“Like, upset, or…”
“Yeah. Yeah, like that.”
“Fuck.” I’m about to walk out when my eyes land on the kid and I look at him, likereallylook at the way he’s standing, and everything inside me goes still. “What’s going on?”
“Nothin’ bruh. Just needed a place to crash.”
“Why’re you holding your arm like that, Travis? What’s wrong?” Half of me’s dying to run after Kit, but the other half can’t move.
“I’m good. Just tired. Just?—”
I hit a switch, the overheads come on with a metallic thump, and everything inside me goes tense. “What happened?” I hearhow deadly I sound. Quiet, low. So far past pissed, I can’t feel a thing.
“Nothing, man, I?—”
“Who did this?”
Outside, a car door slams. A moment later, Kit’s jogging back toward the rectangle of light that’s spilled out into the lot. She stops in the doorway, eyes massive, wild. After the briefest of connections between us, our gazes both land at Travis.
“What happened?”
His head’s down, but that doesn’t hide the soaking wet hair, the blood-smeared cheek, the black eye, the fucking split lip or the weird angle of his arm. The kid’s skin and bones. I can see where his shoulder’s dislocated.
I’ll kill whoever’s responsible. He’s a kid. “Who did this?”
He shakes his head, sniffling again.
“Who did this to you, Travis? Who beat the crap out of a?—”
“My dad. Myfuckin’ asshole dad, okay?” he screams. The words echo through the empty space, interrupted by another sniffle.
Shit, the kid doesn’t have a cold, he’s been crying.
He’s hurt, more than physically. So hurt he’s crying tears of betrayal, of pain rooted deep in his genes and I’m yelling at him and… “Here.” I pull off the sweatshirt I threw on and Kit moves in and helps me set it gently over Travis’s wide, bony shoulders.
“Hang on a sec.” I look at Kit, quietly askingyou got this?At her small nod, I say, “Stay here with Kit, okay. I’ll be right back.”
The fact that he just nods and stands there tells me he’s in a lot of pain. I’ve seen this kid spar in the ring. He’s one hell of a tough guy.
I hate that this, right here, is probably why.
I’m weirdly calm as I get shoes on and grab a shirt and jacket, wallet and keys, then take three bottles of water from thefridge and a handful of the dried beef jerky I snack on when I’m working out a lot.
Like recently. Every time I couldn’t sleep, from thinking about Kit.
My feet clang as I come back downstairs, relieved at the calm I see in her eyes. I hand Travis a water.
“I’ll drive,” Kit says, leading us to her car. When I try to sit in back, Travis insists on taking the back, leaving the two of us up front. It’s quiet as the car heads out of the lot, tires swooshing over wet pavement.
Hadn’t even noticed it was raining. I look down, run a hand over my jacket, collect the water droplets there.
In the backseat, Travis refuses the jerky.
I’m betting he’s starving, but he says his jaw hurts too much to eat.
Kit glances at me. Even in the dark, I feel the weight of that look. I want another. I crave the connection.
“How old are you?” she asks in a voice that’s calm and reasonable. Just a regular day in the neighborhood.
