I’m not afraid of him or what he does to me, and I never have been. I grip the sheets in my hands and squeeze tightly as he crooks a finger inside me and reaches a spot I didn’t know existed. I cry out, and he gently and rhythmically sucks my clit in time with the movement of his fingers until I spiral out of control. I come so hard I can barely breathe, and he drinks in the power of it. I push his head back when I grow too sensitive, and he unlatches from my clit and licks across it. I tremble with aftershocks.
Pete wipes his face on my inner thigh and then crawls up my body. He reaches over me and grabs a condom and sheathes himself quickly. Just when I think he’ll settle between my legs, he doesn’t. He rolls my body over slowly, and slides a pillow beneath my hips. “This all right?” he asks. He puts his weight on my back, and his lips touch my shoulder again, just like he did a few minutes ago, and he gently bites down. “I need you,” he says.
I nod. “It’s all right,” I say. He sinks into me from behind. It’s one slow thrust until he’s fully seated inside me. “Are you sore?” he asks.
“A little,” I admit. There’s a little pinch, but I welcome it because Pete’s inside me again, and that’s right where I want him to be.
“I’ll be careful,” he whispers. I know he will. I don’t want careful. I want Pete.
He takes me with lazy strokes, filling and then retreating, pushing and then pulling, riding me with care and caution. I came with his mouth between my legs, but I feel a build-up again. It’s a completely different feeling. It’s more of a warm wash of heat rather than a raging, quaking orgasm. I come, and he grunts and pushes himself deep inside me, his body shaking as he comes with me. He grunts and makes a noise low in his throat. It’s a noise of completion. All too soon, he pulls out, and stands up, removes the condom and cleans himself up. Then he hands me a towel and turns his back. I wipe off really quickly, and then he’s back in bed with me, drawing me in to his chest.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling me down to lie in the crook where his arm meets his shoulder.
“I’m not going to break, Pete,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.”
He startles and looks down his nose at me. “I’m not.”
“You are,” I say quietly. I hate that I’m doing this. But I can’t have a relationship based on fears he thinks he wants to avoid with me.
My phone dings, and I reach for my pants on the floor because I know it’s in my pocket.
I pull it out and read the screen.
Dad: Where are you?
Me: I’m at Pete’s.
Dad: Why?
Shit. What do I say?
Me: Can we talk about this later?
Dad: Sure, we can. As soon as you arrive at your apartment where we’ve been waiting since last night.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Me: I’ll be there in a few minutes.
I heave a sigh and lay my head on the bed. Dad is going to kill me. Or kill Pete. “My parents are at my apartment,” I say.
“Oh no,” he breathes. He rolls to the edge of the bed and starts to get dressed.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He looks up, his brow arched. “I’m going with you.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say. In fact, I’d rather he not. Dad’s going to be pissed and seeing Pete is only going to make it worse.
“I don’t mind,” he says, and he keeps getting dressed.
“Pete,” I call. He finally looks up at me.
“What?”
“I’d rather you stay here.”
“Why?” He looks confused.
“It’s Sunday morning. My parents are probably going to stay all day. I need to spend some time with them.” I really just want to spare him my dad’s wrath.
He nods. “Okay,” he says slowly. He kicks his shoes back off.
I get dressed and go over to give him a kiss. “I’ll call you later?” I ask.
He nods. “Sure.”
I need to deal with this situation with my dad so that I’ll never have to deal with it again.
Pete
The phone rings, and I jump to grab it. It’s six o’clock on Sunday evening and Reagan has been gone all day and hasn’t called even once. “Hello?” I say. Sam chuckles into his fist. He’s taking the bus back to school late tonight, so he’ll be here until around eleven. He says something about my balls being in a vice, and I throw a pillow at him.
“Pete?” a male voice says.
“Yes,” I say.
“Pete, this is Phil.” I must be too quiet because he goes on to say, “Your parole officer.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. I sit up so I can pay close attention.
“Pete, could I come and pick you up and take you somewhere with me? It’s kind of important.”
“Of course,” I say. I don’t even hesitate. “Can I ask where we’re going?”
“I’ll tell you more when I pick you up,” he says. He sounds like he’s upset, and I want to know what’s going on. “Can you be ready in ten minutes?”
We hang up, and I go get dressed. I wonder what could be important enough to make Phil need to see me on a Sunday. But I guess I’ll find out.
Phil pulls up outside my building in a black Ford, and he motions for me to climb in. “I have some bad news, Pete,” he says. He doesn’t look at me.
“What kind of news?” I ask.
“Edward, the boy from the youth program, he got visitation yesterday with his sister after group. He was doing so well, I felt like he was ready, particularly after he spent so much time with you at camp. There was an altercation, and his sister’s foster father was badly injured. Edward was stabbed, and he just got out of surgery. The foster father died in the fight.”
“What?” I breathe. “How could that happen?”
