Page 53 of The Evening Wolves

To his surprise, a lopsided grin appeared on Colt’s face. “Being a baby.”

“That’s all right then,” Emery said, letting go of his hand. “We’ll have Tean take a look. I bet he’ll tell us to ice it and see how it looks in the morning.”

Less than a minute passed before the boy blurted, “I didn’t do that stuff. The spray paint. I wouldn’t do that.”

Emery raised an eyebrow.

Snuffling into the pillow, Colt mumbled, “Well, I don’t know. You get pretty mad sometimes.”

“Who hurt you?”

It was the way Colt stiffened that answered the question—his body tight with fear that his secret had been exposed.

But he said, “Nobody hurt me.”

“Colt—”

“Nothing happened.”

“If you got in a fight, I won’t be mad. But I’d like to talk to you about self-defense.”

“Pops, nothing happened.” He didn’t add please at the end, but Emery could hear the begging in his voice.

The house creaked. It was an ordinary sound, a familiar sound. Something contracting in the winter cold, the afternoon already growing long and dark. A rafter, maybe.

“I understand that I can’t make you talk about it. But I also want you to know that if someone is hurting you, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Colt. Whatever it takes, I’ll keep you safe.” And even as he said the words, Emery heard the emptiness of his promise. Because his child was almost a man now, and he moved in the world in ways that Emery couldn’t monitor, couldn’t control. High school was just the proving grounds, a slightly expanded universe for Colt to stand on his own two feet before stepping into a larger, more dangerous world. There were so many hours every day when Emery couldn’t keep his son safe, and the hurt of that threatened to collapse his chest.

Colt was silent for what felt like a long time. Then he said into the pillow, “I’m fine.”

Emery nodded—not because he agreed, but because he wanted Colt to know he’d been heard. “John didn’t do those things.”

“I know.”

“I want you to hear me say it. He did not do what they’re saying, Colt. And whatever you hear at school, this is the truth: John did not do anything wrong.”

Another nod. Colt squirmed around some more until his head was at the edge of the bed. It let him look up at Emery. His hair spilled down the side of the mattress, and Emery couldn’t help himself: he combed his fingers through it, and he smiled when Colt rolled his eyes.

“You say he loads the dishwasher wrong.”

Emery’s smile widened. “The cups go on the top rack.”

“Even Evie knows that. She busted him a couple of weeks ago.”

The laugh erupted before Emery even realized it was coming. He ran his fingers through Colt’s hair once more, and then he did a quick scrub to mess it all up.

“Pops!”

Laughing again as Colt pulled away, Emery considered his son. “Please tell me,” he finally said, “if it gets too bad. I can’t do everything. But I can do something.”

A shadow lay over Colt’s face. He shrugged and looked away. In a low voice, he asked, “Am I grounded?”

“I don’t think it would be fair to ground you for something that’s not your fault.”

“You grounded me when Ash shut my door.”

“That’s because you knew exactly why Ashley shut the door and you were perfectly happy with it.”

Colt rolled his eyes, a hint of a blush in his cheeks. “Pops,” he said in a different tone, “this service trip is going to be so dope.”

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