“Fuck no.” Shane glares at no-one in particular, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “He’s telling the truth, Zane, you got to believe him. Believe us.”
“What happened the night you two got arrested?”
“That night his mom called him, told him to come by. Seth had threatened to call the cops on her, and she said she’d throw out the drugs, change her life around.” Shane glances sideways at Zane. “Seth’s a good guy. Still loves his mom. Thought she was honest. She had it all thought out. Beat Seth down, left enough drugs to put him behind bars for almost a year. He was so badly hurt he’s lucky I went looking for him.” He shrugs. “I never regretted it.”
Zane pats Shane’s back, his eyes pensive. “Yeah.”
Although it’s not long past midday, the day is dark, the drizzle persistent. The alley Shane leads us into is narrow and dank, filled with a disconcerting mixture of smells—the stench of trash and the delicious aroma of grilled meat and vegetables in sauce from the restaurant kitchens opening into it. Huge dumpsters rise in regular intervals, like hunched over giants in the gloom and the drizzle.
At first I can’t see him anywhere, and I start to panic.
“He’s not here,” I whisper, wrapping myself more tightly in my coat. “Shit, Shane, he’s not—”
“He’s here.” Shane strides ahead, pushing back the hood of his jacket, and crouches beside what I’d taken to be a pile of old rags. “Seth!”
I don’t know when I start running, but suddenly we’re all kneeling in the rain, around Seth.
Seth, oh God. He doesn’t react at first when Shane shakes him, his head rolling back. He’s wrapped up in a quilt, and despite the fact he’s holed up under a fire escape, he’s soaked through.
“Something’s wrong,” Shane says.
He’s right. Something’s off. Seth’s cheeks are flushed, warm to the touch, where I expected them to be ice-cold.
Fever? I put my hand on his shoulder, and he cries out, a strangled sound. His eyes glitter as they open.
“Jesus.” I help Shane to sit him up, careful not to touch his shoulder again. Through his soaked jacket, it looks odd, lower than the other one. “Is his shoulder dislocated?”
Shane curses. “When I punched him, he fell. He seemed to be in pain, but I never thought… Fuck.”
And he’s feverish. No idea if it’s connected or not, but I don’t like it.
Don’t like it one bit. The fact he’s out here alone, that he thought he couldn’t turn to any of us for help. To me. That he’s hurt and sick and that we only found out he was out here by chance.
What if I hadn’t met with Zane and Rafe? What if we hadn’t seen his stuff in the dumpster and gone to talk to the landlord?
“I’ll get your car, park it closer, so we can get him to the ER.” Zane gets to his feet. “Throw me your car keys.”
I’m grateful he doesn’t ask me to leave Seth for this. I throw him the keys, he catches them, then he and Rafe walk away.
I lean closer. “Seth?”
“My shoulder,” he whispers. Pain cuts white lines around his beautiful mouth. His teeth are chattering.
Shane’s face is a mask of regret. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize what happened.” He gets up, lifts his hands. “Just… sorry.”
Seth blinks dazedly after him. Tries to move, but hisses and flinches instead, clutching his arm over his stomach.
“I’ve got you.” I help him settle his arm in his lap, swallow hard. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll take care of you.”
His eyes lift, settling on me, heavy-lidded. Dark like outer space. “Manon?”
“I’m here.”
I watch his gaze slowly brighten. A faint smile curves his lips. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” Lifting my hand to his face, I cup his jaw. “That’s right. So glad I found you.”
His breath shudders.