Page 7

Chapter 6

Louis

I’ve barely set foot out of the shower after a late-night session at the gym when the doorbell rings. I have no habit of getting visitors, so I assume it’s Ravi disturbing me again for some godforsaken reason before I remember he’s got the shift at Moe’s Den tonight.

Running a towel through my wet hair, I open the door shirtless, prepared to turn down whatever idiot who’s on the other side.

It’s not Ravi. It’s not even Maurice.

It’s the boy. The boy I hoped I’d never see again.

He looks pitiful, soaked like a stray cat, the long strands of his hair plastered to his face, which in turn is pale and wet from the rain.

I look past him and into the rain-soaked darkness. Is this some sort of trick? Eric Fletcher and his pals looking to take revenge for my “unfair” treatment of him this morning, perhaps? Wouldn’t be the first time. Eyes narrowed, I remind myself of the stash of weapons hidden away in my apartment. Cupboard, kitchen drawer, bedroom. Cupboard, kitchen drawer, bedroom.

Sparrow looks up at me, eyes wide and bright and way too trusting. “I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

All my previous suspicions seep out of me. He sounds like something truly awful has happened. As if his chest has been split open and he now doesn’t know how to stitch himself back together.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, even though the obvious answer is yes. There’s something more than rain trickling down his face. There’s…blood. From a cut on his cheek. Right at his cheekbone.

“I…” He goes pale, as if he’s about to faint.

I step aside and let him into the hallway. He freezes for a moment, and only when I grumble a “come in” does he move and step into the hallway ahead of me.

“Shoes off,” I say, glancing at his muddy Converse. Did he walk all the way here? It must be at least an hour from campus, maybe longer. “You drink tea, kid?” I ask him as I move into the kitchen. Hell, how do I do this? I’m the last person people come to when they want consolation; rather, they run as far away from me as possible when they’re weak.

“Not really,” Sparrow says.

“Well, you’re going to drink some now. And then you’re going to tell me why you’re here. Go on.” I gesture toward the kitchen table.

Sparrow’s naked feet pad over the floor, and he sits with his knees up, arms wrapped around his legs.

I sigh and rub my temples. How do I do this? What do I say? “Uh…You need me to call someone? Your parents?”

His mouth twitches into something like a smile as he fidgets with the wet fabric of his hoodie. Christ, he wasn’t even wearing a jacket in this weather.

“My parents are dead,” he says.

Well, then. First thing we have in common.

I fetch a sweater from my closet and throw it his way. “Here.”

He reacts too late, and it lands on the floor, but he quickly picks it up and wrestles out of his pitiful, wet hoodie.

No fucking way. He’s still wearing my shirt. The shirt he’s drowning in. The shirt I bunched up in my hands and guided over his outstretched arms.

Noticing what I’ve noticed, he flicks his gaze up to me, cheeks a deep shade of pink. Christ, he’s cute.

I try to ignore that fact as I serve him a cup of tea and get one for myself. I sit on the opposite chair and try not to stare him down; he seems skittish enough as it is, but for some reason, I find it hard to keep my eyes off him.

“So.” I nod at his wounded cheek. “You gonna tell me who did this to you?”

“It was my…” He looks down at his piping hot cup of tea, eyebrows drawn tight. “My ex. He’s here. He followed me. He b-broke into my room, and…” Clenching his jaw, he looks away.

“And what?” It’s strange—usually when I want to get information out of someone, I know exactly what to do to force it out of them. But Sparrow seems to respond better to kindness and praise than intimidation, like when he was kneeling in front of me and practically melting in my lap when I called him a good boy…I take a deep breath and try for a reassuring tone rather than a demanding one. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

His lower lip starts to tremble, but he meets my gaze once again. “He-He tried to take me back. But I can’t go back.”

“So what did you do?”

“I knocked him out.”

I lean forward in the chair, eyebrows raised. Interesting. Maybe there’s more to this boy than I first thought.

“And?”

“He knows where I live now. I can’t go back to the dorm. I have nowhere to go. Nowhere.” He wraps his arms harder around himself, face buried between his knees.

If he didn’t look so pitiful, I’d react more strongly to the truth that dawns on me, but as it is, I just lean back in the chair and cross my arms.

“If you’re asking me what I think you’re asking, there’s no fucking way, kid.”

He whips his head back up to me. “I’ll pay! I mean, not with money, but…I’ll clean! I can’t cook all that well though; Madame didn’t let us use the stove, and I never got much chance to—”

“Madame?”

“Oh, um, I lived in a foster home before I came here.”

Hmph. No wonder.

“I’m not gonna be some fucking babysitter, kid. You can stay here for a night or two, just until that psycho ex of yours loses interest, okay? But then you have to go.”

