There was a knock on the door. “Come on in.” The door opened, framing Stevie’s slender body. At fifteen he had yet to acquire any height, bulk, or facial hair. He looked as smooth as a twelve-year-old.
“Hey, kiddo, come on in.” He smiled at the young boy, noting with a fury he’d learned to keep well hidden, the boy’s swollen lips and the bruises that peeked out on his neck from underneath his longish brown hair. “Rough night?”
Stevie’s face reddened as he stared at the floor and nodded. “I tried, Mr. Davis. I tried to tell them no, and that I would call the police, but they laughed at me. Said all faggots wanted it, even when we said no.”
“Where were your foster parents?”
“They went out for the evening. Bowling or something. My foster dad’s in a league and had a tournament or something.” Stevie still couldn’t look at him.
“Stevie, this can’t go on. Those boys have to be stopped, or they’re going to hurt you worse each time.” Ash came from around the desk to sit in the chair next to Stevie.
“I can’t tell no one. Don’t you understand?” Stevie raised his big brown eyes to Ash, whose heart was breaking. “They’ll hurt me even more. Jimmy’s gonna go off to the army soon, so that’ll leave only Donny. He’s gentle and doesn’t hurt me.” Stevie’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “He tells Jimmy to stop when he gets too crazy. After they both leave, Donny usually comes back to make sure I’m all right. I think I can be okay with him at home.”
Ash put his hand on Stevie’s shoulder. “Do you like Donny?”
After a moment, Stevie gave a little shrug. “He’s okay.”
“Hey, kiddo, don’t worry. Maybe I can talk to him—”
“No. You can’t. I can’t have anyone know I was here. If they ever found out…” Stevie shuddered. “I think Jimmy might kill me.”
“And your parents?” Ash’s lips curled at those words. How oblivious were these fucking people? “Don’t your foster parents have anything to say? Don’t they care?”
Stevie nodded his head. “No, you don’t get it. They’re really nice to me, and Mrs. Harding especially helps me with my homework and everything, but I can’t tell her what goes on, ’cause Jimmy will beat me up.” He tucked his hair behind his ears. “They already hate me because they think she favors me. She gives me extra helpings at dinner and slips me a few extra dollars every week to get snacks after school and stuff.”
Big, sad brown eyes locked with his. “I’m so scared, Mr. Davis. Why is this happening to me? I know other kids in foster care who have older brothers and sisters who look after them. Why can’t I get so lucky?”
At one time he was that kind of brother. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his brothers. Before he’d fucked everything up and ran away. Before he became the selfish prick he grew up to be. “If you let me contact child services, I can help you, Stevie. You should let me call the cops.”
“I-I don’t know. I gotta think about it. I’m still afraid that if I report it, Jimmy will find out.” Stevie checked his cheap plastic watch. “Oh shit, I better go or I’ll be late.” He jumped up, got to the opened door, and turned. “Thanks, Mr. Davis. I’ll think about what you said and see you next week, all right?” He gave a small yet hopeful smile.
Ash stood and drew the boy into a hug. His skinny shoulders were like the fragile wings of a baby bird. How soon before they were permanently broken? “I’m always here for you if you need me. Here’s my card with my cell phone. Call me anytime. I mean it.” He took out his wallet and gave Stevie his card, which he was happy to see went into the boy’s wallet. “Bye, kiddo.”
Stevie waved and hurried out of the room. Ash, totally drained, returned to sit, all but collapsing from the emotional struggle within him. No matter what Stevie said, he was going to talk to Drew. They had an obligation to report it, but they had to keep Stevie’s name out of it. Maybe Jordan’s partner, the detective, could help. That poor, poor kid.
Without warning, a flashback rose before his eyes, himself at fourteen, helpless in his bed late at night, as his “father” cuffed him to the bed, blindfolded him, then touched him all over, kissing him, thrusting first his thick tongue in his mouth, then his thick cock everywhere else. His first kiss, a brutal memory. Any thought of hope, destroyed forever by the acts of violence against him. Since then, he’d never allowed any man to kiss or fuck him. Sex was never about love; it was power and control.
