Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

I don't want to lose the moment so I keep shooting. My index finger presses the shutter release rapidly as I take endless images, each a slight variation of the one that precedes it. All of them a complete story of the emotional pain he's obviously in.

"Used to be?" I ask without lowering the camera. "You're a strong man now?"

"I thought I was." He turns his face to the left, which highlights how tense his jaw is. "After that phone call, I don't know what, or who, I am."

I know that he's probably expecting me to ask who called but I don't know him well enough to go there. I was hired to take his picture, nothing more. I'm doing that now because he essentially ordered me to. If he wants to confess anything to me, that's not going to be by my urging. That has to come from him.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" He looks right at me again, his eyes trying to peer over the edge of the camera to connect with mine.

I don't move. I can't lose this moment. I keep shooting, the quiet click of the shutter barely noticeable. "I have a few."

"A few?" He chuckles. "What does that mean? How many are there?"

"Before I tell you that, "I begin, but I pause. I don't want to lessen what he's feeling but I always preface the answer to that question with some clarification so the person I'm talking to doesn't fall over from shock.

"What? Before you tell me what?" His head darts to the right at the sound of something beyond the closed door. "I asked how many siblings you have. That's a pretty straightforward question."

His profile is remarkable. I wonder, silently, if he could be a model. I photograph enough of them to know what works and doesn't work in that industry. There's a subtle strength in his face that is fascinating.

"My mom always wanted a big family," I offer, which sounds awkwardly intimate given the fact that we just met. I don't stop there though. "My dad didn't know how to tell her enough is enough. Enough kids that is."

He laughs. The sound is genuine and strong. It chases the darkness away from his eyes. "You're one of what? Four?"

I shake my head as I lower the camera. "You're not even in the ballpark."

His brows lift in amusement. "Six?"

"Double that and then some."

"What?" He leans forward, the motion pulling the muscles in his neck taut. He's still shirtless. I didn't ask him to put his sweater back on when everyone left because no woman with the view I have would ask him to cover up that body. Besides, it added to how exposed he looked emotionally in the last set of images I took.

"I'm one of thirteen," I say it with a smile. "I have twelve brothers and sisters."

"Thirteen?" He waves his hand in the air. The simple silver band on his right thumb catches the light. "You're serious?"

"My parents used to call us the baker's dozen." I wince as I say it. "It's a lot of kids but they made it work."

"What the hell do they do for a living?" He takes a step back to pick up his sweater from where he threw it on a chair. "It must cost a fucking fortune to raise a brood like that."

"They own a bakery." I stare past him to the door, wanting to look at anything but him right now. He may actually look better with that sweater on. It makes him look more subdued or softer. "It's in Brooklyn. That's where I grew up."

"I grew up in Queens." He shifts enough on his feet that his face is back in my line of sight. "Are we done?"

"Done?" I feel a small lump in my throat. "What do you mean?"

He nods towards the camera that is still in my hands. "Are we done taking pictures?"

"We're done. I think I have everything I need."

"I could go for a coffee." He pulls his phone from his pocket again. He stares at the darkened screen for a second or two before he looks at me. "Can you join me or do you have more work today?"

It's Friday and it's near the end of June. When his manager called and upended my schedule I knew I'd still have part of the afternoon to myself after the shoot. My plan was to take a run through Central Park and then hop on the subway to go see my sister at work. The fresh air and the sisterly bonding can wait.

"I'm free. It'll be iced coffee for me though. It's hot as hell today."

"Iced coffee it is."

CHAPTER 4