Page 12 of Walking Wounded

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“What did you tell them about me?” Luke asks when they’re driving. The headlights slice through the predawn blackness with surgical precision. Fall leaves tumble off the sidewalk and into their path, rushing beneath the tires and disappearing.

It’s the same as last night, Hal’s profile ghostly in the dash lights. Luke thinks his mouth twitches. “The truth”

“Which is what, according to you?”

Definitely a mouth twitch. A grin or a frown, who knows. “That you’re a talented writer who’d rather write novels and poems than magazine articles. And that you don’t bullshit, so they can trust you to be honest with them.”

How well Hal knows him. Even after The Incident and the three years.

“I’ve settled into the article thing,” Luke says. “It’s rewarding.”

“Liar,” Hal says with a snort. “Don’t make me a liar about you not being a liar, alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.” His coffee is perfect and he drinks it a little too quick, burning his tongue. “Tell me about Will.”

“About him? Or about the assault?”

“Both I guess.”

Hal lets out a deep breath. “I’d rather you wait and talk to Will about it.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t know shit about this story I’m supposed to be writing, except that you pulled me into it. So.” He sends a dark look across the center console that Hal probably can’t see. “Start talking.”

Hal sighs. “What do you want me to say?”

“Um…how about something that might give me a goddamn hint what I’m about to walk into?” he suggests.

Hal’s face compresses in a way that makes Luke think he probably frightens the hell out of anyone wanting to threaten Senator Maddox. “Will doesn’t like anyone to make assumptions about him,” he says. “He would rather tell you what he’s like, straight to your face.”

“Yeah, except, I’m trying to ask my best friend for a little help, here.”

Hal’s head snaps around quick. “I’m not…” He presses his lips together, sighs, looks back at the road. “I’m not trying to make it harder for you.”

Luke doesn’t admit how relieved he is to hear those words, instead of the ones he expected:I’m not your best friend.

“Aw, how sweet of you.”

“I’m serious, Luke,” Hal insists. “I’m not a writer, right?”

“Right,” Luke says with a snort.

Hal frowns at the road ahead of them. “You’re the writer,” he says, firmly, “and you told me once you didn’t like to walk into a story with any preconceived ideas. Outside opinions.” A pointed glance, there and gone again. “So I’m trying not to cloud your judgement.”

Because ever since childhood, Hal could convince Luke to do anything, even the things he loathed.

Luke swallows a sudden lump in his throat. “Oh. Well…I appreciate that.”

Hal makes a disbelieving sound. “Just talk to him. He’ll like you.”

Luke feels like an asshole, suddenly. “Is he even going to be awake now?”

“Yeah. He always is.”

And Hal would know, because he must know everything there is to know about this family by now.

A strange pang. Jealousy? No. More like regret. Almost loss.

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