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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

COLLINS

I n the end, Kendra stayed and watched the first two Alien movies and used up her “entire weeks’ worth of snack allowance”—her words, not mine—in nailing all of my popcorn stash, which was sizable. I told her now that she was engaged, she’d entered the “comfortable” phase in her and Jack’s relationship, which earned me a death stare.

Since I’m working all hours God sends and I now have depleted cupboards, I’m pulling on my boots, getting ready to go to the store, when my intercom buzzes for a second time.

“There’s no more popcorn left, Babe. Go home and eat your own stash,” I say into the speaker, convinced it can only be one person.

“Collins? It’s Ezra.”

I pause on grabbing my bag and jacket from the stand by the door and immediately buzz to let him up.

I swing my front door open and head down the first flight of stairs. I’m partway down when he comes into view. Dressed in his red uniform for the private school Sawyer once told me he attends, he has a heavy duffel bag hanging off his shoulder.

“Hey,” I say, stopping just a few steps above him.

His green eyes crease with a smile. “Do you live in the penthouse?” he asks.

I drop down a couple more steps until we’re at the same height. “This isn’t the type of building to have a penthouse,” I reply, a touch of confusion in my voice, wondering why he’s here.

Ezra looks around the stairwell, casting his eyes across the exposed brick that’s also featured in my apartment.

He adjusts the heavy bag—which is no doubt piled with books—and I reach out and lift it off him.

He rolls his shoulder back in relief. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Okay … but let me ask you one first, if that’s all right.”

“Shoot.”

Just as he reaches out to take his bag back, I loop it over my shoulder, the weight almost toppling me backward. He definitely has his dad’s strength.

“I’ve worked out how you found where I lived since I had shown you that time you came over to my garage. What’s got me puzzled though is, how did you get here?”

Eyebrows pulled together, he chews nervously on his bottom lip, scuffing the floor lightly with his shoe. “I got a ride.”

I rear back a little, studying him carefully. He’s trying to hide something, and he isn’t a great liar. Another characteristic we share.

Neither of us speaks, and I’m determined not to be the first one to break the silence. Despite having zero experience with kids, I have very vivid memories of my own childhood. When I was Ezra’s age, I was stubborn. Everything my parents and grandparents did was for my own good, yet I was convinced they were actively working against me. I don’t necessarily see the same level of defiance in Ezra, though I can tell he’s holding out on me.

His face turns sheepish. “Promise you won’t tell Dad?”

“Ezra”—I shift the heavy duffel bag up my shoulder—“I can’t withhold things from Sawyer—you know that. Although I am worried about what you’re not telling me.”

He looks off to the side and then down at the floor again.

I duck down a little, attempting to capture his attention. “Ezra?”

“One of the eleventh graders from the high school has a motorcycle, and he offered me a ride on it the other week, but Dad was picking me up. Then, today, after school, he offered again.”

His eyes flare when he looks at me and no doubt registers the horror on my face. “But he has his license and everything, and he didn’t go fast,” he rushes out. “Alyssa and Dom said I could ride the bus home today, and when Carter offered, I figured it was okay?” He ends his little speech on a question, clearly seeking my approval.

I can’t give it to him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint a single emotion as so many of them trickle down my spine when I think about Ezra getting on the back of a teenager’s bike and riding across Brooklyn. Fear, dread, anger toward Carter—who should have known better. Crushing panic takes hold, weighing so heavily that the bag on my shoulder suddenly feels lighter than air.

I introduced him to bikes; I took him out on one. Did I not do my job correctly and make it clear that while riding was fun, it was also incredibly dangerous, especially when the person you were with wasn’t experienced or careful?

I crane my neck to look behind him, feigning to search for something. “Where are your leathers and helmet? Or did you hand those back to Carter when he dropped you off?”

Ezra flushes—hard.

Again, we fall into silence, and this time, I don’t need him to speak. I already know the answer to my question.

“If you want a ride back from school one day, I can come get you, okay? Just …” I trail off, not wanting to ream the kid out and embarrass or shame him. “Getting on bikes without the proper protection is really unwise.”

He nods and reverts back to chewing on his lip. “Dad’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

I smirk. “I’ll be careful with how I deliver it, and I’ll make sure to tell him you know the score now.”

Right at that moment, I hear Ezra’s bag vibrate.

“Damn, I bet that’s Grandma or Grandpa asking where I am.”

Pulling the duffel off my shoulder, I unzip the front pocket and check the screen, handing the vibrating cell out to him. “It’s Alyssa.”

He shakes his head profusely, motioning to me. “Can you speak to her? Say I’m with you. I’m less likely to get into shit that way.”

I quirk a brow at his language and hit Accept.

“Hey, it’s Collins. Ezra’s with me.”

“Collins?” Alyssa says, understandably sounding surprised.

“Yeah, Ezra just turned up at my place.”

“Why? Wait, how did he get there?” she asks, sounding more and more frantic.

Ezra’s eyes bug out, a pleading look not to tell her anything. He obviously heard what she said.

