knew he would shut down, because he wouldn’t want to cause her pain. Deep down, this kid was a very caring person. Debbie had seen the way he treated Michael -- the way they interacted, and how deeply Brian seemed to care about her son. She thought perhaps Michael loved Brian in a slightly different way than Brian loved Michael, but she was confident they could sort that out for themselves. What mattered was that they both cared about each other. Everyone deserves to feel loved. And she knew Brian Kinney desperately needed that. It was why she went out of her way to make him feel welcome at her home and show him that she cared. Maybe it was time to do more, though.

Neither of them said another word. They didn’t really need to. And while they sat in silence, Debbie was coming up with a plan.

Eventually, a doctor came in to let them know that Brian’s arm wasn’t broken, but he had a dislocated shoulder, and a mild concussion. Debbie had to sit helplessly while a doctor and a nurse held Brian down and manipulated his arm back into place while he tried not to scream, and tears streamed down his face. It didn’t seem like the medication they’d given him earlier was even touching this pain. She held his other hand, and didn’t even care that he was clutching it so hard that she felt like all of the bones in her hand were being smashed against one another. She was sure that was nothing compared to what he was feeling at the moment.

A nurse replaced Debbie’s bandage on the small cut over Brian’s eye with a couple of small butterfly bandages to hold it closer together, so it hopefully wouldn’t scar, although they didn’t think it would need stitches. Then she put Brian’s arm in an actual sling, and told him he’d probably have to wear it for at least a couple of weeks.

“I’m assuming you’re on Christmas break from school?” the nurse asked Brian.

He nodded and swallowed. He still seemed to be recovering from the pain of having his shoulder put back into the socket.

“Good,” she continued. “Your brain needs to rest, so no schoolwork, nothing mentally taxing, for at least the next several days, okay? And you need to get plenty of sleep. Extra, even. That helps your brain heal. So no staying up until the wee hours of the morning -- I know how you teenagers are.”

They left the hospital with a prescription bottle containing a few strong painkillers and instructions for Brian to keep ice on his shoulder as much as possible to help with the swelling, and for Debbie to monitor him for the next 24 hours to be sure the symptoms from the concussion didn’t get any worse. She knew full well that his goddamn parents weren’t going to take care of him, so she was going to have to figure out a way to keep him at her house for the next 24 hours.

By now, the sun was coming up. She was due at the diner in just a couple of hours for her shift. She briefly considered calling in, but she needed the money. Especially right now, since it was Christmas. She always felt bad that she couldn’t give Michael the extravagant Christmas that she knew some other kids got, but she did her best. If nothing else, there was a lot of love in her house -- and that was her favorite thing about the season. Love, and being with family. She was so thankful that Vic had come in from the city to spend the holiday with her and Michael. She missed her baby brother, even though she knew he was happy in the Big Apple.

Vic was sitting at the table, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee, when Debbie and Brian came through the door. She was going to need lots of coffee herself just so she could keep going on the few hours of sleep she’d had. She led Brian over to the couch and arranged the pillows so he’d be propped up a little bit, but could still get some sleep, before guiding him to lie down. He had to be exhausted, between the concussion and having been up all night. She covered him up with the crocheted afghan she kept in the living room and patted him gently on his good arm.

“You let me or Vic know if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded sleepily. His eyes were already closing. She felt a sad smile come across her face as she looked down at him, before turning and walking over to join Vic at the table.

Vic had already poured her a cup of coffee while she was getting Brian settled, and it was waiting for her in front of her empty chair. She dropped down into it, the exhaustion of the previous night’s events finally catching up to her.

“How is he?” Vic asked quietly.

“Okay, I guess. As okay as you can be when your fuckin’ father pushes you down and you end up with a dislocated shoulder, and a concussion from hittin’ your head on a table.” She didn’t bother masking the anger in her voice, although she kept her voice low. She paused for a moment and listened, to see if she heard the telltale quiet snore that would indicate Brian was asleep. She’d often wondered if that snore was the result of something his father had done to him at some point -- maybe he’d broken his nose sometime. She could hear it, ever-so-slightly, so she knew they could talk more freely without fearing that Brian was listening in. She had a feeling he’d be down for the count for a while.

Vic shook his head sadly. Debbie knew he was every bit as horrified as she was at how Brian’s parents treated him.

Suddenly, the idea she’d come up with as she was sitting in the hard, plastic chair at the hospital came spilling out of her mouth.

“I was thinking I’d ask if he could come and live with us,” she said.

