Page 9 of Seeing Grayscale

FIVE

Thepassengerdoorshuts,and I stay outside the car, wondering if I made a huge mistake.

Admittedly, I don’t know the area, so while my stomach churns and bubbles, I quickly search for hotels on my phone.

This kidneedsa doctor. My original plan was to take him to the summer house my parents never use and ask Doctor Perry to treat him. Discretion is everything to my family, so I could’ve trusted Perry with this.

I don’t know if he’ll make the two-hour drive down here, though.

Settling on a hotel, I quickly return to the car and get in. The kid is sheet white, holding his middle and squeezing the top of his thigh. I blow out an unsteady breath, run my fingers through my hair, and get us turned around. I let him sit silently for a few minutes before trying again to learn his name.

“I’m Hunter,” I tell him.

“Why are you doing this?” he snaps, glaring daggers into the side of my face.

We come to a red light, and I slowly face him. His labored breaths are worse, sweat drips from his temples, and that swollen eye looks darker. “I know you’re used to being overlooked, but I couldn’t.”

He frowns, but not with anger. “What are you? A philanthropist?”

“Hardly,” I say with a scoff. I can’t help it. “Though, I am trying to do the right thing here. Even if no one else will.” The light changes, and I tap the gas.

“So you’re trying out your hand at picking up homeless dudes?”

“Dude,” I correct him, and he snorts. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” My dad would flip the fuck out if he knew.

“I can’t make sense of it. First the money, now this?” His head shakes as he sinks into the seat. “I’m not fucking you. This isn’tPretty Woman.”

“Never said it was.”

“Good.”

The kid seems extremely put off by the hotel.

When I get back to the car with the room key in hand, he refuses to get out. His good eye stares at the Holiday Inn sign. Maybe I’m ignorant of this sort of thing, but I tried to pick something less flashy, hoping no one would recognize me and that he’d feel a little less like a callboy.

Apparently, I fucked up.

“What is your game here?” he demands, finally looking at me.

I’m holding his door open like a damn chauffeur. “Look,” I start and take a deep breath, “I’m trying to be as patient as possible, but I’m not used to this much pushback from someone on the receiving end of a kindness.”

“Kindness,” he repeats like the word is sour. “So you got the fanciest hotel you could find out of kindness?”

I blink.Does he think this is fancy?

But I don’t get a chance to explain before he blows up again.

“You can’t just take someone withnothingand show themsomething. Gonna tempt me with a taste of the good life, and then what? Take it away when you get bored. Spruce me up with nice soap and hot food only to send me right back to where I was after?”

Ah. I see what he is seeing.

I know I shouldn’t say it—hell, I shouldn’t even think it, but my lips move faster than my brain. “You stay as long as you want. I told you I want to help you, which means continuing to help you even after tonight.”

“Seriously?” This time, there is no heat behind his voice, only shock.

“Seriously.”

He thinks about it for a while, and I finally crack, reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes. I’ve tried to quit numerous times but picked it back up a few days ago when tasked withgetting to know my community.

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