The girl didn’t eat more than a few bites of food. She chewed on one side of her mouth and winced more than once from the cut as it pulled on the tender skin.
Seb never took his eyes off her. Well, not often. He frowned as he stood and left the table without a word, returning a minute later with a first aid kit.
We all froze. She didn’t like hospitals. Would this freak her out?
With so much consideration, he showed it to the girl, deftly opening the lid to reveal the contents. “Th-there’s ointment in h-h-here for your l-lip and some Tylenol. I c-c-could help you, o-only if you l-l-like.”
They locked eyes, and no one had to say that it felt like a damaged soul-to-soul connection. We could all feel it transpire, the second something intangible clicked between them.
The girl blinked up at Seb, who, even in the chair, dwarfed her smaller frame. “Both.”
Visibly relieved, he opened the kit and pulled out the tube of ointment, uncapping it. “Is it o-o-okay if I d-do it?”
She nodded. Her chin lifted slightly to accommodate him. She still held on to her duffel bag, never relinquishing it to anyone. Everything that meant something to her had to be inside.
I hadn’t known Seb long, but he was a bit of a klutz. He bumped into furniture and walls all the time like he didn’t know how to control his limbs. And he tripped more often than anyone I ever met. But with the new girl? His hand was steady and his movements gentle.
He applied a little of the ointment to her cut, using the pad of his finger to lightly dab it on her skin as a muscle pulsed in his jaw. I knew it pissed him off to see her black eye and how she’d been beaten, because I felt the same. The rage and horror of what she’d suffered affected all of us.
Tending to her, Seb said, “Y-your eyes a-a-re the p-prettiest blue.” Not missing a beat, he asked, “C-could I c-call you th-that? Blue?”
A little sigh escaped her as her tense shoulders eased. “Yes.”
Slightly ashamed, I was grateful she said yes to the change of using her tongue-twister name. I couldn’t help but wonder why she disliked it. Daily, I wanted my real name back.
Once Seb finished, he replaced the cap, dropped the tube back into the first-aid kit, and then handed the Tylenol to Blue.
Weirdly, she peered over her shoulders to check her surroundings, then slender fingers fumbled with the container.
“Th-that bottle is al-always getting st-st-stuck. Want m-me to t-try?”
Blue answered with a pleased nod.
Seb took out two tablets and placed them in her hand, then he reached for the glass of water in front of her and handed it over. Blue stared at her palm for a moment. The glass shook as she tilted her head back and swallowed the pills, looking suddenly drained. Shadows stretched across the skin beneath her eyes, even the one that was bruised and swollen.
His kindness and patience toward her told me that Seb was no stranger to seeing a woman battered and beaten. He never flinched or faltered. My heart lurched in my chest. This world was so fucking unfair.
How quickly it tilted on its axis, again ensuring I never grew too comfortable, constantly reminded me that each day was never promised. Evil existed in this world, and with a snap of the fingers, everything around us could crumble.
Safety was an illusion every foster kid at this table chased. Dale and Harmony provided it. For now. But nothing was guaranteed.
I swore that when I grew older, that my club would become a fortress like this one and provide shelter, acceptance, patience, and love for those who crossed my path and needed it. As much as I knew I was lucky and had found a tiny reprieve from the enemies who hunted my father’s club and stole my family, I also knew that it wouldn’t last.
Nothing was forever.
That lesson, at only fifteen, had already been hammered into my soul.
Chapter 11
Haunting Cries
Illusion or imagination…?
Blue had been with us for exactly twenty days when something startled me from a deep sleep. I couldn’t explain the noise I heard as my eyes snapped open, tension winding around my chest like a vise. My gaze bounced around the dark room, finding only shadows in the corners of the attic, and beyond, the clouds blocked the starry night sky through the small round window at the far end of the attic. It rarely stretched its light to my side of the space, but still offered a view of the sky if I was lying in bed and could see through the gap between my dresser and the desk.
And then I heard it.
A wail. The ghostly, haunting cry of terror that caused the hair on my arms to stick up as I bolted upright in bed. It was easy to let my imagination run wild and conjure the fleeting specters that would appear the moment I shut my eyes again, waiting to spook me into a state of fright. But they never stood a chance against the real horrors that lingered in this house, invading the minds of children who had been robbed of their innocence.
