I mean, a tire iron?
Bile filled my mouth.
Liam’s fingers curled around my forearm.
I stopped and looked at him, saw the expression on his faceand twisted my arm so he’d let me go, but only so I could take his hand.
“I know this is going to be hard,” I started.
“Mom—”
“And we’ll have a lot of chats, on your time, on yourschedule at processing things.”
“Mom, listen—”
“But now we have to—”
“Mom…shit,” he hissed and looked away.
I got closer and held his hand tighter and decided, in thecurrent circumstances, not to give him guff about his language.
“Baby, I know this is hard and confusing and—”
He looked back at me.“Mom.Dad and I’ve been hanging sinceI was seven years old.”
I stood solid and immobile for a moment.
Then my head exploded.
It was dark when he finally opened his eyes.
And as luck would have it (for me, not for Darius), I wasalone with him in his room.
He turned his head, winced, and my heart contracted, but Istood strong.
No, I was sitting.
So I sat strong.
He looked at me and there was confusion, then softness.
“Baby,” he whispered, and there was a rasp in his voice.
I felt that rasp in the heart of me.
Ugh.
“Ally’s all right,” I told him.
“Good,” he murmured, still raspy.
“Do you need water?”I asked.
He was just awake after getting a tire iron to the head, twogunshot wounds to his thighs, a stab wound to boot, but he’d lived a certainlife, so he shook off the stupor and was pretty damned alert as he studied meand nodded.
I got up and used the little plastic pitcher to half fill alittle plastic cup with water then I put it to his mouth.
His hand came up, fingers curling around mine as he pushedup a bit in bed, again wincing, and on his own steam took the cup from me andsipped the water.
