CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHORT
I’d rather I were waiting outside when Bronwyn arrives. But Saint’s eagle eyes are watching me. Truth be told, I can’t understand the compulsion myself, so rather than raise his suspicions, I sink another beer.
I hear the prospect’s bike first, followed by the spluttering engine sounds of her car. Still, I force myself to wait, and only turn when the clubroom door opens, and Knight escorts Bronwyn and a young boy inside, dressed in his pajamas. But almost immediately after he enters, the kid falls to the floor with his hands covering his ears. I can’t hear him, but his open mouth suggests he’s wailing, and he’s rocking himself.
So used to it, I barely notice, but it hits me that the clubhouse is a cacophony of noise. The jukebox is playing, brothers are talking loudly, and there’s an accompanying arrhythmic clatter of pool cues hitting balls.
It’s the noise.The answer seems obvious when it comes to me. Pushing through the crowd, I first unplug the jukebox, which brings no relief, as roars go up with multiple people asking me what the fuck I think I’m doing.
Clapping my hands to get their attention, I wave at the boy. “Pipe down and shut up. Woody, Paint, hold up on your game for a moment. It’s too loud in here for the kid.”
There are a few rumbles of discontent, but all eyes fall on our visitors. Noticing Bronwyn, her face glows red, but her attention is all on her brother, her own discomfort, and her very obvious desire to turn tail and run, suppressed as she crouches down in front of him so she’s able to look into his face. “Trip,” she says gently, then repeats it again. With his hands over his ears, I suspect she needs to be louder to get him to hear her. But as she says his name for a third time, at last he looks up at her.
Experimentally, he lifts his hands no more than half an inch away from his ears, then, having tested the bulk of the noise has diminished, he takes them completely away.
With a smile, Bronwyn tells him, “You remember what I said in the car, Trip? Well, this is the start of our adventure. These are our friends, and we’re staying with them for a while.”
The boy’s face is blank, as if there’s no comprehension there.
“Is he an imbecile?” Rattler asks, only to receive a cuff around the head from Tempest, which makes me roll my eyes. Wasn’t it he who used similar language earlier? I suppose you can say he is at least a quick learner.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth if you haven’t got anything good to say,” the sergeant-at-arms growls.
For once, I’m wishing Freak was here, but he’s out doing business with Bullseye. And me wanting the enforcer’s presence is not just so he can receive my fist to his jaw. Out of all of us, he appears to understand a boy like Trip. Me? I’m out of my depth and feel like I’m sinking.
Pushing away from the jukebox, I go over to Bronwyn and the kid. Only too well aware of my size, when I reach them, I sink to my haunches and join their huddle on the floor.
“Hi, Trip.” I try to soften my normal loud tone. “I met you earlier, but it’s nice to meet you properly and welcome you to our home.” While I’ve no real hope he’ll understand or respond to me, I treat him like I would any other child. Though it has to be said, my experience with anyone under the age of eighteen is severely limited. Nevertheless, I try. “My name’s Short.” Automatically, I hold out my hand.
He recoils.
Shit.I look toward Bronwyn for help.
“He doesn’t like to be touched,” she says quietly. Then, to Trip, she explains, “Short’s our new friend.”
My position is actually pulling at the newly healed wound in my thigh, but I keep myself still, though not expecting any response.
To my surprise, Trip gives a shake of his head, then moves his hand, placing one on the floor and holding the other as high as he can reach.
Bronwyn grins at her brother, while I snort. “Yeah, I might be tall, but my brothers call me Short. There’s a story to that I might tell you one day. You like stories, Trip?”
I watch for any sign, a slight nod of his head, perhaps, but I get nothing. I’m not sure whether the words I’m using are beyond him. What I am conscious of is our audience, some in the know, some not. And the latter group will soon be getting antsy to continue their night.
“Bron,” I address her directly. “You’re going to be using my room tonight.” I don’t miss the flinch she gives, nor the worry that appears in her eyes. “I’m staying elsewhere, but you’ll have my bed and the benefit of my bathroom. Tomorrow, we’ll go somewhere more suitable for a kid.”
A peel of female laughter, and a look over my shoulder shows me that Star and Heaven have appeared, attired in waysthat make easy access for my brothers. Whether he has mental problems or not, this is not a sight for an eight-year-old boy.
Pulling myself to my feet, I beckon her to stand. “I think the boy will feel more settled when it’s just you and him.”
She nods and rises, “Trip. Want to go and see our room now?”
His face is completely blank, and he makes no attempt to move.
“This is a fucked-up situation.” Tempest has come up beside me.
Swinging around so only he can hear me, I say quietly, but still with force in my voice, “Look at the way Bronwyn’s moving. She’s obviously been hurt again despite Prez’s warning. I tend to believe her when she said Trip was next. I’m guessing it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had hands laid on him. If I had any doubts we’re doing the right thing tonight, I’ve none now.”
