Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Come on,” I said, gesturing to the kitchen table. He sat, and I got out some peroxide and a bottle of aspirin. I slid it toward him.
“You must be hurting.”
Another shrug.
“Those were your guys?”
“Yeah, but I don’t beat up kids.”
“You’re in charge or something? They listened to you.”
“Something like that. Take your shirt off.”
He looked at me with wide eyes, shaking his head wildly.
“Relax, kid. I just want to take a look at those ribs.”
“No. No way.”
I leaned back and stared at him.
“Jesus, kid, all right. Just lift your shirt up a little then. I’m not a pervert.”
He gave me a surly look.
“It’s always the perverts who say that.”
I let out a sharp bark of a laugh before I realized the kid was speaking from experience. He was funny, but it was the saddest thing I’d ever heard. I sobered, staring at him.
“People suck.”
He nodded in agreement. Then to my surprise, he lifted his shirt on one side in a sign of trust. He was bruised badly, the skin already turning shades of purple all the way from his ribs and across his belly. He must be in agony and he hadn’t said a word of complaint.
“Fuck. You’re going to be hurting tomorrow, kid. We should ice that.”
Now this sort of thing, I had covered.
“It’s okay.”
“You been beat up a lot?”
Another shrug. I was going to start calling the kid ‘Shruggie’. It was a defense mechanism I was all too familiar with. If you didn’t care about anything, the world couldn’t hurt you as much.
“Couple of times.”
“Yeah, but with steel-toed boots?”
He didn’t say anything. I could tell he just wanted to lower his shirt again. So he was shy. Or he’d been messed with, in addition to getting beaten up.
That sort of thing made me sick to my goddamn stomach.
“Don’t worry, I’m prepared for this kind of thing.”
I got an Ace bandage I had from back when I gave a shit about my body, a bag of frozen peas that I used for bruises and hangovers, and the bottle of whiskey and a clean glass. I paused just before pouring.
“How old are you again, kid?”
“Nineteen. Almost.”
I shook my head at the bald-faced lie and poured him a drink anyway.
“You’re going to need this.”
He took it and sniffed. Then he took a tentative sip and coughed all over the damn place. I was laughing as I took the cup away and set it on the table.
I grabbed his hand and slapped the peas into it. Then I guided his hand to his ribs on the left side.
“I hope they aren’t cracked, kid. You sure you won’t let me take you to a doctor?”
The kid shook his head so swiftly that he was a blur.
“You got something against doctors?”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t mean to ask, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know.
“Jesus, kid, what happened to you?”
He lifted his chin and stared at me, those big blue eyes looking suspiciously shiny.
“Nothin’.”
“Suit yourself. Now . . .” I reached for his hand to move the ice and he flinched. I cursed mentally. This fucking kid and me were quite a pair, both of us damaged goods. “Here, just slide it over here. You can’t leave it on too long or it backfires. Fifteen minutes tops.”
“’Kay,” he said, taking another sip of the whiskey like a little badass. “Thanks,” he added grudgingly.
I was chuckling as I stood up to get my whiskey glass for a refill. When I got back, he was already done.
“You ever drink before?”
“’Course.”
“What?”
He shrugged.
“Beer, mostly. Mixed drinks.”
“Pink ones?” I teased him. I could see the kid with a girly drink. His hands were beat up from trying to protect himself, with dirt under the nails. But they were surprisingly feminine. They were . . . pretty.
Everything about the kid was pretty.
Not exactly a good thing for a kid living on the streets.
“How long you been out there?”
“A while.”
“So, the summer.”
“Yeah. Little longer.”
He took another sip and I watched his throat move. No Adam’s Apple to speak of. Jesus, was he even in puberty? The kid was so thin I could see every subtle movement of his muscles.
“It’s getting cold now. Whole different ball game.”
He nodded and took another slug of his whiskey. I shook my head, feeling like I should cut the kid off. But he was going to be hurting soon enough. I didn’t see the harm.
“You can stay here.”
The kid looked at me. I saw something in his eyes for a split second that broke my heart all over again. I’d thought my heart was stone cold, buried with my dead brother. But apparently not.
I saw hope.
“Yeah?”
“I’m hardly ever home. You can stay here for as long as you want. It would be good for me to have someone keeping an eye on the place.”
The kid sat up straighter, giving me a wary look.