Move on…?
He looks past me, toward the stretch of dark trees, the smear of town lights, the blinking red eye of a cell tower in the distance.
“Everyone I ever cared about died,” he says quietly.
The wind catches his words, softens them, but they still hit me square in the chest.
Everyone I ever cared about died.
I wait. I don’t press. I just lean my shoulder against his. After a moment, he presses back, barely.
“I guess that one was inevitable,” he says after a while. “She was already old. But… I lost my grandmother when I was thirteen.”
The blanket slips, and he tucks it tighter around my legs without looking.
“She used to say I was born with engine noise in my ears. Said I’d either fix things or crash them, and either way, I’d do it fast.” He exhales, a small laugh caught in the sound. “My mom came and went. Never knew my dad. Gran was… the whole house. She taught me everything she could. Didn’t want me ending up like her daughter. Spent half her time making sure I stayed clean. Kept me clean.”
My mouth lifts. “Sounds like she cared about you a lot.”
“Yeah. She did what she could,” he says, voice rougher now. “She knew I could go off the rails easy. My mom was an addict, so Gran started labeling everything in the house when I was little, just in case I ever followed her path.”
My chest tightens. I can picture him as a kid, alone with his grandmother. Kind of like me, but in a completely different world.
“Anyway,” Talon says, “you probably don’t know what it’s like in a neighborhood where bad luck just keeps falling on people.My home wasn’t like your side of town. Your grandma’s place was spotless. Proper. Ours was the size of a shoebox, and after she died, the landlord tried to kick me out even though she’d prepaid three months of rent just in case.”
He pauses, takes a slow sip from his tumbler, and lets the tequila linger on his tongue.
“I kept some of my promises to her, though,” he says quietly. “Never touched drugs. Always kept a roof over my head. One way or another.”
My heart beats faster. I’d never have guessed he’d come from that. You look at him and the first thing you think istrouble. A cocky bastard who flirts his way through life, not someone who’s ever had to survive anything.
“After Gran, I bounced around,” he goes on. “Found kids like me. Got fast. Gangs, runs, races. Always wanted to honor her, but… my options were kind of limited back then. Looking back, if I hadn’t crossed paths with this dock rat named Fisher, maybe things would’ve gone different. But I got a taste for the quick life, and it stuck.”
I take a smaller sip than he did.
“Fisher? I’m guessing he wasn’t exactly a fan of the law?”
Talon turns his head and gives me this look, eyebrows drawn, like I just said something strange. He stops fiddling with the glass entirely, just stares.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Sometimes I forget what a good girl you were.”
“Past tense,” I mutter. “Keep going.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, then his expression darkens a little. “Yeah, he helped me go full gangster for a while. Real piece of work, that guy.”
“What happened to him?”
“Man…” Talon scoffs, chuckling under his breath. “No idea. Probably dead. Doesn’t matter. Never gave a shit about him anyway.”
But the laugh fades out slow, like it runs out of gas. His gaze drifts back to the skyline. softer and heavier now, like he’s turning something over in his head before speaking again.
He rolls the tumbler between his palms once. Twice. Then finally says,
“…there were two more people.”
The way he says it tells me I shouldn’t interrupt.