“Apparently, Edward’s sister told him that the foster father wasn’t treating her well. Edward lost his head, and he snapped. He attacked him, and the two fought over a blade the father had. Edward spent the whole morning in surgery.”
“Is he all right?” I ask.
Phil shakes his head. “I’m not sure. That’s why I’m going to see him. He won’t see anyone else, and you seemed to have a real connection with him at the camp and even at group yesterday. So, I thought you might be able to talk to him.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” I ask.
“Hopefully, this is going to be a self-defense case. The last time he got in trouble, he was a juvenile offender. He’s eighteen now. He’ll be tried as an adult if there are criminal charges.” He shakes his head and blows out a breath. “I need for someone to get his story, so Caster can help prepare his defense, but he won’t talk to anybody. I already talked to Bob Caster, and he’s coming to talk to him, too.”
“He’s at Reagan’s,” I say.
He cuts his eyes at me as he puts the truck in gear. “Yes, I heard.”
I sit back and scrub the back of my head with my hand.
“I told you to be careful with her,” Phil reminds me.
“I have been,” I say. “Very careful.”
“He’s pretty pissed,” he tells me. I am sure of that already.
“I love her like crazy, Phil,” I say.
His thumb taps on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t say anything else. When we get to hospital, they let us into the room when Phil flashes his identification. He walks in and I see Tic Tac, no Edward, in bed. He has tubes and wires sticking from his body, and he looks so frail. There’s a young lady in a chair beside him holding his hand, and I can’t help but think this must be his sister. She hops to her feet when we come into the room.
“I never should have told him,” she says. “I never should have told him, and then this wouldn’t have happened.”
Phil hands her a tissue, and I jam my hands in my pockets. I’m not sure what to do with them. “Hello,” I say when she stares at me.
“You must be Pete,” she says. She smiles. “Edward told me al
l about you.”
“What happened?” I ask, nodding toward the bed.
Her eyebrows arch with feigned amusement. “He gave up his life for me. Again. He did it before when he went to the detention center, and he did it again today.”
Phil turns her with a hand on her shoulder. “I could use some coffee,” he says. “Walk with me?”
I think she knows that I want to talk with Edward. She nods and looks longingly toward the bed. “Please make him fight,” she whispers. “Don’t let him give up.”
She leaves the room with Phil, and I go sit in the chair where she was sitting. I nibble absently on my fingernail, wondering if I should wake him. “I’m so pretty that you can’t catch your breath, right?” he asks, his voice quiet. I didn’t even know he was awake. “Deep breaths, man,” he says. “You can push through it.”
“How are you?” I ask. I force some joviality into my voice. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” He groans as he pushes himself up in the bed. “They say I’ll live.” His gaze roams around the room, and I wonder if he’s thinking about the man he killed.
“I’m glad,” I say. I don’t know how to talk to this kid. I really don’t. I’m floundering here. “Want to tell me what happened?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Why don’t you do it anyway?” I ask.
“He’s dead, right?” he asks. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he swipes it away.
“Yeah.”
“Some people need killing,” he says. He doesn’t crack a smile, and his voice breaks. He’s hurting, and I can tell.
“Did he need killing?” I ask.
“He was hurting my sister,” he says. “I knew it the minute I walked into the room.” He squeezes the bed rail until his knuckles turn white. “She didn’t even have to tell me. I could see it in her eyes. Just like before.”
“There was a knife?” I ask. I try to remember everything he’s telling me, and I wonder if I should be writing it all down.
His gaze snaps to mine. “It wasn’t mine,” he says. “It was his. He came at me with it, and I couldn’t stop him.” He lays a hand over his stomach. “He jabbed me with it. I pulled it out, and he jumped me and fell on it.” He’s openly sobbing now. “I swear to God that I didn’t want to kill him.”
I reach out and clasp his hand, squeezing hard, our thumbs crossed the way men shake hands. “It was an accident.”
“Do you think they’ll believe it?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. I don’t want to give him hope if there is none.
“I had plans, you know?” he says. He sniffles. “I wrote them down.”
Jesus Christ. This kid had plans.
“I wanted to be somebody my sister can be proud of. I wanted to be for her what no one was for me.”
“You can still have those things, Edward,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Will I go to prison?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say again.
“I don’t want to go to prison,” he says.
“We need to get you some tattoos,” I say. “Nobody fucks with you in prison if you’re all tatted up.” I squeeze his hand. “I need for you to do me a favor,” I say.
“What?” he asks, his eyes wary.
“I need for you to remember that you’re just as important as your sister.”
“I’m not,” he starts.
I get in his face this time. I can only think back to when I used to call him Tic Tac in my head, and I realize what a disservice I did this kid. He’s better than that. He’s good on the inside, and I could try to be more like him. But I judged the outside, and I feel terrible about it. “You’re just as important as she is, and you never had anybody to fight for you.” I feel my eyes filling with tears, and I blink them back. “But you have somebody now, dummy. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“They told me my whole life that I’m not worth anything.”
