“Henry,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond, so I nudge his shoulder. “Henry.” I’m a little louder but still careful not to disturb any of the others. God knows what shit they’re all on. Henry’s too good for this place, but he keeps crawling back. I also know from experience he’s too soft to stand up to people he doesn’t know. “Henry, get up, man.”
Finally, he stirs. With a grunt, he rolls onto his back, still half-asleep as he tries to focus on me. “Hunt?”
My lips twitch because who else would it be? “Come on.” I nod toward the exit.
He sits partially up, resting on his elbows. “Come on where?”
“Where do you think?”
He shakes his head, already defiant. “Nope. Uh-uh. I already told you, I’m not staying with you—”
“I’m not talking about my place.” It comes out harsher than I meant, but Jesus. Ever since I met the man almost two years ago, he’s been stubborn as shit about staying anyplace halfway decent. Glancing around the familiar abandoned building, I mutter, “Anywhere’s gotta be better than this dump.” Then I narrow my eyes at him. “The money I gave you should have put you up for at least a few more weeks at that motel. Isn’t that what you showed up at the park for?”
He looks away, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “I can’t go back there, Hunt.” His face twists, like the motel I found for him is more disgusting than this shithole. It’s no Hilton, but compared to here, it may as well be. After a second, Henry swipes a hand over his dirty face. “I can’t do it,” he says so quietly I barely hear him.
I just stare at him, my chest burning with frustration, because I don’t know what else to do. How do you help a man who doesn’t want it? Doesn’t he know I’m never gonna stop trying? Not after what he did for me, when I had nothing, no one. And then the favor he paid me not long after. A favor I need to ask for one more time ...
I clear my throat, guilt already washing over me. But I don’t have another choice. “I need your help again, man. Just one more time.”
He doesn’t even think about it before he nods. “You know you don’t have to ask.”
A harsh laugh leaves my throat, and I shake my head. So easy to get him to help me, but when it comes to himself ...
His brows arch. “What’s so funny?”
Ignoring him, I push off the concrete and stare at my only friend. The one person who knows my story. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I tip my chin toward him. “Thank you. Again. I know it’s asking a lot.”
“It’s nothing.”
One corner of my lips hooks up. We both know that’s bull, and I appreciate him more for it. I grab his heavy trash bag, lugging it over my shoulder. “Now, come on.”
He doesn’t move.
“You don’t want the motel, fine. We’ll drive around till I find a shelter that’ll take you.”
Still, he ignores me.
My feet stay firm on the floor. “You should know by now I can do this all day.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he holds out his hand, and I pull him to his feet. Neither of us speaks as we trek through the grimy building, stepping over bodies and junk as we go. We’ve done this enough times before to know the routine.
When we’re almost to the exit, he nods at the trash bag. “It’s all there, you know. Your money.” He shrugs and watches the ground. “Well, mostly. I used a little for food and some for the bus.”
My grip tightens around the plastic, its weight burning into my hand as I picture the cash inside. Lord knows I could use the money. But then I look back at Henry, at his greasy hair and torn clothes. He’s got nothing, and he’s still trying to return what I gave him.
Staring straight ahead, I mutter, “Keep it,” and trudge forward.
Blue
It’s late by the time I get home, so I tiptoe inside and close the front door quietly. I spent over an hour at the nursing home—filling out the application, doing an interview, then attending general orientation. Once that was wrapped up, I stopped by the house, grabbed all my backlogged homework, and found the perfect tree in the park to work under. I got a lot done ... for a little while.
I reach Kimmie’s room, stopping when I see that her door’s cracked. I knock gently in case she’s sleeping. When she doesn’t answer, I push it open and peek inside. It’s neat, decorated in soft shades of cream and gold—and it’s empty.
With a glance behind me, I slip into the room, pulling my purse off my shoulder and reaching inside.
“This isn’t creepy.”
I jump and whirl around, relaxing when I find Kimmie in the doorway. She’s leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded over her chest, and her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
