Page 67 of Amber Gambler

“I need to stop for gas.” Carter’s diversion was welcome. “Frankie, can I get you anything?”

“Hold on.” I couldn’t stand to be alone with Harrow while I was this raw. “I’ll go with you.”

“No.” She tugged on her door handle. “I think you should stay.”

Her pointed gaze slid over my shoulder, lingered, then returned to me, but I didn’t notice anything when I turned my head. Since arguing would only draw attention to the not-wanting-to-be-alone-with-Harrow thing, I slumped back in defeat.

Carter got out, shaking her head, leaving Harrow and me to stew.

“You had an Ian, when you were younger.”

Of course, he had picked up the gauntlet I hadn’t meant to throw down. “I did.”

“He beat you when you stepped out of line.” He thought about it. “Or threatened to evict your siblings.”

“Yes,” I croaked, hating how well he knew me when I was no longer sure the reverse was true.

“I’m not judging you.”

For my own good or as a byproduct of his upbringing, Harrow had judged me from the moment we met. The comfortable life he had led up until our worlds collided hadn’t prepared him for someone like me, with dirt under her nails, days-old clothes on her back, and a willingness to beg if it kept Josie and Matty fed.

He told me once he admired my bravery for standing in those food-bank lines, enduring the judgment from every person in the room—some of them in line ahead or behind me—waiting on the free supplies to get us through to the next week. I told him then it wasn’t bravery. It was necessity.

I would have let them pelt me with rocks if it meant leaving with those pantry staples.

To stand and be judged by people who had no idea who I was or who I was providing for?

That was nothing compared to the fear of reaching the head of the line to find the bags ran out early.

A squeak and thump from the bed of the truck spared me from absolving him, but it made me curious what Carter had known that neither one of us had noticed until now.

“What was that?” I twisted sideways to peer through the glass. “I don’t see anything.”

“The bed was empty when Carter picked me up, and we’ve been together ever since.”

As soon as my fingers closed over the handle to my door, a dirty face popped into view. “Little.”

That solved one mystery, though Carter must have thought I was as dense as brick to miss her cue.

Based on Little’s reaction to my skill set at the house, Carter must have figured the girl’s interest was in me. Carter had been telling me to chill while she waited to see if the girl would approach given a chance.

The kid was brave. I would give her that. Brave to the point of recklessness.

“Frankie?” Harrow unfastened his seat belt slowly. “How do you want to play this?”

“She wants to talk.” I recognized the desperation a mile away. “No sudden movements, all right?”

I figured lowering the window would be the action least likely to send her scurrying away, so I tried that. Even the most determined kid could lose their nerve at the last minute, and I wanted to hear what she’d deemed was worth more punishment if she got caught to tell me. Or ask me. Maybe a little of both.

“Hi there.” I held very still so as not to startle her. “You’re Little, right?”

“You’re a street kid.” Her eyes brightened. “Like me.”

My what big ears you have…

“I have my own apartment now.” I smiled at her wonder. “I don’t even have to share it.” As she marveled at the concept, as I had known she would, my heart broke. “I bet you will too. You can be anything you want when you grow up, you know that?”

“I can’t read.” Her hands left dirty prints. “Ian says I can’t live by myself if I don’t learn.”

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