Henri Beck & the Hidden Library | 📖

15

After dinner, Malik's younger siblings washed up and went straight to bed. Per their mother's words, they needed to be asleep before nine if they wanted to wake up in time for the bus that took them both to school. As for Grams herself, she had to be up much earlier than them for work. The woman worked for a nonprofit charity that advocated for the rights of Black women in their area.

Not only did she take care of three children on her own, but she also dedicated the other half of her life to helping other people. If Henri learned one more honorable thing about her, he'd spontaneously combust into a ball of tears and shame.

He strangely envied her. His life was objectively better than hers. He went to the best schools, lived in the best house, and had more money than he knew what to do with. Where the Jackson family lacked in wealth, they made up for it in the way they loved each other as a family. On the other hand, Henri's family had been fractured way before his parents were taken. And now their family home was gone.

All the things he used to put his stock into didn't seem to matter anymore.

The only thing that mattered to him now was putting his family back together.

That would have to wait until the morning. Fatigue wrapped around him like a warm blanket. His eyelids grew heavier with every blink and he found himself yawning every couple of seconds. He desperately needed sleep.

Thea had set up camp in the Jackson's living room. She'd been supplied with spare pillows and a thick quilt hand-woven by Malik's grandmother. Henri remembered how her eyes lit up as she held the blanket in her hands as if it were a rare diamond. She never failed to recognize the beauty in things. It was the artist within her.

Once she made herself cozy on the couch, Henri and Malik retired to the latter's bedroom for the night.

"Your grandmother is amazing," Henri said as he took a seat at the edge of the boy's bed. "I don't know why I was so nervous to meet her."

"You were nervous?" Malik chuckled.

"Just a little."

"She can be a little intense sometimes, but she's great. I dunno where I'd be right now if she wasn't around to keep me in check."

Henri couldn't help but wonder about the "incident" Grams mentioned earlier. What trouble had he gotten himself into before? He gnawed thoughtfully on his bottom lip as he contemplated asking Malik about it.

"Did you still, uh, want to share the bed?" Malik asked. He pulled his shirt off before tossing it to the floor. His broad shoulders and prominent chest muscles reflected the light from the bulb in his spinning ceiling fan.

Henri tensed as his eyes locked onto him. Mentally scolding himself, he tore his gaze away. He glanced at the bed and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I can take the sleeping bag if you want. I don't mind."

"I mean...on second thought, it might be big enough for us both. I'll sleep one way, you sleep the other. Or we could sleep side-to-side. Just a warning. I move around in my sleep."

"Like a lot?"

Malik nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck. Henri noticed goosebumps had risen up and down his rich, velvety skin. Maybe he was cold. The ceiling fan was blowing air right on top of him. "I can try my best to stay still, but no promises."

Henri's face flushed with warmth. "Well, if you don't mind..." He stood up and timidly shuffled his way over to the bed. He opted to keep his FBI-issued attire on for the night. His silk pajamas had been left behind; not that he'd have wanted to wear those again anyway. As he went to climb into the bed, the question that'd been growing in the back of his head like a seed sprouted to life.