Chapter Text
Little Angel, it's been a few months since you've gone all the way to the whole other side of the country. Christmas is coming closer than I can prepare for… I worry about you and that Carolina weather. You always seemed so cold, so I hope you have a good coat. You liked being all bundled up, I remember. I hope you're happy with them. I won't pretend it doesn't make me sad I couldn't be your Mommy forever. But your real mommy came back for you. It's only fair I let you go home. You can always write back to me. I want to know how my little angel is doing. █████ asks about you in his letters. I don’t know how to tell him you won't be here when he's back. You two were so close. I wanted to send you something for Christmas, but I thought better of it. I don’t know what I’ll do with these gifts sitting here. I wanted to call you, but they didn't leave a phone number for you. Your Mother left this address to send any of your clothes or belongings, but I don’t want to push my luck with her. I won’t say anything else or give you my silly opinions. Don't want to isolate you from your new. Real Family now. I’m sure she’ll love you just as any mother would, I can’t imagine how she couldn’t.
Lord knows I love you, Little Angel.
Okay okay. I won't let this get too long and bore you now.
Don’t forget to wear your coat.
Love Cass.
One would think after a semester of death, trauma, sobriety, and finding.. Something, Nothing else could shake him anymore.
Andrew was not one to be often surprised or alarmed, yet this year had managed it several times over. It was vexing to say the least.
However, in its cruel, sly way, time marched onward and brought with it the other shoe dropping.
One could easily start to forget that Aaron Minyard had a trial date for a standing murder charge due to his bond being paid off and his still public appearance as a member of the now championed Foxes starting line-up.
It was not easy for his twin, Andrew, to forget. In addition to his eidetic memory, the near-constant communication with Aaron's lawyers and the need for approval to cross state lines made it very apparent to him.
It was a constant forethought that buzzed under his skin and itched in his bones.
The calendars never ceasing charge towards a death call that all compiled now.
The trial was exhausting, from its initial stages to the unrelenting knowledge that the first time he was going to see her in nearly 3 years was as strangers.
That was what they were now, perhaps always were in the reality of their facades.
Picture-perfect family trapped in pretty little postcards and encapsulated in cardstock and ink.
He was never truly her son, and she could never love him fully as a mother.
Especially not now. They lived in a lie together; the two of them, and it would end today.
They could never rekindle their relationship; It simply wasn’t a reality for them now with all the cards on the table between them.
Murder trials were not the place for fresh starts.
He sat in the back with Renee's steady hand in his, rubbing circles on his skin. He found it endearing the way she acted as if a simple touch fixed anything, especially because he knew exactly how aware she was of its placebo effect. She had lived through the trial as a key witness, testifying against those who had hurt her and seen them put away. The only thing to put away was ashes on a mantle for a woman he would never be able to call his own. He would find no peace from this mess, rest no easier than he had the night before, and would not be saved from the shadows in the room. Some people felt a sense of calm and justice in a court.
Andrew Minyard did not believe in fairytales like justice and fairness.
He simply let the Judges words go in one ear and out the other as best as he possibly could until they adjourned.
People were exiting the courtroom, dismissed until they reconvened after lunch.
Neil had gone with Renee to grab water. Neil hadn’t wanted to come, his interest in Aaron's verdict presumably being only on behalf of Andrew’s well-being and the status of their upcoming season.
Andrew mused to himself if his brother would continue to practice if he was convicted, as well as if prison had an exy program.
Juvy had, but that was the vehicle for the rehabilitation program they ran.
Just as he began to wonder if anyone else cared enough in a prison to run scrimmages with Aaron if he lost- A hilarious picture ripped straight from some movie with a montage of Aaron being forced to recruit a ragtag group of inmates to play-
He smelled a familiar perfume.
He felt her before she approached, her scent wrapping around him, less akin to a hug and more reminiscent of a noose.
This was not something he had planned around- her approaching him.
She was paler than he remembered- and thinner.
That knowledge tugged the corner of his mouth down.
She mistook the expression as a response to her very presence and took a step back, lip shaking.
“I'm sorry- I’m probably not someone you want to see. I don’t-” She cut herself off to suck in a shaking breath, trembling slightly.
“I hope seeing me doesn’t make you relive anything you went through. I only ever wanted to be someone who brought you happiness, Little Ang- Well. You aren’t so little anymore.”
She trailed off, worrying her lip between her teeth, eyes wet with unshed tears as she stared at the boy she hadn't seen in years. He was different and yet not at the same time. He was taller- though not by much. He was no longer the small runt of a boy who carried surprising strength despite not looking it, and was more coiled with evidence of the work he had put into practices and drills. His face was still tired, oh so tired.
"What I wanted to say is- well - I hope you're doing alright despite it all, Andrew."
