Page 95 of Scatter the Bones

“Yeah. And my club has some business interests out that way.”

“Your club has businesses?”

“Yes,” I say sharply. “But that’s not your concern right now.” I glance over his too-thin frame. “You ever been inside a gym?”

“No,” he scoffs. “Mom believed in chores and nature for exercise.”

“Well, a friend of mine owns a gym and he needs someone to help out. Answer phones, stock towels, keep the place clean, shit like that I guess.”

He blinks at me. “So?”

Christ. Do I have to spell this out? I hold out one hand. “I got an apartment for you to stay in.” I lift the other. “And a job so you can earn some money.”

“Wait, what?” His fork clatters against his plate. “An apartment? Like, just for me? A job? How? Why?”

“Why?” I repeat. “You’re my brother. And you just told me you’re basically homeless. So, if you want to stick around, I can help you with the basics.”

His eyes turn glassy. He glances away, swallowing hard and blinking rapidly at the wall. “I thought this was a fuck-off lunch,” he mumbles.

“What?” I laugh.

“Like, you just wanted to chat and maybe catch up.” He flicks his hand in the air. “And then when your curiosity was satisfied you’d say, off you fuck now, kid.”

Instead of laughing, I blow out a weary breath. Yeah, I can understand why he’d think that. “No, I don’t want you to fuck off into the sunset, Cain.”

He chuckles and sniffles at the same time, wiping the corner of his sleeve under both eyes. “Why can’t I stay with you?”

“Like I said, I’m not there a lot. Plus, I live in my friend’s apartment. There isn’t a lot of extra room.”

He fixes me with a sharp, unsettling stare. “And you don’t trust me not to rob your friend’s place?”

Why lie? The kid’s not dumb. “Well, yeah. Kinda.”

“But I can stay at yourotherfriend’s place?”

“It doesn’t have any valuables,” I say with a straight face.

He snorts, then glances back down at his plate. When he looks up again, the humor’s gone. “I don’t steal.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t take handouts.”

“Which is why I helped you find the job,” I answer, barely holding onto my patience.

He fiddles with his fork, tapping it against the side of his plate until I want to rip it out of his hand. “Mom always said you saved our lives.”

I swallow hard. “She did?”

He nods quickly, eyes darting away.

It doesn’t seem like the right time to dig into that, but my curiosity overpowers my common sense. “How much do you remember about living on the farm?”

He spears me with a haunted stare full of horror. “Too much. I still have nightmares about it.”

“I do too sometimes.”

He stabs his fork into the mac and cheese and shovels a huge glob into his mouth.

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