“No, no.” He groaned out loud as he rocked back and forth, helpless to stop the tidal wave of emotion crashing over him. Memories flooded through him of his own degradation and exploitation by adults who should have been protecting him, nurturing and caring for him. He couldn’t shake off the fact that he’d left the other boys behind. He’d tried to report what was happening in his house, but he knew they wouldn’t take him, a gay kid from the street, seriously. Not against a respected police officer. He was as bad or worse than his foster father, leaving them there, but he couldn’t stay or he’d have ended up killing himself. “Stop, stop it.” The tears fell unchecked as he hunched within himself, shaking and moaning. “I’m sorry. I tried. I’m so, so sorry.”
Warm, strong arms encircled him. Without thinking, he grabbed on to the person and held him tight, burying his face into a hard chest. Confused, he lifted his head and met the equally confused gaze of Drew.
Chapter Eight
Today was one hard, long-ass day. Mike had performed magic on the teeth and jaw of a sixteen-year-old who’d been beaten in a schoolyard brawl, simply because she came out as gay. Just because they lived in New York City didn’t mean the people weren’t as prejudiced and homophobic as any other place. Ignorance existed everywhere.
Flexing his fingers, Drew stretched his arms over his head, feeling the kinks unwind from his back. He’d patched up scrapes, stitched up gashes, and was happy to persuade at least two teens to talk with Keith about pressing charges. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. That reminded him. He wanted to speak with Ash about the two kids and the legal process they might have to face if they did decide to go forward with prosecution. A noise from the hallway caught his attention, and glancing at the clock, he frowned. Six o’clock. Everyone should’ve been gone already.
He got up from his seat and peered out into the hallway. Spying the receding back of young Stevie North, he shook his head. There was a young man with troubles, and he’d latched on to Ash for some reason. A crash reverberated farther down the hallway. Drew could hear a moan and then a rhythmic squeaking noise. Fearful of what he might find, Drew sprinted toward where Ash’s office was located. He stopped short outside the open door, staring in amazement and consternation.
Clutching himself, tears pouring down his face, Ash was in the middle of a full-fledged meltdown of some sort. This wasn’t something Drew had expected to see, but his gut instinct to protect and care for another person in such obvious pain took over. Without thinking, he entered the office and sat on the love seat next to Ash. There was no hesitation to take Ash in his arms, giving him whatever comfort he could offer. The wetness from Ash’s tears soaked through Drew’s T-shirt, but he couldn’t move, stunned by the overwhelming emotional connection that flowed between the two of them.
He continued to hold Ash as shudders racked his body. Like a child, Drew settled Ash more firmly within his arms, murmuring soothing, crooning nonsense words. For a brief moment their eyes met and warmth spread throughout his body. As if he instinctively knew what Ash needed, Drew rubbed his broad back, feeling the play of the man’s strong muscles underneath his hands. With the tips of his fingers, he pressed and circled Ash’s tense shoulders, and Drew closed his eyes, hopeful his touch brought some comfort.
Without realizing it, however, his lips had moved from Ash’s hair to his forehead, merely resting on his warm skin. He trailed his fingers down Ash’s cheek, the roughened stubble strange yet fascinating under his fingertips. A slow ache built inside Drew, along with a shocking need to protect this man and keep him safe. Curious, he explored Ash’s face, tracing the slant of his cheekbones and the hollows of his eyes. Ash’s mouth remained pressed against his chest, his breath fanning out in short, hurting gasps.
Was it strange or wrong that he desired to be close to this man? Drew had never felt this way before, not even with his best friends, the men he considered to be his brothers. Yet in the past few months, he and Ash had grown close, spending long hours setting up the clinic and working together, often having dinner if they both stayed late. They’d become friends, and Drew genuinely cared about Ash. To his great shock, Ash had even taken to visiting his grandmother on his own, a piece of information Nana was only too happy to tell him. Drew sensed Ash might be attracted to him but had never acted on his feelings.
Not once in their talks, though, had Ash revealed anything about himself, even though Drew knew something terrible had happened to him. Call it insight, but it seemed obvious some form of child abuse existed in Ash’s closely guarded past. When he’d spoken to Peter about it, his friend shook his head.