Vic looked at her incredulously. “Deb, you have a hard enough time making ends meet with just you and Michael,” he said. “How would you survive with another mouth to feed -- and a growing teenage boy, no less?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out. I always do. I just know I can’t let him stay there anymore.”

“Debbie, what happened? You told me he’s been showing up here with bruises for months. Why are you suddenly wanting to do this now?”

Debbie shook her head, not wanting to betray Brian’s confidence by sharing the intimate details of what he’d told her while he was under the influence of some strong drugs in the hospital. It wasn’t her story to tell.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I just… I have to get him out of there. That’s all. Before it gets any worse.”

An hour later, Debbie left a sleeping Brian and Michael in Vic’s care, and headed off to the diner for her shift. She wondered if Brian’s parents even cared that he hadn’t come home yet. Since his father had apparently told him to get out, she guessed they probably didn’t give a shit. That would be par for the course.

The day seemed to drag on and on. She snuck in as many phone calls back to the house as she could, checking in on Vic, Brian, and Michael. Michael had come downstairs shortly after she left, and Vic said he hadn’t really asked any questions about why Brian was there or what had happened to him. Maybe Michael knew more about what went on at the Kinney house than he let on.

Vic said Michael had taken Brian upstairs to his bed, and they were curled up together. Brian was asleep, and Michael wasn’t, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was taking care of his friend. Debbie’s heart was warmed at the caring, trusting nature of her son -- it was one of the things she loved about him. She just hoped it wouldn’t someday get him hurt.

When her shift finally ended, she put in one more call to Vic to be sure that she wasn’t needed at home. He reported that Brian and Michael were still upstairs in Michael’s room, but they’d both eaten lunch and were currently lying on the bed, while Michael read one of his many comic books to Brian.

After she said goodbye to Vic and hung up the phone, she picked up her purse and headed out the door of the diner, turning in the opposite direction of her house. She wasn’t going home just yet. She was going to pay a visit to the Kinneys.

Several blocks later, she found herself standing on the doorstep of a house she’d only been to a handful of times before, to drop Brian off in her car because she refused to allow him to walk home in the rain or snow, even though he insisted it was okay; that he was used to it. She didn’t like that he was used to walking in that kind of weather. But that was minor compared to what had happened to Brian the night before. She wasn’t going to let Jack and Joan Kinney get away scot-free this time.

She took a deep breath to steel her resolve and knocked on the door. It was Saturday, so they should both be home. Assuming Jack wasn’t out at the union hall drinking with his buddies, that is. Brian said he spent most of his time there. His mother, apparently, preferred to drink at home. They were both drunk most of the time, and they both emotionally abused their son most of the time too, it sounded like. But it seemed to only be Jack who got physical with Brian. He was the one she had the biggest beef with, although she didn’t like either one of them, and couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t say or do something she’d regret.

When Joan Kinney came to the door, she was holding a teacup in her hand. Debbie could smell alcohol, and had a feeling that what was in the cup wasn’t really tea. Or if it was, it was spiked.

“Debbie,” Joan said, sounding surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?”

“Aren’t you going to ask about your son?” Debbie spat. She didn’t have the patience for pleasantries with this woman. “Aren’t you wondering where he is? Where he’s been all day?”

“Well, I assumed he was with you...it seems like he spends more time at your house than he does here.” Joan was slurring her words just slightly, and seemed to be unsteady on her feet. When she took a step to the side to regain her balance, Debbie walked around her and into the living room, not waiting for an invitation. Once she was in the room, she could see Jack on the couch, with several beer bottles in front of him on the coffee table, watching a football game on the television. She’d only met him one time before, but she hated him so much that she’d never forget his face. He barely acknowledged her presence, only giving her a brief look of annoyance before turning back to his game.

“He’s at my house, yes,” Debbie addressed Joan. “And he’s got a concussion and a dislocated shoulder from whatever the fuck his pitiful excuse for a father did to him last night.” Debbie noticed that got Jack’s attention.

“Watch your language,” Joan growled, interrupting Debbie for a moment. But Debbie ignored her and continued on.

“He showed up at my house at fuckin’ 1 a.m., bleeding. With no fuckin’ coat. Said you,” she said as she turned to face Jack, “told him to get out, and he didn’t know where else to go. I took him to the hospital. He didn’t want to go because he was worried about the goddamn money.” Debbie was seething by now. Her voice was steadily getting louder. “But that’s not even the worst of it. The worst of it is what he fuckin’ told me at the hospital -- that you never wanted him in the first place. That you told your son that you wanted his mother to get an abortion. I already thought you were a worthless son-of-a-bitch, but now I know for sure. Who the fuck tells their kid that? Huh? Tell me!” By the end of her tirade, she was shouting. She didn’t really care who could hear her, so long as Jack and Joan heard her loud and clear.

