“Let’s get some ice on that.”
At the small table off my kitchen, I hand him an ice pack and a can of sparkling water.
“Do you want to tell me what happened? It’s okay if you’re not ready.”
He takes a sip, sets the can down, and spins it on the tabletop. “I thought he was into me. Maybe I misread the signals. I thought he was trying to hold my hand, so I…” A hiccup escapes him, his chest heaving. “I grabbed it back.” He wipes his nose on his shirt. “Then he called me… he called me a f-fag, just like Rob did. Then he punched me.”
Angling in close, I collect his hands in mine. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. That wasnotokay. Did you tell a teacher?”
“No. We were halfway home. So I came here.”
“How long did you sit outside my door?”
He shrugs, his head lowered again. “Two hours, maybe.”
“Ezra’s freaking out, you know.”
He sighs, peering up at me through his lashes. “I just—I wasn’t ready to tell him. He’s done so much for me, and I didn’t want him to think moving me here was a mistake.”
“Do you?” I search his hazel eyes. “Think it’s a mistake?”
“No,” he says, though his shoulders sink. “My mom’s death was the mistake. Why did she have to die?”
My heart plummets into my stomach. No, it falls right out of my body with a splat. Damn. This kid has been through so much in such a short amount of time. I don’t know loss like he does. I’m the girl who makes people laugh when they drink too much tequila and accidentally like their partner’s ex’s Instagram post from five years ago. I’m the girl who hypes up others and plans surprise parties for their successes.
When my brother’s wife died, I was barely an adult. No one expected me to say the “right thing.” My parents filled that role. But now? Kane’s watching me, his eyes mournful, like I’m the closest thing he has to a parent, and I’m frozen with dread. Dread that I’ll say the wrong thing and royally fuck it up.
Then, like a love tap on my shoulder from a higher power, a memory of the rabbi from my Uncle Noah’s funeral many years ago surfaces.
Maybe the story won’t resonate with a fifteen-year-old boy, but then again, maybe it will. “Someone once told me that, instead of asking ‘why did this terrible thing happen?’ we should be asking, ‘what do I do now that ithashappened?’”
He lowers the ice to the table and throws his arms around me. I hold him while his body releases wave after wave of gut-wrenching sobs, unable to hold back my own tears. My shoulder goes numb, but I don’t dare disrupt him. After a good fifteen minutes, the door flies open, startling us both.
“What the fuck happened?” Ezra booms.
I stand to meet him, but he bypasses me and hovers over Kane, chest heaving and face slicked with sweat. “I was worried sick. What the fuck were you thinking? I?—”
Kane looks up at him, giving him a clear view of his red, swollen face, and Ezra drops to his knees, his expression turning to fright. “What happened?” he asks, his tone much softer this time.
Rather than answer, Kane looks at me, his eyes silently pleading for me to tell the story. So I place a hand on Ezra’s shoulder and rub soothing circles and relay the details to him. With each one, I swear smoke steams from every crevice of his body.
When I’m finished, he hauls himself up. “I will fucking kill him.”
My heart lurches in response to the pure fury radiating from him. “Ezra.”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” Kane says.
“It’s my job to protect you.”
“Listen.” I grasp Ezra’s arm. “I want to rip that kid a new one, too, but that’s not going to solve anything.”
His chest is puffed like a gorilla gearing up to fight for dominance in his troop. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
“We?”
“Yeah, Kane and me. What should we do?”
Oh,thatwe. Without my permission, disappointment needles its way into my heart.
