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“I won’t,” I say, holding her gaze so she knows I mean it. “I can’t leave for a while anyway. Things with Colter got… complicated.”
Kirsten’s hands ball into fists. “Fuck that guy.” She shakes her head. “I swear I didn’t know Colter was a part of any of that. I should’ve tried to help more.”
“You’ve already helped me plenty. Far more than I ever deserved.”
Kirsten rolls her eyes and sinks against the wall, and I hurry to continue before she can dismiss it.
“But there is one more thing I have to ask you for.”
Kirsten sits up straight. “What’s that?”
“If anything were to happen to me, I need you to take care of Zeke.”
“Abi…”
“Justif,” I say, trying not to sound too somber.
“What about your foster parents? Wouldn’t they want their grandson? I don’t think I can just take a kid, there’s gotta be paperwork or something.”
I bite my lip and try to figure out how to say this. How do you tell your friend you’ve been lying since you met her?
“What is it?” she asks, sensing my hesitation.
“I’m sorry for lying to you, but the foster parents thing is bullshit. I haven’t spoken to them since I was eighteen and they gave me the boot. I told you we were going back to live near them because I didn’t want anyone to know where I was going next… There can’t be any paperwork with Zeke. His father…”
Kirsten’s eyebrows are knitted again as she waits for me to finish. “What about him?”
“He’s the reason we came here. He’s a bad person, Kirsten, and it’s important, no.” I take her hand and look her in the eyes. “It’svitalthat he never finds him.”
Kirsten slowly nods, but it’s less of an answer and more like she’s thinking.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Nothing is going to happen to you, butifsomething does, Zeke will be taken care of. And Colter Gruco’s life will be over, I can promise you that.”
My lips tug at the protectiveness in her tone, and I lean against her, letting my head rest against the wall.
“Girl, do I have a story for you…”
* * *
By the timeKirsten and I finish talking, I’m hurrying from the stairwell to the apartment, hoping Zeke didn’t peek out the door looking for me. He knows not to leave the apartment alone, under any circumstances, but he’s eight. Eight-year-olds don’t always do what they’re told.
I shouldn’t have left him like that. It doesn’t matter that I was twenty feet away and would probably have heard if he’d opened the door. I don’t leave him alone. Ever. That was rule number one when we left home.
My eyes spot the vase of flowers I’d forgotten about in front of the door, and I ignore them once again. I rush inside and put a hand over my heart when I see Zeke, feet up on the couch, a bowl of cereal in his hand and cartoons playing on the television. He slowly brings his feet from the couch, probably remembering that’s another rule.
“Sorry, Mom,” Zeke says, hanging his head.
I rush over to him and hug his neck, lifting his head to plant a kiss on his cheek. He eyes me warily.
“It’s okay.” I say, not giving a shit about the couch. I kiss his forehead and relax, my heart rate lowering. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” He looks at me like I’m losing my mind, and I might just be. I stand up straight and take a breath.
“Mom.”
“Yeah hon?”
He points to my left. “You left the door open.”