She took a step toward Jack, fighting the impulse to lunge at him and put her hands around his neck and strangle him.

“Tell me, you son-of-a-bitch! Tell me how the fuck you think it’s okay to smack your son around! That’s not how you raise a child.”

Her last comment was apparently the final straw for Jack, who rose to his feet and loomed over Debbie. Now she could see where Brian got his height from. She had a feeling Brian was probably going to be taller than Jack by the time he was finished growing. Maybe then Jack would quit using him as a punching bag.

“Don’t you tell me how to raise my son,” he growled at her, his face only a few inches from hers. The scent of cheap beer was strong on his breath. He raised his hand like he was going to slap her.

“Go ahead,” she said, standing up a bit taller and puffing out her chest. “I can handle it. You can hit me if it means you won’t hit Brian.”

He put his hand back down to his side and leaned in even closer to her. Joan was standing off to the side, watching the whole exchange warily.

“I’ll discipline my son however I see fit.”

“Do you even know how badly you hurt him last night, before you sent him away? Before he had to walk to my house, by himself, in pain, in the dark, at a time of night when God-knows-what could have happened to him? He could have been kidnapped… beaten… raped.” The thought made her shudder.

“They wouldn’t want him anyway,” Jack grumbled. “The kid’s fucking useless.”

“Is that really what you think of your son?” Debbie said. “You know, if you don’t want him, why don’t you let him come and live with me? At least at my house, he’ll be loved.”

This time, Jack did slap Debbie. But she didn’t care. She could take it.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Jack growled. “So you could raise another faggot. Don’t think I don’t know your son is a fucking fairy. A bad influence on my son, that’s what he is.”

“Don’t you talk about Michael that way.” She pointed her finger directly in Jack’s face, less than an inch from his nose.

“You’re not gonna turn my son into a faggot.”

Debbie had to stop herself from saying something like, too late, I’m pretty sure your son is gay, and that’s just the way he is. No one made him that way -- not you, and certainly not me or Michael. But she couldn’t do that to Brian. And honestly, she wasn’t sure Brian was fully aware of it himself at this point, or what it meant. But she’d known him long enough and watched how comfortable he felt at the Liberty Diner and at her house -- how it seemed he finally felt free to be himself, without inhibitions. She’d seen enough to know.

“Well, he’s at least going to stay at my house for the next few days,” she said, throwing her shoulders back, still trying to make herself as tall as possible, although she’d still be no match for Jack. “Since you gave him a fuckin’ concussion, he needs someone to keep an eye on him. And I don’t trust that you two will do what needs to be done. So I’ll do it myself. Now, where’s his bedroom? I’m gonna get him some clothes.”

She tried to turn around to go up the stairs, but Jack grabbed her arm, hard.

“No, you’re getting the fuck out of my house,” he snarled as he pushed her toward the door, opening it and shoving her onto the porch. “And I expect my son home tonight. He and I are going to have a little talk. He better be here by 8, or I’m calling the cops.” With that, he slammed the door in her face.

The walk back home was long, and gave Debbie a lot of time to think. She’d never been inside the Kinneys’ house before tonight, but now that she had, the last thing she wanted to do was send Brian back there. She knew she didn’t have a choice, though. She couldn’t just keep him -- his parents could have her arrested for kidnapping if she tried. Although she might have a good defense if she told someone about the abuse, she didn’t want to chance making things even worse for Brian. She knew how much he feared that. She could still see in her mind’s eye the frightened look in his eyes when he pleaded with her not to tell anyone, not to call the police or child protective services, while she helped him tend to his wounds. And while she wanted to have faith that the system would protect Brian if she did report the abuse, she knew that, sadly, the system was broken, and sometimes failed to keep kids in Brian’s situation safe, because there was only so much they could do with limited resources. She would just have to do what she could to help him, although she didn’t feel like it was nearly enough. She wished she could do more. And she was afraid that tonight, she’d made things worse for Brian by standing up to Jack. She hoped and prayed that she hadn’t.

When she arrived home and walked through the front door into her house, which felt so different than the Kinneys’ -- warm and full of love, rather than cold and full of hatred -- she found Michael and Brian together on the couch, laughing at those stupid cartoons that she often wondered why they still liked, even though they were freshmen in high school now. Hearing Brian’s laughter made her feel even worse about the fact that she was going to have to send him back into that hellhole before the night was out. She wondered if her house was the only place he ever laughed or smiled, and the thought made her so sad. No child deserved to be in the situation he was. She hated to think of what life must have been like for him before he’d met Michael. She knew he had a sister, who was several years older and had already gone off to college. Debbie wondered if Jack had beaten up on his daughter, too, or if he saved all of his rage for Brian.

