“There was a knife?” I ask. I try to remember everything he’s telling me, and I wonder if I should be writing it all down.
His gaze snaps to mine. “It wasn’t mine,” he says. “It was his. He came at me with it, and I couldn’t stop him.” He lays a hand over his stomach. “He jabbed me with it. I pulled it out, and he jumped me and fell on it.” He’s openly sobbing now. “I swear to God that I didn’t want to kill him.”
I reach out and clasp his hand, squeezing hard, our thumbs crossed the way men shake hands. “It was an accident.”
“Do you think they’ll believe it?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. I don’t want to give him hope if there is none.
“I had plans, you know?” he says. He sniffles. “I wrote them down.”
Jesus Christ. This kid had plans.
“I wanted to be somebody my sister can be proud of. I wanted to be for her what no one was for me.”
“You can still have those things, Edward,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Will I go to prison?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say again.
“I don’t want to go to prison,” he says.
“We need to get you some tattoos,” I say. “Nobody f**ks with you in prison if you’re all tatted up.” I squeeze his hand. “I need for you to do me a favor,” I say.
“What?” he asks, his eyes wary.
“I need for you to remember that you’re just as important as your sister.”
“I’m not,” he starts.
I get in his face this time. I can only think back to when I used to call him Tic Tac in my head, and I realize what a disservice I did this kid. He’s better than that. He’s good on the inside, and I could try to be more like him. But I judged the outside, and I feel terrible about it. “You’re just as important as she is, and you never had anybody to fight for you.” I feel my eyes filling with tears, and I blink them back. “But you have somebody now, dummy. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“They told me my whole life that I’m not worth anything.”
“They lied,” I grit out. “They lied to make themselves feel better.” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s up to you if you believe them.” I let his hand go because holding it is getting awkward. “You’re pretty f**king amazing,” I say.
“My sister needs to go to a group home until I can get her out of foster care,” he says.
“We’ll talk to Phil and see if he can help.” I heave in a deep breath. “Don’t give up, okay?” I say.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Look what you’ve been through, Edward,” I say. “How many people could have survived it? You did. So, don’t throw it all away now. Have hope.”
“I can’t afford any hope.” He snorts. “That shit’s expensive.”
“Then you can have some of mine. Hell, you can have all the hope I have for you. Because there’s a whole f**king lot of it.”
“I never had anybody on my side before,” he says.
Phil and Mr. Caster walk into the room. Mr. Caster glares at me, and Phil looks curious. “The guy fell on the knife,” I say. “Edward didn’t do it on purpose.”
Mr. Caster pulls out a notepad and starts to write. He motions for Edward to continue, and he goes through the whole story while Reagan’s dad takes notes.
Phil claps a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you,” he says. “I really think you could be successful in this line of work.”
“I’m not sure I can take the heartache,” I admit.
“He sobbed like a baby,” Edward tosses out. He laughs and then clutches his side when it hurts.
“I didn’t sob,” I grumble. I point to his side. “And that’s what you get for being a smart-ass.”
“Better a smart-ass than a dumb-ass,” he says. I flip him the bird.
“I should get you home,” Phil says. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”
Shit. I almost forgot. I nod and clasp hands with Edward. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. He smiles and nods. Watching him is like watching a flower reach for the sun. It’s like Reagan’s tattoo.
“Mr. Caster,” I say, and I extend my hand. He takes it, albeit reluctantly. “It was good to see you again.”
“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me, Pete,” he says, and he grins. But there’s no mirth in it. It’s all warning.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sir,” I say.
Phil nods at me, and we walk out to the truck. My emotions are on overload, and I want to hit something. “What happened to Edward, that happens to a lot of kids?” I ask.
“More than you could imagine,” he says. “All variations of the same scene.” He looks up at me. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’d be good at this line of work.”
“I know. I’m thinking about it.” I don’t know if I want to be on the front lines the way he is. Or if I want to be a lawyer like Mr. Caster. I’m still deciding.
“Thanks for going with me,” he says.
“Anytime,” I toss back as he stops the truck, and I get out. I really want to go to Reagan’s, but with this damn tracking bracelet, I can’t. I don’t need to be there with her anyway. I’m too emotional right now. I could never be what she needs in this state.