“Ever!” I fell and cupped his face. “Holy Father. What happened?”
“Fight,” he rasped, sounding like he’d swallowed glass. “Bad one. I think my arm is broken.”
His face was severely cut, his eyes almost swollen shut, clothes ripped across the chest and at the knees, hands and arms bloody. The way he was trying and failing to prop himself up, arms shaking—he looked near death. Fear knifed my heart.
“Stay right there.” I leapt up. “I’m going to borrow the Fortenots’ car and take you to the emergency room.”
“No,” he groaned. “I can’t.”
“Why in God’s name can’t you?”
“I just can’t,” he ground out. “They’ll call the cops. Please, Ruth. Just bring me inside. I want to be near you.”
I was beside myself. “If I don’t take you to a doctor, you’re going to die.” With the volume of my voice, it was a wonder the Fortenots’ lights hadn’t come on.
He tried to lift his head to look at me. “No—”
“If you don’t let me, I’ll never speak to you again.” Childish, but in my hysteria I wasn’t above it. The last time his dad beat him had been horrible, and it was nothing compared to this. I didn’t understand how he’d made it to my house—had he stumbled and crawled? “I’ll stop being your friend,” I warned. “You’ll never see me again.”
Ever’s forehead dropped to the ground. “Ruth,” he said weakly.
I crossed my arms, heart pounding. Silence stretched, wasting precious moments.Please, God. Make him less stubborn. I’d do anything to protect him.
Ever tried to curl into himself, then winced in pain. His eyes closed. “Please,” he whispered. “I just want to be with you.”
The words—and the sight of him trying to cradle himself—shattered my resolve.
“Come here.” I swooped down. “Let me pull you up. Here, lean on me and try to stand.”
Slowly, painstakingly, I got Ever to his feet. He leaned his full weight on me, and though my arms and legs trembled, I forced myself to remain upright. “Walk slowly,” I urged. “That’s it. One foot in front of the other.”
Little by little, I got Ever into the house, up the stairs, and into my room. When he finally sank onto my bed, I collapsed on the floor, breathing heavy.
“Ruth,” he whispered, “come closer.”
I took a deep breath, gathering my resolve. “Since you won’t let me take you to the hospital, you have to do what I say. I’m cleaning the blood off you and then you’re going to rest. I’ll stay awake and watch you. In the morning, we’re going to Mr. Wilkes. If you won’t let me treat you like a person, at least let me treat you like a broken bird.”
A ghost of a smile curled Ever’s bloody lips. “Okay, Ruthie.”
Cleaning him with washcloths took a long time. I’d have to bleach them or throw them out before my parents returned; there was no way to explain the blood. I was weary tending his wounds, so I couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down my face.From his own father, I kept thinking.His own father. Ever’s right arm was surely broken. He’d hissed when I tried to touch it and kept it protectively at his side. But at least he’d relaxed at the gentle rub of the washcloth. His eyes closed, breath steadying. By the time I finished, I thought he was asleep until he murmured, “Lie next to me.”
I took a deep breath, dropped the washcloths, and crawled in next to him. His cool hand found mine and squeezed. I studied his busted knuckles, then drew up the covers and pressed close to him, watching his chest rise and fall. In minutes, he was asleep.
That’s when I started to sob. Great, silent, wrenching sobs, shaking with the effort of not waking him. His father was going to kill him. It wasso obvious. I felt it in my bones. He’d gotten close tonight, walked right up to the line. The next time, he’d step over it, because that’s how men like him worked. That’s what happened to Ever’s mom, and now the same fate was coming for Ever and he didn’t even know. He didn’t know because I hadn’t told him what his father was truly capable of.
Possessive fury lit in me, filling me with living, breathing, combustible rage. It was one thing for people to hurt me. But not Ever. Not my kind, brilliant, sarcastic friend, the boy who’d saved me. I would do anything to keep him safe. But it was Ever himself who kept going back to his father, kept letting it happen, kept dismissing it. Why? He was drowning in pain and wouldn’t pull himself out. The only way this could end was him black-and-blue and no longer breathing in the grave next to his mother.
The cold realization sank through me, putting out the fire of rage little by little, until every inch of my body was numb and calm. It was simple. Everett needed a life raft. I could be one. I could put myself between him and his father.
There was a way.
I climbed out of bed, taking care not to jostle him. Kissed Ever’s cheek and put my hand above his nose to feel the shallow air he exhaled. Satisfied, I floated down the stairs, past the clock in the dining room with both hands up, pointing at midnight, like a compass confirming I was headed in the right direction. I shut the door and slipped into the night.
When I arrived at the Duncan house, it looked like Everett and Killian had gone to war. The garage was half-open, gallons of chemicals and tools everywhere. Shattered glass lay in the driveway, and there were divots in the grass, as if something had mauled it. The lights in the living room were on. The monster of this once-storybook castle was home.
I knocked.
Shuffling, loud grumbling, and then the door opened. Killian Duncansquinted at me. He was tall and lanky like Everett, with coal-black hair and pits of darkness for eyes, except in Killian’s there were no redeeming flecks of light. His skin was strangely smooth and uncalloused for a man who owned a garage and spent his life stumbling drunk. Surprisingly ageless. I was cheered to see a dark bruise forming around his eye—at least Ever had managed that—until his lips pulled back against his sharp canines in an approximation of a smile. Then the normal clawing fear I felt around him returned.
