say it out loud.
But I feel it. Everywhere.
I feel on edge and jumpy, even if beating the shit out of Herrington was slightly satisfying. I’m angry that he showed up here in the first place and that the prick wasn’t scared when he left. I held back. I wanted to kill him.
Maybe if Blair and Bree weren’t right there, I would have.
I flex my swollen fingers as Bree sits on the couch next to Rhett, staring at her phone, worry in her eyes. She didn’t seem frightened about Herrington coming back, but the fact that Fletcher hasn’t showed up yet is definitely worrying her.
“I’m sure he’s okay.” I try to offer comfort before her wide, blue eyes lift and meet my stare.
“He wouldn’t just ignore me.”
Rhett shrugs, I think trying to make her feel better too. “Eh, he ignores me.”
“That’s because he doesn’t really like you,” Bree teases.
“Do you want me to take you over there?” I offer. My hand hurts like a motherfucker, and I really just want to go upstairs and get lost in Blair, but the concern on Bree’s face is too much.
“You’ll do that?” Damn it. She looks too hopeful.
I look over at Blair, who’s already standing up from the couch. “Let’s all go.”
Rhett and Bree share a look, a secretive gaze between the two of them, and then Bree looks over at me. “He won’t like us just showing up at his foster home.”
Blair swings her designer bag over her shoulder. “I’ve already been there.”
Rhett looks slightly annoyed, maybe a little embarrassed when she reminds them that she tracked down his and Fletcher’s foster homes. Neither is in a great area.
“Come on. Let’s go,” I say, guiding them toward the door and out to my car.
When we pull up to the shabby neighborhood, poorly-lit and rundown, the first thing I see is Fletcher sitting on the cement stairs in front of a house. Damn it.
“Oh no.” Bree’s voice is quiet as she looks out the window at her friend.
It’s cold out here, and the kid is only wearing a t-shirt and jeans with holes in them. I can see his breath in the light cast from the moon. “I’ll be right back,” I say as I'm already pushing the door open, but of course my little pain in the ass, Bree, is already out of the car before I slam my door shut.
We both walk up to Fletcher, leaving Rhett and Blair in the car. The kid is looking down at his feet and grumbles quietly, “Just go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Bree sounds far too much like Blair when she says that and takes a seat right next to him on the stoop.
“Bree. You’re such a pain.”
I stand in front of them both. “You okay?”
He waves me off. “I’m fine. Just go.”
“Let’s see,” Bree says it like they’ve been through this scenario before, and I struggle with my own demons as Fletcher raises his eyes to meet hers, showing off the shiner and split lip.
I wish I was surprised. I wish this sight, a twelve-year-old, skinny kid with bruises and blood on his face, was jarring to me. But it’s not.
“God damn it,” I seethe.
I see the tears form in Bree’s eyes as she swipes her thumb gently over his swollen eyes. He hisses, but he doesn’t push her away. “I’m okay, Bree.”
She shakes her head. “You’re not. You’re not at all.” She looks over at me, and somehow that one look fills me with pride. She looks to me for help. I guarantee you this kid doesn’t like asking for help, but she knows she can come to me.
“We’re leaving,” I say, and Fletcher nods his head, wiping at his nose, and I see the blood on his hand.
“Good. I’ll be okay.”
I shake my head. “No.” I gesture to Bree, him, and me. “We’re all going.”
He looks up at me, dark, intense eyes, jaded and already so damn tired at his age. “He’ll kill me. It’s past nine.”
“He’s not going to touch you.” I look back at the car and see Blair’s intense eyes prodding me for an answer, wanting to jump in herself, and then I look back at Fletcher. “We’re going to the cops.”
“What?” He stands up suddenly, shaking his head. “No. No, I won’t do that.”
“You have to, kid.” I place my hand on my chest. “Believe me. You have to. You don’t deserve this.”
“They won’t believe me anyway.”
I point at his face. “Kind of hard to deny if we