Renegade Path

“I’m sorry I stopped answering them,” he continued. “I couldn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just so happy you’re here now.” I was ready to come out of my skin with excitement. I wanted to do everything at once—hug him, kiss him, feed him, shower him with love to make up for all the time we’d missed and to ease whatever had left him with anguish in his eyes.

“How’d you get here?”

“Ms. Simpson gave me a lift.”

“Hmm.” I had opinions about his caseworker but I kept them to myself.

I gently touched his lip. “Did anyone take care of this?”

He snorted.

I didn’t know how to reach this hollowed-out version of my boyfriend. It was as if all the sweet parts had been scooped out of him while he was away. I wanted to fill those empty spots with love again but didn’t know how.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Starving.” He glanced down. “But I really want to take a shower.”

“Okay.” I loosely grasped his hand.

He picked up his backpack and kicked off his boots, wiggling his toes before following me upstairs.

In the bathroom, he hesitated, leaning against the sink. I hurried to the linen closet in the hallway and gathered a set of fresh towels, a bottle of bodywash, a razor and a toothbrush.

Happy I felt like I was doing something for him, I returned to the bathroom.

With his back to the door, he stripped off his shirt.

Bruises. Welts. Burns.

His broad back and upper arms were covered in ugly marks.

A strangled cry burst past my lips. The towels and supplies landed at my feet as I slapped my hands over my mouth. “Roman,” I gasped. “What happened to you?”

Slowly, he turned around and stared at me. The deadness in his eyes chilled my blood.

“Who hurt you?” Anger bubbled inside me. I’d talk to Mr. Porter and see if there was anything we could do. Whoever hurt Roman should pay. I wanted to wrap my hands around a baseball bat and find the person myself.

“Someday.” He swallowed hard and turned, glancing at himself in the mirror briefly. “I promise, I’ll tell you. But right now—”

“Okay. Of course. I’m sorry.” I bent over and picked up the stuff I’d dropped and set everything on the counter. “I didn’t know what you might want to use.” I picked up the bottle of Cyprus-scented bodywash. “I got this for you a couple of weeks ago. Hoping you’d…well, I figured you wouldn’t want to use my roses and vanilla wash…so…” It seemed so stupid now. He was away being tortured and I was worried about what soap scent he might like.

But for the first time, his lips curved into a smile that reached his eyes. He eased the bottle out of my hands, rubbing his finger over my knuckles. “You were thinking of me? Like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Thank you.”

We stood there staring at each other and I sensed he wouldn’t finish until I left. “I, uh, I’ll go start dinner.” I swirled my hands in front of the medicine cabinet. “Use whatever you want. If there’s something you need that’s not here, we can go out and grab it.” I backed out the door.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

He closed the door behind me.

The sound of the lock clicking into place rang like a gunshot.

I stood there staring at it for a second before heading downstairs. My mind was a jumble of anxiety, unable to sort through any of my thoughts or emotions. I headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

The house had come with a treasure trove of recipe books from Mrs. Shields. Without Roman around, I’d been afraid to go anywhere besides school, the grocery store, and the house. I didn’t even want to invite Vienna over too often, in case her parents started asking questions about why I was living here by myself. All the alone time allowed me to concentrate on schoolwork and plow through the cookbooks. Sometimes, I invited Dex over for dinner. Often, I’d pack the leftovers and bring them to school for Pip. I liked to think Mrs. Shields would be delighted to know how much Pip loved the banana nut muffins I made from one of her handwritten recipes.

I didn’t have a lot of food in the house. Tomorrow, we’d have to run to the grocery store. I peered in the refrigerator and pulled out a package of ground beef. Next, I put a large pot of water on the stove to boil. Spaghetti with meat sauce was something I could easily make. It should be filling and leave us with enough for tomorrow’s lunch.

I was in the middle of browning the meat when Roman appeared in the archway.

“Hey,” he rasped.

I lowered the flame on the meat and covered the pan. “Feel better?” What a dumb question. He was bruised from his neck to his waist. A shower couldn’t fix that.