Page 2 of Traces Of You

He could spot that look a mile away.

If there was one thing that all but gutted him, it was seeing someone in need and not being able to help.

“Hi, Ford,” she said when she glanced up.

He’d been casting a shadow on her for five seconds before she acknowledged him.

“Hi, Reenie.” He didn’t wait for her to say another word and sat down next to her. No one else was around, but there were plenty looking on.

The incident today wouldn’t happen again. He’d make sure of it.

His eyes traveled to the red marks on her knees where she’d fallen during their soccer game.

Not fallen. Been tripped on purpose, then had several of the girls laughing.

He’d raced over to help her up, but she’d brushed him off and continued playing as if she were the klutz and not been targeted.

He knew how the shit went down in his class. New kid always got the brunt of crap if they didn’t have the courage to speak up.

Reenie barely said a word.

“How come you’re sitting by me?” she asked, looking at everyone else but him.

“Because I like you,” he said.

She turned her head to him. Her brown eyes were wide and innocent, her mouth open slightly, her hair blowing around her face in the late September breeze.

“Why?”

He laughed. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“No one else does,” she said.

She was crumpling her brown bag that had held her lunch. He reached his hand over. “I’ll take it.”

She hesitated before she put it in his hand. Then he got up, strutted to the trash bin a few yards away, and dropped it in.

“Thanks,” she said when he returned.

Ford sent her a cocky shrug and smirk that resulted in a tentative smile from her.

She lifted her hand to push her hair behind her ear and the sleeve of her sweatshirt moved on her arm. The minute it did, he noticed the marks, faint but unmistakable. She always had long sleeves on, even with shorts, like now.

“Is that from today?” he asked, touching her arm.

She yanked it back to her lap and tugged the sleeve down in one sharp motion. Her fingers fidgeted, pulling and twisting the fabric as if willing it to hide more than it ever could.

“No,” she blurted.

He reached for her hand, his much larger one covering hers as gently as he could. If there were more eyes on them, he didn’t give one shit. This was about her and what might be going on that she was intent on hiding.

“What happened?” His fingers moved the sleeve up as softly as he did reaching in to get the eggs from the hens in the morning. Speed wasn’t always the name of the game; earning trust was.

“Nothing.” She jerked her arm away and pulled the sleeve back in place.

“It looks as if someone grabbed you.”

There were five bruises. Five fingers.Adultfingers that left that mark.