“They lied,” I grit out. “They lied to make themselves feel better.” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s up to you if you believe them.” I let his hand go because holding it is getting awkward. “You’re pretty fucking amazing,” I say.
“My sister needs to go to a group home until I can get her out of foster care,” he says.
“We’ll talk to Phil and see if he can help.” I heave in a deep breath. “Don’t give up, okay?” I say.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Look what you’ve been through, Edward,” I say. “How many people could have survived it? You did. So, don’t throw it all away now. Have hope.”
“I can’t afford any hope.” He snorts. “That shit’s expensive.”
“Then you can have some of mine. Hell, you can have all the hope I have for you. Because there’s a whole fucking lot of it.”
“I never had anybody on my side before,” he says.
Phil and Mr. Caster walk into the room. Mr. Caster glares at me, and Phil looks curious. “The guy fell on the knife,” I say. “Edward didn’t do it on purpose.”
Mr. Caster pulls out a notepad and starts to write. He motions for Edward to continue, and he goes through the whole story while Reagan’s dad takes notes.
Phil claps a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you,” he says. “I really think you could be successful in this line of work.”
“I’m not sure I can take the heartache,” I admit.
“He sobbed like a baby,” Edward tosses out. He laughs and then clutches his side when it hurts.
“I didn’t sob,” I grumble. I point to his side. “And that’s what you get for being a smart-ass.”
“Better a smart-ass than a dumb-ass,” he says. I flip him the bird.
“I should get you home,” Phil says. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”
Shit. I almost forgot. I nod and clasp hands with Edward. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. He smiles and nods. Watching him is like watching a flower reach for the sun. It’s like Reagan’s tattoo.
“Mr. Caster,” I say, and I extend my hand. He takes it, albeit reluctantly. “It was good to see you again.”
“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me, Pete,” he says, and he grins. But there’s no mirth in it. It’s all warning.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sir,” I say.
Phil nods at me, and we walk out to the truck. My emotions are on overload, and I want to hit something. “What happened to Edward, that happens to a lot of kids?” I ask.
“More than you could imagine,” he says. “All variations of the same scene.” He looks up at me. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’d be good at this line of work.”
“I know. I’m thinking about it.” I don’t know if I want to be on the front lines the way he is. Or if I want to be a lawyer like Mr. Caster. I’m still deciding.
“Thanks for going with me,” he says.
“Anytime,” I toss back as he stops the truck, and I get out. I really want to go to Reagan’s, but with this damn tracking bracelet, I can’t. I don’t need to be there with her anyway. I’m too emotional right now. I could never be what she needs in this state.
I run up the stairs. I really need a good workout to get rid of this energy. I feel like I am two steps from losing control of myself. I’m angry. I’m angry at myself for ever fucking my life up. I’m mad at cancer for getting Matt sick. I’m mad at my life. I’m mad at me. I’m mad at a system that couldn’t protect Edward or his sister. I’m just mad in general.
I walk into the apartment and the lights are out. Thank God, nobody’s home. A sliver of light shines from beneath my door. I open it and see Reagan sprawled across my bed reading a book. She sits up and brushes her hair back from her face. “You’re home,” she says. She smiles at me. It’s so pretty and so sweet and so not what I need right now.
“You shouldn’t be here right now,” I say.
“What?” Her eyebrows scrunch together.
“You should go back to your apartment,” I say. I mess with t
hings on the dresser so I won’t have to look at her.
“No,” she says. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I had a long day. I don’t particularly want any company.” I know that I’m hurting her, but if she stays, I can’t be what she needs.
“Pete,” she starts. “Tell me what happened today.”
“What happened with you?” I ask. “Was your dad pissed you spent the night here?” With the ex-con. I don’t say the last part, but I think it.
“He was,” she says with a nod. She’s choosing her words with care. “But he’s my dad. He’s supposed to act like that.”
Her hand lands on my shoulder, and I flinch. She flinches too, but she doesn’t draw it back. I squeeze my eyes shut and rest my hands on the dresser, my elbows locked. I want to crawl into a ball in the corner and rock myself to sleep. No, I don’t. I want to draw Reagan into my arms and sink inside her and make her a part of me and let her take all this. But she can’t. She’s not made for that.
“You should go, Reagan,” I say again.
“No,” she replies. She tries to turn me to face her, but I won’t budge. She blows out a breath and ducks down to slide under my arm, getting between me and the dresser. I back up. I can’t be this close to her. I can’t. It’s not all right.
“I can’t be what you need right now,” I say quietly. My voice shakes.
“What do you think I need?” she whispers.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and flex my fingers, making fists over and over. “You need to be loved calmly and carefully. And I can’t do either tonight. You need to go.” I can’t even look at her. I can’t.
“You think I need to be loved calmly and carefully,” she says slowly.
I nod, sucking my piercing into my mouth to toy with it.
“You want to know what I think?” she asks.
“What?” I grunt. Apparently, I’ve turned into a caveman who can only speak in monosyllables.
“I think I need to be loved…completely.”