Page 14 of The Evening Wolves

Theo pushed back his stool and stopped.

“What is that?” John asked again.

“It’s nothing,” Emery said.

John threw down the slice of pizza. He grabbed a napkin and cleaned his hands. “What does it say?”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

Shaking his head, John started toward the door. Emery tried to block him, but John shouldered past him and strode out into the cold.

PEDOPHILE. Emery could see it in his mind: huge red letters across the side of their garage.

He watched from the door as John made his way to the end of the house and then stared at the side of the garage; the light didn’t reach far, but he must have been able to see it, must have been able to read enough to know what it said.

Brittle, refrozen ice snapped under John’s steps as he came back. It was harder for Emery to see him now through the storm door, the glass foggy as condensation gathered. Then the door swung open. His cheeks were red. The tip of his nose. He angled his body past Emery to grab the acetone and a handful of rags.

“I got sidetracked,” Emery said.

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll take care of it. I didn’t want you to see it.”

“It’s fine, Ree.”

He was already slipping out the door again.

“John, come sit down. Eat something. I’ll do it in the morning.” Please don’t do this was what he wanted to say, but something in John’s face stopped him.

“Close the door.” Ice broke under his steps. “It’s freezing out here.”

Heat prickled in Emery’s face. He was aware of Theo’s gaze, the weight of his attention. He fumbled with the latch on the storm door, his knuckles bumping the glass to streak the condensation. It was already freezing, and it furred the backs of his fingers as it scraped away.

A hand caught Emery’s arm.

“Close the door,” Theo said quietly.

Emery shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to say anything.

“He’s not angry at you. He’s hurting, and he’s humiliated, and he doesn’t know what to do.”

“Let go of my arm.”

Theo sighed. But he didn’t let go.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jem said.

Emery glanced back. Jem wore an unreadable expression. Today, his outfit was a flannel over a T-shirt that showed a joint curved into the shape of the Nike swoosh. JUST DOOB IT. Jeans, Roos. Not warm enough for a night like this one. But then, John was only wearing a sweater.

Jem laid a hand on Emery’s back as he passed him, and a moment later, the storm door was rattling shut behind him. Emery had a glimpse of John rising from a crouch, already shaking his head, but Jem said something too low for Emery to hear, and then Theo reached past him and shut the door.

“You probably won’t believe this,” Theo said, “but speaking from experience, sometimes it’s better coming from someone else.”

Emery nodded. He made himself think the words until he knew he could say them clearly. “Excuse me.”

“Emery—”

But Theo let go when Emery took a step toward the stairs, and he didn’t follow.

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