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“What gave me away?”
He laughs. “You’re killing me, Smalls. Everything okay down in Destiny?”
“Living life on the edge,” I mutter. “You know how it is.”
“Don’t I ever.”
My lips quirk in spite of myself. Damn Merc. Octavia may have been the one who first sought me out, checking on me, but Mercury is the one who insists on keeping in contact. She thought she could save me, but soon gave up. And you know why? Because I hurt her when she tried, mocking her, taunting her. It’s a fucking wonder she doesn’t hate me—or maybe she does.
“Ross, you there? Ross.”
My smile fades. “Look, I gotta go.”
“Come on, dude, don’t do that. You don’t answer your fucking phone for days, and now you won’t stay and talk for five secs. Be honest: does it bother you that someone cares whether you’re dead or alive, is that it?”
Goddammit. “I’m still alive, so you can cool your fucking jets.”
A pause at the other end. Maybe I finally touched a nerve, pissed Merc off enough to push him away. Guess it wouldn’t take much.
The only time I understood Merc, I think, was when he beat the shit out of me and we both ended up in jail, years ago. That’s all we have in common, that one moment of violence, and now he thinks we bonded, that we’re best buddies, just because we share some DNA.
Or maybe the night he witnessed my mom being murdered. Who knows? It’s a toss-up.
I’m about to end the call, but something won’t let me. I feel like I’m sinking, and I’m holding a lifeline. Clutching the phone to my ear, I walk down the empty street, waiting for him to speak. A cool wind is blowing against me, sending leaves and dust into my face, so I lift an arm to protect my eyes. It smells of summer. It reminds me of when I was a kid, reminds me of Mom before she left.
Before Dad killed her.
“Ross, you still there?” he asks, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Ross?”
“I’m here,” I say, and my voice is rough. “What is it? What do you want?”
A snort that gets under my skin. “Just take care of yourself, tough guy, is all. And remember we’re here if you need anything.”
“Whatever.”
“I mean it. I always mean it.”
I open my mouth to deliver another curse, another “fuck you” but nothing comes out. I’m stumped. Dunno what to say.
Kind. He’s being kind, and I dunno what to do with that. How to deal with it, how to react. In my life, every kind word came with strings attached, with a punishment looming behind. Dad’s kindness always turned out to be manipulation and sarcasm.
“Did you do your homework, son? You did? Damn, what a good boy. Are you even my son? Wanna be a good boy for your old man? I’m gonna rip up your essay, kid, just you watch. And you’re gonna turn around and lift up your shirt so I can let the belt sing your praises, how about that? And not a sound, do you hear me? That’s how you make your old man happy.”
“Ross?” Merc’s voice, slicing through the memory like a knife. “Did you hear me?”
I shiver, the scars on my back pulling and aching, and lick my dry lips. “Stop this.”
“What? Listen—”
“I’m an asshole, man. You know that. You damn well know it, first hand. Why don’t you just give up?”
Another pause, and I itch for a smoke, for some booze. For this test to finish, to stop bringing back unwanted memories.
“You’re family,” he says quietly. “Not giving up on you.”
“Well, you should,” I inform him, my breath short, and hang the fuck up.
Fuck this. Merc and his high ideals. Fuck this shit.
