Page 52 of 1 Last Shot

I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist without any hesitation. "Spruce Street Harbor Park. Where we're going is right next to it."

He nods once and then pulls out into traffic.

We're silent on the way, this ride vastly different from the last one we took. Where that ride was playful, this one is tense—where last time I squeezed him as tightly as I could to avoid falling off, this time I'm rubbing soothing circles over his chest to relax his tense body.

It works, a little. By the time we reach our destination, it no longer feels like I'm holding on to a marble statue.

I'm the first to hop off the bike. I take my helmet off as he takes off his, and as soon as he's settled everything, I take his hand and guide him in the direction of the river's edge.

"Where are we going?" he asks, his demand harsh.

"We're just walking," I answer simply, without looking at him. When I pull him after me, he follows. But when we reach the sidewalk and start walking, he slides his hand from mine. I don’t take it personally.

I discovered Spruce Street Harbor Park when I was wandering around Philly my first week here. It's a cute little park with hammocks and weekend events, and a path along the water's edge all the way down to the Naval Yard. During the day it's almost entirely empty. When I first got here and was stressing about what to do with my life, I would come down here just to be by myself.

Kane seems like he could use a little of that right now.

My heart is still beating so hard against my ribs. Hailey's call scared me more than I knew, and only now, when I'm looking for a calming environment, do I realize just how much it affected me.

I like Kane. I shouldn't, because he's brash and rude and clearly has no interest in making friends, but the more I'm around him, the more I realize all of that is just a front. Behind that mile-high brick wall and the artillery defending it, Kane is so much more than people give him credit for. At his core, he's quick-witted and hard-working and, despite how badly he wants to deny it, he cares about other people. There's no other reason he would have taken care of me after the mugging andthengiven me peace of mind with the pepper spray and self-defense lesson.

I also think of Oscar, and about how Kane saved his life. Rescuing him out of that dumpster was one thing, but keeping him because he knew Oscar wouldn't have a chance of getting adopted is a whole other. As much as he tries to hide it, Kane is a caretaker.

Which is why I ran to the gym. Beyond the snippets that Kane's given me about a rough childhood, I don't know much about him. And yet, something tells me he doesn't—or hasn't—had a lot of people look out for him. The way he lives his life and approaches people screams loner. And while that might work day to day, everyone needs someone they can trust and lean on.

I don't know if I'll be that for Kane—if he evenwantsme to be that for him—but there's not a chance in hell I'm not going to at least offer it.

"Why'd you come to the gym?" he asks suddenly.

I don't look at him, don't react in any way when he voices the question. I'll answer anything he wants to know, and I'll be honest about it, but I refuse to make a big deal out of anything that might startle him.

"Hailey called me," I answer simply.

I can sense his confusion. "Why?"

"She knows I'm your neighbor," I say with a shrug.

He's silent after that.

We walk along the river's edge on the sidewalk, occasionally passing by other people, but for the most part, it's just us. The sound of the water is soothing, and it allows our silence to be comfortable instead of awkward.

"I don't know what those guys have against working hard," he says eventually, his voice hard and clearly defensive. "So I beat a heavy bag to a pulp, so what? Most coaches would be thrilled about it."

I don't comment on it. I just let him talk.

I feel him glance at me out of the corner of his eye. "You didn't have to come, you know. I was fine."

"I know," I say simply, still without looking at him.

He looks forward again. "I don't know why I followed you out of the gym. I should've stayed and kept working out."

I stop walking to look at him. "Do you want to go back?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

He stares at me. For a breath, and then another. Finally, his shoulders slump.

"No," he says, the sound of defeat heavy in his voice. He turns to continue walking.

I don't want to treat him with kid gloves, but something tells me he could use a little positive reinforcement just for that.

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