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“My mom is home… with her new boyfriend,” he says.
“Ah, and that’s why we’re outside?”
“Yeah, he told me to get lost, but it’s getting late. There’s nowhere else to go, and June is gone with her mom somewhere. I told him that, and he didn’t like it.”
“So, he hit you?” I snarl.
“Yep.”
He sounds so used to this type of behavior that it breaks my heart. There’s so much pain here, so many raw emotions and horrible memories. So much like my childhood. I’m determined to give Noah the safety and love I never had growing up. I don’t know how the logistics work; I just know this kid isn’t going to spend another night under the same roof as his abuser.
“What did your mom do?” I ask him, trying to rein in the fury that I’m feeling.
“What she always does. Nothing. She pretends like I’m invisible.”
My hands tighten into fists, and I grind my teeth together so hard that I’m surprised none of my teeth crack. I know that feeling all too well. If I had been here with Noah, maybe I would have noticed something before the situation escalated the way it did. I can’t think like that, however. I can’t change the past, and even though I handled everything wrong, I don’t regret being there for Romeo in his time of need.
With my mind made up, I pop my jaw and push to my feet.
“Let’s go pack a bag. You can stay with me until I have a talk with your mom and straighten a few things out.”
He stares up at me, weighing his options, and I start to head inside.
“They’re still in there,” Noah says softly, and I stare down at him.
“I can take them,” I say with a wink.
He smiles at that, nodding, and I return his grin when he pushes to his feet and follows after me. The front door is unlocked, and I stride inside, heading right for Noah’s room.
“Who the fuck are you?” a woman that I’m assuming is Noah’s mom screeches at me.
I ignore her, making sure that Noah is safely in his room before I turn to glare at her. By now, the boyfriend has lumbered out of the bedroom, stumbling around in nothing more than a pair of stained boxers and a silk robe that looks like it belongs to his girlfriend. Class act.
“What are you on about now?” he yells at Noah’s mom.
She points at me, and I glare at him, giving him a warning look to not fuck with me. I’ve got a few inches on the man and about fifty pounds of muscle, not to mention years of experience fighting in my favor. This bozo looks like he’s already had several drinks. Even if he was able to physically overpower me, he’s a sloppy drunk.
I look over my shoulder at Noah, glad to see he’s busy stuffing some of his things into his backpack. I stand guard so that he doesn’t have to be afraid of his mom or her boyfriend.
“What are you doing here?” the man yells at me, deciding to challenge me after all.
“I’m here to make sure that Noah is safe. Are you the one who hit him?” I snarl, stepping toward the man. Fury ripples throughout my body, making my muscles tense and flex as I think about sinking my fist into this fucker’s nose.
He sways on his feet, and I can see him trying to decide if he should fight or run for the hills. He glances over at Noah’s mom and must decide that she’s not worth it. “Whatever. Useless trash,” he snorts. “Come get me when dinner is ready,” he shouts to his girlfriend before stumbling back into the bedroom.
Noah’s mom glares at him, then turns her attention to me. I can see the track marks on her arms and notice her sunken eyes. She’s jittery and sickly thin, and while I know the addiction isn’t her fault, it’s her responsibility to fight it and to keep her son out of harm’s way.
“You want that little punk?” she shouts, waving her arm toward Noah’s bedroom. “Take him! You think I care? He’s nothing but a brat. Always wanting something.”
“Yeah, like food,” Noah grumbles, and I laugh.
“He’s your problem. Now both of you get the fuck out of my house.”
“Gladly,” Noah yells at her, and I put my hand on his shoulder, protecting him as we head back outside. He’s shaking slightly, but his little head is held high. I’m so damn proud of him.
His mom follows us out onto the front porch steps and continues yelling at us as we climb into my truck. We both tune her out, which is surprisingly easy. I think Noah and I both have filters for screeching drug addicts. One of the benefits of growing up the way we did, I guess.
“Anything else you want from inside?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.
