“We can walk.”
“Can we not talk for a minute?”
“Yes.”
We walk.
I keep my arm around her shoulders all the way down the slick downtown streets toward the transit lanes. Every instinct wants a private vehicle, speed, walls, controlled environment. She wants air, so we walk. Rain gathers in her hair and on the shoulders of my shirt. The neon above us paints her face blue, then red, then gold. The bruise on her cheek remains visible beneath every color.
I want to kill him.
The thought does not roar this time. It sits quietly in the back of my mind, clean and patient.
Evie leans closer as if hearing it anyway. “Don’t.”
I look down. “I did not speak.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I am trying.”
“I know.” Her voice is hoarse now. “That’s why I said don’t.”
We reach the transit platform. She sits on the bench, and I stand in front of her because I cannot make myself sit while danger may still exist. She watches me for several seconds.
“Kauss.”
“Yes?”
“Sit down.”
“I prefer standing.”
“I prefer not feeling like you’re about to launch yourself into the sky and hunt someone.”
I sit.
The bench complains. I ignore it.
She takes my hand in both of hers. Rainwater slicks our fingers. Her hands are cold.
“I was scared,” she says.
My chest tightens. “I know.”
“I kept mouthing off because that’s what I do when I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I thought he might shoot Darlene.”
My vision darkens briefly. “He did not.”
“No. But he could have.” Her thumb moves against my knuckles. “And I thought about you. Not saving me, exactly. Just… you finding out.”
I close my eyes.
“I am sorry,” I say.
