Skurdulka's House (a LGBTQ chosen-family thriller)

Part 27: Skurdulka's House

"Yeah." It came out raspy and dry. Clearing his throat, Storm tried again. "Yeah. Just, um, I dunno. I feel bad, I guess." He looked at his shoes. "I fucked everything up."

"Hey." Her warm hands skimmed his cheek. "This isn't your fault. Don't you feel bad." She studied him a moment more. Looking up, Storm saw the empathy in her face, a wordless understanding of growing up with a family you didn't ask for, and who didn't ask for you. A reassuring smile crossed her dark lips. "Come on. Let's have a sit." She extended the lemonade to him.

Storm couldn't help but smile too. "Mmhmm." As he took the cool glass from her, the knotted up guilt and fear untangled. He thought for a moment, just like he had thought when he first came to the house, everything might be okay.

The six of them huddled close in the living room, rewatching episodes of Pose. On one side of the couch, Heather painted Lee's nails between glances at the TV. Storm and Chris shared a bag of Doritos on the other side. Ari's usual chair was empty; they sat on the floor instead, against the middle section of the couch, leaning their head against Willow's knee as she sat on the couch over them, braiding their hair. It was almost idyllic, almost capturing that carefree summer that now seemed so far away. But, tonight, it felt like they were just passing time. Waiting.

Smashing gravel in the driveway made them all straighten. Quick glances, wide with alarm, flew between the four teenagers, then to Willow and Ari. Ari made to stand up, but Willow held them by the head as she leaned close. "Remember what we talked about."

Ari nodded once and Willow released them. They both stood up, facing the kids as a car door slammed shut outside. Willow's face was cool confidence. Ari's was a cold mask.

Willow raised a hand to the four of them. "Just stay here. We'll handle this."

Ari followed her out of the living room, a dark shadow clad in black jeans and a black t-shirt, their hair falling over their shoulders like a cape.

Instinctively, Storm sank back into the couch, hidden from view. Chris sank back with him, while Lee and Heather crept closer. Half of Storm wanted to peek over the back of the couch and watch. The other half of him was terrified.

The heavy slams on the door made Storm's thudding heart beat faster. Chris pulled their fingers through his and squeezed.

"Cops?" Willow said quietly.

"No." Ari's voice was farther away; they were probably looking through the kitchen window at the driveway. The old wood floor boards creaked as they crossed back to the foyer. "It's just him." 

"Open the fuck up!" Keith shouted, and slammed on the door again.

A moment passed. Storm peeked over top of the sofa in time to see Willow open the door.

"Yes?"

Another beat of silence. Storm could just glimpse his father's blue jeans between Willow and Ari's figures.

"Bring my son out here. Right now."

Storm swallowed, holding his breath. He could hear the alcohol in his father's voice, but he'd never heard that voice so dark.

"Mr. Vandersen, I'm afraid we can't do that," Willow replied. Her voice was cool, but firm.

"He's my son. I want him."

"You're a danger to your son. And you know that. He doesn't want to see you, and you know why." There was no accusation in her voice. She spoke almost gently, as if explaining a sad fact. "He may change his mind in the future. But not as long as he feels he's in danger from you."