He didn’t know what to say.
Aaron was still talking with his defense team, and everyone else was gone.
He was stranded in this ocean of memories conjured by her reappearance, no life jacket or buoy to steady him.
He took a matching breath and met her eyes.
He wanted to say she didn’t remind him of what hurt, but it would be a lie.
He wanted to tell her he was happy to see her, but he didn’t know anymore; he didn’t know anything other than the fact that she was standing right there shivering, rubbing her hands over her forearms.
“Didn’t you always say to bring a coat or we’d catch our deaths outside?” he said with a frown, equal parts uncomfortable and confused at her lack of forethought to follow her own advice in this moment.
It didn't matter that it was about 78 degrees outside.
The ice in his veins from her being there was misleading.
He couldn't fathom that she was merely soothing herself from her own guilt.
There was a distinct wrongness in seeing her visage in this environment.
Tainted and marred with a dissonance he couldn’t bear.
Cass Spear was a woman who belonged in Home Decor Catalogues and Christmas cards with flowery words and wide smiles.
She was, in his mind, akin to a figure in a snow globe.
Unchanging in its beauty and simplicity, isolated in an unending memory.
Something in his mind that he could pick up and look back on for comfort.
If someone else didn't pluck it from his hands first and drop it on the floor.
“Where's your jacket, Cass?”
He looked around as if one would appear behind or around her.
She laughed, and it made his chest ache- his lungs burned with the need for a cigarette, his brain begged to be slowed by the chasing of drinks or distracting pain- anything besides the excruciating pain of her joy- and how much it still made him melt.
She was a part of him, so soft and exposed like a raw nerve ending, never shown lest it be attacked, and he bled out.
Drake knew how to poke it, and no one until Neil ever tried to again.
He wanted to cut it out like a tumor and thrust it away from him, the epitome of weakness that reared its ugly head.
All because this woman laughed as if he said something so obscenely outrageous.
A man's voice called her name before she could reply.
She turned to see one of the prosecuting lawyers approaching and bit her lip once more.
She looked lost for a moment, torn, before making a decision.
She pressed a piece of paper into his hand and kissed his forehead before she turned towards them, waving as she sped up to meet them.
Warm.
His forehead, where her lips still tingled.
His palm, which was holding the note soaked through with her body heat.
That stupid, sick soft spot she carved out, no matter how he tried to hollow it out and remove it.
All of them were so warm where she had touched them.
Andrew stood as several bodies moved around him, impeding the flow of movement, a stone in the way of the current, forcing them to ebb and flow around him.
He felt adrift, lost in the sea of bodies as they branched off from his interruption.
He often felt this feeling, as if his very being was in the way, out of place- like the whole world was driving on a street and he was the only one who couldn’t see the one-way sign, unaware why they cursed at him and swerved out of the way.
What he did wrong and why he was so upsetting to be around, or why everyone was in a hurry to get away from him.
He didn't- couldn't- hear the mutterings of the other inhabitants of the courthouse as they circumnavigated his intrusive unmobile form.
He couldn't see their sneers or disdain at his perceived rudeness, lack of spatial awareness, and social etiquette.
...
He was miles away, standing outside of a house, watching the only woman he ever loved wave goodbye through tears.
He was turning slowly, numbly for a car door, and turning to look away.
He hadn't wanted her to cry. He did not want to see that- for it to be the last memory he had of her face.
But now it wasn't.
Now-
...
Against his better judgment, he glanced at the small slip in his hand.
It was a small note that merely said,
“I'll be in town until the 13th of next month. I would like to talk to you somewhere less oppressive :)
Call me when you’d like to grab a bite with me if that sounds nice to you, Cass.”
Andrew would later realize he stared at those words for 4 minutes before he came back to himself; in that moment, it felt like years. Later, he would scoff at the secret mockery of the universe to bring that number up once more. Later, he would contemplate ripping the note and pretending it never existed. Later, he knew he never could do that. Later, he would disappear for the night with a bottle and disconnect his phone. Later-
Later.
Later.
Later.
Later, he would sit and wonder why he was allowing that soft spot to guide his decisions anyway.
Eventually, he saw Neil's auburn and Renee’s stark white heads weaving through the crowd towards him. She waved cheerily, her presence a balm on his raw nerves and Neil-
Neil's reappearance felt like something shifting behind his ribs back into place.
He choose to count by threes to distract from the implications of such things.
Soundlessly, he slipped the piece of paper into his pocket, taking a deep breath as he met them across the conference hall.
If you asked him why he didn’t tell them about the note, about the lunch, about everything between that woman and him, Andrew Minyard would greet you with silence.
Not the usual stony silence of disinterest-
Simply the kind of silence born because one doesn’t have an answer.