Hard Road (The Untouchables MC 4)

“Yeah. Okay.”

Fuck, I thought I was quiet. This kid barely talked. He could give Cain a run for his money in the silence department.

“You want to watch TV? I got more soup to go from the diner.”

He held up the bag.

“Cool. Okay if I wash this?”

I nodded and pointed toward the mudroom door.

“Through there. I’ll find you a cap.”

If the kid wanted to wear a cap, I’d get him one. I knew only too well that trauma made people do quirky things. I had a few good luck charms myself, some odd habits, like kissing the cross I wore around my neck every time I rode out or tried a particularly crazy stunt. Not that I was religious. But the cross had belonged to my mother and I was superstitious about it.

They had kept me alive so far.

I went into my bedroom and reached into my closet. Up top I had a couple of old caps I used to use for fishing or running. I even had a cap from the two years I’d attended college. They were clean but beat up. My hand closed over one more and I pulled it down.

It was Billy’s. I stared at that damn cap. It was blue. The same blue as the kid’s eyes. The same blue as Billy’s eyes.

I exhaled and put the cap back into my closet. I’d almost given it to the kid. Billy would have approved. Maybe if he sticks around, I will, I decided.

I grabbed a plain green wool cap with my college logo on it. Hopefully, the kid wouldn’t know what the hell it meant. I carried it to the mudroom and handed it over. The kid was still measuring soap out.

He looked at the hat and back at me with an incredulous look in his eyes. I noticed how long his lashes were for what felt like the fiftieth time.

“You know somebody at Rhode Island School of Design?”

“No, man. I don’t know where I got that.”

How the fuck had the kid known that? He must be from a well-off family. Or a good student. Had been, I corrected myself. He didn’t have a family or a future, from where I stood.

“It’s a good school,” he said wistfully.

Fuck, man, this kid was breaking my heart.

“You like art?”

He shrugged and I decided not to push it.

“You want some soup?”

“Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

It was obvious he wanted to change his cap with me out of the room. I wondered why the kid was so weird about it. I shrugged and left him alone. I was usually drunk at the clubhouse at this hour. Or trying to figure out who the fuck was doing Dante’s dirty work posthumously. Or riding back roads way too fast for the hell of it. I had no fucking clue what to do with myself.

I pretty much only came home to sleep.

I turned on the TV and collapsed on the couch. It was old and creaky, but somehow, it was still comfortable as hell. All except for one spot with a crazy spring I had learned to avoid but was too lazy to fix. They didn’t make modern things like they used to.

The kid came out as I was flipping through channels. I was struck again by how feminine the kid was. The cap looked good on him. And without all the dirt, his skin looked flawless.

Poor kid must wear that dirt like armor. He looks like a girl without it. A pretty one. That’s dangerous on the streets.

“Soup’s on the counter.”

I deliberately didn’t watch him as he grabbed the soup and one of the plastic spoons. I didn’t want to spook the kid. I’d gotten five cartons of soup, which was probably overkill.

“These all different?”

“Yeah. I think there’s two chickens, a vegetable barley, tomato, and clam.”

The kid pulled a face at the clam chowder, and I laughed.

Fuck, when was the last time I laughed?

It’s been a long time, you fucker. Don’t forget that this kid is not Billy. You are playing a dangerous game.

Fuck it though. Danger was my middle name.

I watched as he skirted the couch and perched in one of the easy chairs. His shoes were still off and he hoisted his legs up in front of him. Everything the kid was doing screamed ‘don’t touch me.’

I wondered what the fuck had happened to him.

We watched some action movie with The Rock, who was a total badass, as usual. The kid ate soup and I nursed a whiskey. I stretched out on the couch and felt a strange sense of contentment. We didn’t talk, but we laughed at the same parts and said shit like ‘whoa’ when The Rock did something particularly crazy.

The movie ended and I tossed him the remote.

“Watch if you want.”

He shook his head.

“I’m good.”

He looked tired as fuck.