“He won’t lose interest,” Sparrow whispers. He stands up and hobbles over to me, and my eyes widen when he gets down on his fucking knees . “He won’t give up until he’s got me. I can’t go back with him. Please. Please don’t make me go back.”

“If he’s that determined, how about just call the cops?”

“No,” he says, eyes pinched as he shakes his head. “Not the cops.”

I can respect that. The cops here in Springvale aren’t much to write home about, and a case like this—a lover’s quarrel with vague-to-nonexistent evidence? They’re unlikely to bother with it in the first place. Just like they didn’t bother with the girl who OD’d.

I’m ripped out of my thoughts when a small hand strokes my knee.

“I can suck your dick again,” Sparrow says, looking up at me with a pout on his pretty lips. “I’ll do it really well, I promise.”

“No,” I say gruffly and shove him away. I don’t put much strength into it, but Sparrow tips over and lands on his ass. He winces, and his expression shows more pain than I’d expect from a fall like that.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Everything I say comes out wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I sigh and drag a hand over my face. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“I’m not a kid, you know.”

I cock an eyebrow. “To me, you are. I’m old enough to be your dad.”

A flush creeps up his cheeks, and I allow myself a moment to revel in his embarrassment. It’s not just embarrassment though…There’s something else, something twisted and wanting. It ties a string around my heart and tugs me unwillingly forward. I shift in the chair, feeling the first stir of hardness between my legs. It’s disturbing, and it should be. Sparrow is too young to see the wrong in it, but I have no right to feel like this for this boy half my age. This broken boy who has no one to help him and no wits about him to know when he should run as far away as possible. He has no idea…No idea what I’m really like.

He seems to gather enough of his wits to get to his feet and rub his sleeve over his eyes, wiping away unshed tears. “I guess I’ll go, then.”

“Wait.”

Sparrow whips his head back to me, eyes filled with hope.

I’m about to regret this decision. I just know it. My mouth twitches, and I don’t meet his gaze as I mutter, “You can stay.”

“Really?” He shines up with the sweetest smile of relief.

“But you’re sleeping on the couch.”

No need to tempt myself if I can avoid it. I had a hard enough time keeping my hands off him during the night, and multiple nights? I don’t trust him not to initiate something I won’t be able to resist.

“Oh.” His gaze falls. “All right. As long as I can stay with you.”

I grunt in reply and turn away from him to escape the look of that eternally grateful smile. It’s not like I’m doing him that big of a favor, but with the way he looks at me, you’d have thought I hung the moon.

I get out my first-aid kit, and as I clean the cut on his cheek, he’s obviously trying to hide his discomfort. When I’ve put on a Band-Aid, however, his grateful smile returns.

“Thank you, Louis,” he whispers.

Again, I give a wordless grunt in reply. After I’ve gotten the couch ready for him with bedsheets and a spare blanket, I turn to the bathroom to brush my teeth. All in all, the situation feels odd and unfamiliar. Except for yesterday, I can’t remember the last time I had a guest. I usually throw out the guys I bring home to fuck before they have a chance to ask to stay over.

“Louis,” Sparrow calls out.

“What?” Without turning to face him, I stop in the doorway to the bedroom.

“Could I have uh … a hug?”

When I turn around, he’s got his arms around himself as if he’s cold. Seems like my huge shirt isn’t keeping him warm enough. Doubt a hug will help much, but since he’s been through a lot tonight, I guess I’ll humor him.

“Fine. Come here, then.”

His feet pad over the floor, and face level with my chest, he leans into me. He wraps his arms around my waist, and I sling mine around his shoulders, holding his thin body. He sinks into me with a trembling sigh as the tension bleeds out of him.

“Thank you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know what to say, period.

“I just…I’m not good with sleeping alone,” he mumbles.

“You’re not alone; I’m right here, on the other side of this wall.”

“Could you keep the door open, please?”

“Okay.” Before we part, I’m unable to keep myself from inhaling the scent of his hair. He smells of rain, cheap drugstore shampoo, and a sharp tinge of anxious sweat. In this moment, I wish I could do more for him. I wish I could clutch him tighter and tell him everything will be all right—that nothing can touch him here, that I’ll protect him.

But I can’t. The very thought makes something dark rise in my chest, squeezing my heart with all its might.

I lean away from him. He reluctantly lets go of me, and we say our good nights. It takes a long time before I fall asleep though. Doesn’t help that I can hear the sheets rustle in the living room. I think of him out there, alone and scared on the couch with the rain patting the window, his panicked eyes looking for threats from whatever corners they may come.

I remember another boy just like him, with the same huge blue eyes and the same skittish demeanor, and I turn around and put my earplugs in, squeezing my eyes shut tight.