“You run away from home?” I ask, crouching to his level and trying to figure out how old he is.
“No,” he answers coldly, turning his head to face the wall.
“You in some kinda trouble?” I check.
“No.” He shakes his head.
“Ya hungry?” None of the rubbish at my feet looks like it would have been substantial for him.
“Maybe.” He shrugs, his eyes glancing back at me warily.
“Then you'd better come with me.” I reach for the rucksack that's beside him, as I stand up and prop the door open.
The kid says nothing, just blows out the candle he was using for light and gets on his feet. Following after me as I lead him to the beach hut.
“Raze, where have you—” Peyton looks shocked when I push the kid through the door in front of me.
“My goodness, are you okay?” She rushes straight to him when she sees how weak he looks, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leading him to the couch. Reggie squawks when she shoos him outta the way, and the boy’s eyes double in size when he shakes his wings in temper.
“Ignore him, he can be touchy, but he’s tame…Raze, grab a glass of water,” she orders me, sitting beside the boy and keeping her arm wrapped around him.
“Sweetheart, where are your parents?” she asks him in that soft, kind voice of hers.
“Dead,” he responds, his eyes hard and angry.
“Okay, so who’s responsible for you? Are you lost?”
“I’m not going back.” He shakes his head, staring at the floor. “I’mnevergoing back.
“Okay, okay. No one’s going to make you do something you don’t want to do. Are you hungry?”
“’Course he is.” I return to them carrying a plate with some left over chicken from last night. The kid practically snatches it from my hand and starts stuffing his face.
“Is there anyone we can call?” Peyton asks, and he shakes his head as he takes a break from eating to gulp down some water.
“You stay right there.” Peyton smiles at him, gesturing her head toward the kitchen for me to follow her.
“What are we going to do?” she whispers, totally distracted from the fact she’s mad at me, and although I should apologize for the way I spoke to her, I don’t wanna go back to the subject.
“I don’t know; call child services, I guess,” I whisper back.
“No, we can’t do that. He’s obviously scared, and I think he trusts us.”
“Pey, we can’t keep him here. There will be people looking for him,” I tell her.
“Raze, look at him, he’s scared. Give me the chance to talk to him, and then we can figure out what to do.” She takes my hand and pleads with her eyes.
“Fine.” I glance back over my shoulder at the kid, who's now holding out a tiny piece of chicken, trying to coax Reggie closer to him. “But only one night,” I warn her. Turning back toward the boy and picking up some of Reggie's seed, so I can show him how to feed him properly.
“Shit! Is everything okay?” I drop the grocery bags I’m carrying when I see Alicia sitting on the floor, between Greaser’s legs, deep breathing, and clutching her belly.
“I’m fine.” She starts to giggle, and when Greaser stands up and offers her his hand, she takes it and drags herself up.
“Just doin’ some breathing exercises; practising for the big day.” He pats her tummy proudly, then picks up the remote to turn off the TV.
“I found a great channel on YouTube,” he tells me, looking all smug and fuckin’ clever as he moves toward the refrigerator and helps himself to a beer.
“Ain’t that something you and me should be working on?” I move toward Alicia, picking the remote back up and flicking the TV back on so I can see this channel for myself. I’ve been worrying ever since she asked me to be her birthing partner that I’ll suck at it. I’m happy to watch anything that’ll help.