Right or wrong, I offer Ezra a reprieve. “He got a different bus after school and stopped by my place to say hi.”

Pulling back my jacket sleeve, I check the time. “I have to do some grocery shopping, but I can take Ezra with me and …” I look up at the twelve-year-old boy, who’s anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “And we can go for pizza and drop him back at your house later this afternoon. If that works?”

The grin that breaks out over his face could brighten even the cloudiest December day.

“Are you sure?” Alyssa asks.

“Yeah, more than happy to do that, and I promise, this time, it won’t involve jelly beans.”

She snorts a laugh, the sound reassuring, maybe even accepting, and for the second time today, I like the way it feels.

“Okay, well, tell him to be good, and we’ll see you a little later when you bring him home.”

* * *

“There’s no way you’re going to—oh no. My bad,” I say, watching Ezra sink the largest slice of thin crust I’ve ever seen.

“Thishh is weally, weally gwood.” He points to his insanely full mouth before finally swallowing. “Pepperoni is king.”

“No kidding,” I reply, hands clasped under my chin, a wry smile plastered to my face.

I never met Sophie, although I know what she looks like from pictures posted on the internet. I see a lot of Ezra in her—his smile, for one, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. However, Ezra’s mannerisms remind me so much of Sawyer. From the cocky way his lips tip up when he goads you to his tendency to flush at the tiniest thing.

I’m not a huge fan of hockey, but it’s common knowledge that Sawyer Bryce carries a reputation as the grumpy Blades captain. At first, I thought that was his whole self, that the persona the media portrayed was an accurate representation of the man off the ice.

I couldn’t have been more wrong, and when Ezra smiles, the similarity I see between Sawyer and his son proves that point entirely.

Ezra motions to my plate. “Are you going to eat that slice?”

“Probably not.” I push it toward him, and he immediately folds it in half, sitting back in the booth and devouring it in a couple of bites. “I’m saving myself for ice cream.”

He stops chewing. “Ice cream? Dad always says if you don’t finish your meal, you can’t be hungry enough for dessert.”

Reaching across, I snap up a menu from the end of the table and flip to the ice cream sundae page. I’ve been to this place a lot since I moved here—before now, only ever on my own—and I know the ice cream here is the best in town.

“Yeah, well, when it comes to treats, what your dad doesn’t know can’t hurt him …” I flick my eyes up to Ezra as he finishes a final bite of pizza. “Right?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Five minutes later and with dessert on the way, I realize Ezra never asked me the question he had when he showed up at my place.

Picking up my soda, I take a sip and set it back down. “What was it you wanted to ask me earlier?”

He takes a pull on his strawberry shake. Memories of when we met back at Rise Up flush a comforting feeling through me. I guess it was the first time he discovered bikes, and maybe it was the start of a lifelong passion for him.

“Dad said he would talk to you when he got home, but I didn’t believe him. So, I came over to ask you myself.”

I’ve got to hand it to this kid; he’s direct, and he knows what he wants. Add it to our list of commonalities.

“Go ahead,” I instruct, feeling a little nervous about what’s coming.

He releases a long sigh as two identical chocolate sundaes—topped with whipped cream, Oreos, a wafer and sliced cherries—are set down in front of us.

Ezra doesn’t move to grab his ice cream, choosing to focus on me instead. “The holidays are right around the corner, and I was wondering if I could come to your garage and we could detail your bike.” He twists his hands together on the table, lips following suit. “Alyssa and Dom normally cook dinner, and then we play board games. I don’t know if you’re seeing your family, although I kind of got the idea that maybe you don’t have a whole lot of people, like we don’t. Christmas is fun and all, but I think it would be better if we?—”

“I’d love to,” I softly interrupt his rambling. It took me exactly zero-point-two seconds to accept his invitation since it didn’t need any thought. Detailing my bike on Christmas, with Ezra, sounds like the best way to spend the day I generally don’t bother celebrating since I’m nearly always alone.

“For real?!”

I nod and smile. “Sure. Why not?”

He snaps his fingers, delighted. “All right! You could come back for dinner afterward.”

I wince, not wanting to overstep. “Well, yeah, maybe. Let me check with your dad.”

He waves a hand in front of his face, like that’s the craziest idea he’s ever heard. “Eh, he’s desperate to see you. Probably kiss you too.”

With a wafer halfway in my mouth, I practically choke on it.

Ezra balks at my reaction. “What? I already told you he likes you.” He taps his pointer finger against his temple, leaning toward me. “I can tell when a boy likes a girl.”

Feeling more than uncomfortable, I seize the opportunity to turn it around, leaning forward myself. “Oh, yeah? And are there any girls you like?”

A Sawyer-style flush paints his freckled cheeks. “No!”

Satisfied that there is, in fact, a girl he likes, I push his sundae toward him, a smug grin all over my face. “Okay, I definitely believe you. Now, eat up so I can get to the store and then drop you home before I land myself in trouble with your grandparents for keeping you out too long.”