Vic was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of boiling water and pasta. Homemade marinara sauce was simmering alongside it, filling the house with the scent of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs. She was grateful that they could at least feed Brian a good meal before she took him home.

She tried to evaluate Brian as best she could while they ate dinner, making sure that the symptoms from the concussion weren’t any worse, since she wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on him through the night. She hated that, but there wasn’t much she could do. The last thing she wanted was for Jack Kinney to call the police and accuse her of kidnapping his son.

When 7:30 rolled around, she knew she had to take Brian home, as much as she hated to do it. She packed him up some leftover pasta and garlic bread, and a slice of the cake Vic had made earlier that afternoon. She made sure he had his medication, and that he knew to call her immediately if he started feeling bad, even if it was 3:00 in the morning. She made him promise that he would.

“I’ll call you in the morning to check on you, honey,” she said, patting his leg as they sat together in her car, parked at the curb in front of the Kinney home.

“Don’t,” he said, like he couldn’t get the word out quickly enough. “Just...don’t call. I’ll be alright. I promise I’ll call you if I’m not.”

Debbie really didn’t like that he didn’t even want her to call. Jesus Christ, what kind of monsters were these people, that their son was afraid to accept phone calls? But she would respect his wishes.

“Okay,” she said softly, trying to make her smile look sincere instead of sad. She was also trying to hide her anxiety that Jack would hurt him even more badly tonight, and it would be at least partially her fault. She cupped his cheek with her hand and patted it gently. “You call me if you need anything -- anything at all -- and I’ll be right over, you hear me?”

“Yes, mother,” he said. His tone was slightly sarcastic, but the left side of his lip was turned up into the smallest hint of a smile. It warmed her heart to hear him say that -- that he thought of her as a mother -- since by now she certainly thought of him as her second son. Even if he couldn’t come live with them on a permanent basis.

As she watched him get out of the car and walk away up the front sidewalk and toward the front door of the house that was supposedly his home, Debbie’s heart was aching. But she knew that the pain grew out of love -- the motherly love that she felt, that she wished Joan Kinney possessed. Because Brian deserved better.

Debbie figured she’d be getting a phone call later that night that Jack had beaten Brian up again, but she didn’t. Maybe Jack had felt sorry for him. Whatever the reason was, she’d take it. Mostly, she was relieved that Jack hadn’t taken his anger at her out on Brian. Although she knew that she probably couldn’t expect that the reprieve would continue, she at least hoped that Jack would think twice before he laid his hands on his son again.

When Debbie picked up Brian and brought him to the Novotny home a couple of days later for Christmas Eve dinner, he looked okay. He still had his arm in the sling, and she could tell it was sore, but otherwise he seemed to be healing fairly well. And for that, Debbie was thankful.

They enjoyed a meal of lasagna and breadsticks around her small dining room table, with homemade gingerbread cookies for dessert, that she and Michael had decorated together. As they adorned the gingerbread men with frosting and candies earlier that afternoon, Debbie had realized how lucky she was that she and Michael could make these memories together. How much love went into them. And how much she wished she could share that love with Brian as well, all the time instead of just some of the time. But it wasn’t meant to be.

After dinner, they gathered in the living room around the Christmas tree. She had one small gift each for Vic, Michael, and Brian. She wished she could have done more, but it was all she could afford. As Michael retrieved the wrapped packages from under the tree, Debbie noticed that Brian looked uncomfortable, and maybe a little embarrassed.

“What’s wrong, honey?” she said quietly, so no one else could hear.

“I don’t have a gift for anyone. I… I didn’t know I needed to bring something.”

“You didn’t need to bring anything, sweetheart. Just yourself is enough. We love having you here. We love you.”

Brian looked at her like he wanted to cry, which made Debbie want to break down in tears herself. But she didn’t. Her chest ached, and her heart felt like it was being torn in two. She wondered if that was the first time anyone had ever told Brian that they loved him.

She wrapped her arms around him gently, being mindful of his injured arm, and felt him lean into her touch.

She made a promise to herself in that moment to do everything she could to show Brian Kinney love and what it felt like to be loved. To treat him how he should be treated.

She wasn’t going to allow him to slip through the cracks. He was her lost boy, and she was going to take care of him.

She wouldn’t let him down.