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“Damn fine night,” Petey said, nodding stiffly.
“Here.” I pulled my backpack around in front of my chest. I’d picked up some granola bars from the shelter last time I was there, and Petey was looking mighty thin. I passed him a couple. “You have these.”
His brows twitched down and he gave me a big frown.
“I’ve got plenty,” I assured him before he could protest taking them. “Really. You let me know if you need anything specific, okay?”
Petey was getting old, every year a little harder on his brittle bones. What little money he got went to drink that made his hands shake. His eyes were filmy with age. And if there was a single thing I could do to keep my friend safe and healthy, I wanted to do it.
Not that I had a whole lot to give.
I shifted my backpack on right and walked a little farther from the bridge and the barrel. It was always a calculated risk—going out on your own or sticking close where somebody could hear you. But I was a slight guy, had long blond hair, and I tended to do better on my own where people wouldn’t get it in their minds to try anything, call me a sissy or a girl, and—well. There was just less trouble if any of the sharper kinds of guys came around, for me and for the calmer, easier-going people like Petey too.
I must’ve walked for fifteen minutes away from the camp when I found a quiet space between some tree roots. The hill I settled on looked out over the water. The moon was dark, but the stars bounced off the ripples on the surface of the Mississippi.
It wasn’t like I was really tired, just cold. The roots offered some protection from the chill wind, but I’d need to find a thicker coat soon, maybe move inland. The colder it got, the busier the shelters were going to be.
With a sigh, I dropped my head back against the rough bark of the tree.
There was freedom in this—nobody telling me where to go next or how to live my life—but I didn’t have a whole lot of choices either. It’d be so nice if I could find a firm next step, just one shot to make everything right.
But once you ended up living rough, it was hard to get that step. Harder still to ask for help when I thought about my father’s red, blustery face or the absolute hell I’d catch if he got his hands on me again.
I needed to start over somewhere fresh, somewhere he’d never find me. Outside of Mississippi. Somewhere I’d never visited before, where nobody knew me at all.
I must’ve drifted off at some point, because next thing I knew, it was bright as midday outside. But there was no warmth from the sun on my cheeks, despite how I had to squint against that sudden shine. And the light—the light was white. Clinical.
My heart spasmed in fear as something jerked me upward. My backpack dumped on the ground as I flailed my limbs, straining for something to hold onto. My arms hit branches on my way up, scraping across skin, but I was moving too fast to grab hold of anything.
Even if I had, I had the sense that gripping a branch would only jerk my shoulder out of its socket.
I sped upward, looking out over the illuminated treetops below, bare of leaves. The light threw out shadows, but all around the beam, everything was dark.
Then, it wasn’t, and I dropped into the open arms of an enormous blue man with a hard, flat look on his face. With a perfunctory grunt, he hefted me by the hips and set me back on my feet.
His scowl was heavy as he looked me over, head to toe and back. “I am Crux.”
“Beau,” I whispered, good manners winning out over fear. Because Jesus H. Christ, this guy was eight feet tall and wide as a barn. His eyes were lid-to-lid irises, gleaming blue like polished sapphires.
He gave a sniff, wrinkled his nose, and turned me around by the shoulders.
“We will cleanse you.”
After that first push, he let me walk on my own, but I stumbled. The bay he led me to was full of showers, and with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, he planted his feet and waited for me to strip.
Okay, so I wouldn’t exactly call myself a shy guy. Generally speaking, I liked the steady perusal of another man.
But this—this wasn’t a man. He was something else. Big and blue and—
Fuck, I was on a spaceship.
That dawned on me slowly as I took in the clean, metallic walls, the soft hum of engines.
I didn’t move fast enough, and Crux pulled my arms up over my head. He dragged my hoodie off, the thing full of holes and smelling, well, like I hadn’t washed it in a while. Which, duh.
When he reached for my pants, I jerked back. “I’ve got it,” I stammered, covering my fly with both hands. “I can do it.”
But my fingers were shaking as I undid the belt I’d had to punch a new hole in just a couple weeks ago and kicked off sneakers that’d seen better days.
