Page 100 of Fire Fight

The downstairs lights don’t cast enough glow to see much beyond his shape. One hand rests on the wall, sliding along with each step, like he’s using it for guidance or balance.

“Are you okay?”

He jumps a little at the noise, face glowing with sweat as he turns and shakes his head. When he takes his hand off the wall, he gently sways on his feet. “I’m fine. Go to bed.”

“Did Arnold—”

He straightens as he walks into his bedroom, gently swinging the door closed.

Leave it.

He doesn’t want your help.

My heart thumps louder and louder as I shift my weight, tugging at the hem of my sleep shirt. I hear a soft curse and can’t stand it a second longer, flying across the hallway to open his door. Not bothering to knock because I wouldn’t respect his answer if he told me to stay away.

“Drake?”

He’s turned away from me and I slap a hand over my mouth, eyes wide. His back is raw, crisscrossed with thick wells from a belt or strap. The edge of one mark is deep enough to ooze blood.

“Sit,” I order, grabbing his arm when he looks set to fall and guiding him to the edge of the bed. “I’ll just...”

I don’t finish, rushing for my bathroom, pulling supplies from the shelves and hurrying back.

“It looks worse than it is,” he murmurs. “Don’t fuss.”

“We need to call the police.” I clean the deepest wound, nearly crying as I get a better look at the damage. “No one’s allowed to treat you like this. He’s really hurt you.”

“We can’t.”

I don’t answer, concentrating as I apply an antibacterial spray, then apply a nonstick gauze, securing it with tape.

Drake reaches behind to clutch my hand, turning even though the movement must hurt him. “Promise me you won’t. He has friends in the force. If you try to report him, they’ll tell, and he’ll punish you.” He squeezes my hand. “Promise me.”

I don’t want to promise any such thing. Arnold is a rich, middle-aged man, not some invincible god.

But his expression is twisted with worry, and I don’t want to make things worse for him. “Okay, I promise.”

He relaxes as I clean the rest of his wounds, then help him into bed. “Please stay,” he says when I go to leave. “I know you’re mad at me but—”

“I’m upset, not mad,” I say, carefully fitting myself next to him. He’s on his side and I face him, careful not to touch, but he scoops me closer until I’m snug against his chest, head tucked under his chin.

“And what’s the difference?”

“It doesn’t matter. Not now.” I place my palm over his heart, closing my eyes to better feel the vibrations. “Has Arnold hurt you before? Is that why you sleep in your car?”

His voice is cautious. “One reason. It’s hard to like a man who sends a lawyer to school instead of responding himself.”

I instantly know what he’s referring to. “Maybe he thought a lawyer would be better.”

“He didn’t care what happened to me. The man was to ensure nothing reflected poorly on Arnold. He could easily have sent me to a shrink but punished me instead.” His chest rumbles with asoft laugh. “And that was the day after I first met him. That plus the constant threat of being sent away again got tiresome.”

“We made things worse for you, didn’t we?”

His expression is confused as he disentangles from me. “No, you—” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “It’s actually nice to have other people in the house.”

“If you want, I can come with you to the school counsellor. We could—”

But he’s already shaking his head. “No, thanks. And I strongly suggest you avoid taking your own advice. Anything that happens in Ashcroft gets back to him. The counsellor probably has his number on speed dial.”

---