Page 2 of Damaged

“Do you need a ride?” I blurted.

God, Dalton, could you sound any more like a serial killer?

The kid just shook his head and pushed past me, clearly intent on continuing his walk rather than waiting beneath the overpass until the worst of the weather had passed. Even if I wanted to catch up to him, I wouldn’t have been able to. Not with my body already screaming in protest. Usually, I was good about staying ahead of the worst of the pain by taking my meds at scheduled times throughout the day, but the funeral had kind of fucked all that up. It wasn’t just the physical pain of being on my feet for so long; being around all those people had messed with my head more than I wanted to admit. I’d been constantly scanning my surroundings for any potential threat even though the logical part of my brain had known there wouldn’t be any.

Sadly, the different parts of my brain didn’t always come to agreement on things.

“You were at Maggie’s funeral,” I called just before the kid reached the end of the overpass. A few more steps and he’d be drenched even more—not that he could really get any more drenched. I’d heard his shoes squishing as he’d walked past me.

Luckily, my words had him stopping in his tracks.

“We met,” I continued. “Although met probably isn’t the right word for it.”

The kid turned around. His previously rumpled hair was plastered across his forehead but there was no mistaking those eyes—or the bruises that covered most of his pale skin. It was definitely him.

“How did you know Maggie?” he asked, his voice hard to hear over the din of the pounding rain.

“I didn’t,” I admitted. “I’m friends with Jace. We were in the army together.”

The guy didn’t move even a little bit. I could practically feel the suspicion wafting off him.

“What’s the baby’s name?” he asked. I was sure I heard his voice crack a little when he said “baby.”

Even though there hadn’t been a baby at the funeral, I knew exactly what he was talking about.

It was a test.

One I needed to pass if I had any hope of getting him in the car. Although I couldn’t give two shits about the kid’s life, I figured he was important to Jace if he was at the funeral.

“Her name is Willa,” I began. “She’s Maggie’s daughter. Maggie died trying to escape with Willa…”

I paused as several things clicked together in my brain.

“You’re the one,” I said softly.

The kid didn’t answer me, but I wasn’t really expecting him to.

“Maggie died trying to get Willa to safety, so someone else had to get the baby to Jace,” I murmured.

He didn’t confirm or deny the statement. Jace hadn’t specifically mentioned that the kid with the silver eyes had been the one to save the infant or witness her mother’s murder, but it was the only thing that made sense.

“Maggie named the baby Willa after Jace’s and her grandmother,” I added.

The kid stood there for a long time, his gaze shifting between the pouring rain and my SUV. He had his arms wrapped around himself as if trying to self-soothe his shivering body. I told myself I didn’t give a shit one way or the other what his answer would be, but my internal lie detector was pinging big-time.

It’s for Jace.

I nearly laughed out loud at that. Jace was my best friend, but right now that fact was taking a back seat when it came to the young man standing before me, his body shaking violently, and his face covered in angry bruises.

And those eyes… so filled with mistrust and indecision.

Get back in the car, Dalton. Get back in the fucking car, call Jace and tell him about the kid, and then it’s done. Not your problem.

My body refused the order and this time it had nothing to do with physical pain. In fact, I was holding my breath in anticipation of what the kid might say.

“I’m not going back there,” the young man responded, his voice full of defiance. He might have looked broken down, but he clearly had a lot of fight left in him. God, what had he seen and done in his young life to have such need for a strong backbone? And if I was right about him being the one who’d saved Maggie’s newborn from the very man who’d killed the child’s mother, his courage could easily rival most of the men I’d served with.

“Okay,” I said simply.

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