"Hey, you fucking assholes, get your hands off my brother!" Kade yells, trying to break free from his uncle's grip.
"No," I say, stepping toward the cops. “Wait, you can't. He was protecting?—”
Arms wrap around me from behind, and Cyrus's voice is calm in my ear. "You can't do anything but make it worse right now. Don't give them a reason to arrest you too."
"But he didn't do anything wrong!"
"He beat a kid unconscious, Ellie. A kid who's got family on the force. Doesn't matter why he did it."
Tank goes with them peacefully, hands behind his back. He looks so different right now, dark hair covering his eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Please," I beg, tears streaming down my face. "Just let me say goodbye. Please."
The cop looks at me, then at Tank, and his expression softens slightly. "One minute."
Cyrus lets me go, and I throw myself at Tank, wrapping my arms around him as tight as I can, burying my face in his chest. "We'll take care of the bird," I promise. "We'll make sure it's okay. And I'll be here when you get back. Tomorrow, right? Just one night?"
Tank looks down at me, and the sadness in his eyes tells me what I don't want to know. This isn't going to be one night.
"I'll be here," I repeat fiercely. "No matter how long. I'll be right here."
They take him away, and I stand there watching until the taillights disappear into the darkness.
Tank doesn't come back the next day.
Or the next.
When Kade tells us his aunt and uncle won't put up the money for bail, and that he actually thinks they were relieved to get rid of Tank because he scares the shit out of them—which is fucking insane—I ask if selling my bike would be enough, and his bitter, miserable laugh is all the answer I need.
The trial's quick, but none of us can tell if that's a good thing. Assault. Previous record. Pattern of violence.
They send him to juvenile detention the week after that.
Summer has always been my favorite time of year. Three months of freedom with my princes in our kingdom of rust and gravel.
This summer's going to be the longest of my life.
Chapter 4
ELLIE
Age Fourteen
The worm danglesbetween my fingers like a fleshy little pendulum, and the bird tracks it with those beady black eyes that are always wanting.
"Come on, you little shit," I mutter, lowering the worm closer. "You know you want it."
The bird—I refuse to name it because naming things makes you attached and I'm already screwed on that front—hops forward in its upgraded accommodations. Gone is the ratty shoebox Jinxrescued it in. Now it lives in luxury, relatively speaking, in an old toaster box I lined with soft towels and twigs arranged just so.
It pecks the worm from my fingers with surprising gentleness, like it knows I'm fragile even though I'm the one taking care of it. The irony isn't lost on me. A bird with a healed wing treating me like I'm the broken one.
"You're getting chonky," I tell it, watching its throat work as it swallows. "Jinx is right about that."
The bird chirps at me, probably telling me to fuck off in bird language, and I can't help but smile. Even that small movement feels foreign on my face these days. Smiling without half my boys feels like betrayal, like I'm admitting I can be happy without them.
Which is bullshit, because I'm not happy. I'm functioning. There's a difference.
My eyes drift to my desk where two packages sit unopened, both addressed in the careful block letters juvie requires. One from Tank, one from Kade. Birthday presents I can't bring myself to open because opening them means accepting they're not here to give them to me in person. I told them as much in the letters I sent, and Kade called me a sap. At least some things don't change.
