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Feeling sad but trying to keep it from my voice, I ask him, “Did you want anything else?” He shakes his head and I look at the clerk, mentally telling him to ring it up.
He rolls his eyes, but scans everything, glaring at the kid the whole time. The total comes up to $8.37.
I scoff, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. I start to pull out a ten, then shove it back and slide him a twenty. “Here. Keep the change you fucking weirdo. And for future reference, you don’t chase down a thief. You never know if they could hurt you. Fucking idiot.” I don’t think this kid would have, but you never know what people are capable of.
I stomp off, dragging the child behind me. “Come on, let’s get some food.”
He nods, skulking behind me with a red face. I find the nearest coffee shop, stepping up to the counter. “Hey, Dave,” I say to the barista.
“Benji. How’s it going man? Who’s your friend?” Dave smiles over at the child, tipping his head. The young alpha gives a little wave, then steps behind me.
“Just a friend. Good kid.” I pat the kid’s arm, giving him a small smile. “Order what you want,” I tell him.
His face turns red—I figure he doesn’t talk much if he doesn’t have to. “Give us a moment, Dave.” I grab a to go menu and show it to my new friend. He looks it over, then points to a grilled chicken and cheese sandwich. That loser fucking store clerk and his harsh words. A stutter doesn’t make him stupid. I hate people.
We place our order and move to the end of the counter, the child still gripping my hand. I don’t ask him to let go.
Our food is placed on the counter after a few minutes. I wave at Dave as we grab our things and sit down. Only then does he let my hand go so we can eat.
Staring at the child tearing into his sandwich, I wonder why the store clerk bought our lie. We look nothing alike. No family resemblance to be had. But I guess genetics can do crazy things. The only thing weslightlyhave in common is our hair, but mine is curly and brown while his is wavy and strawberry blonde. I’m biracial—Black and Irish—so it’s possible that we can be related and me and one of his dads don’t share the same parents.
His bright green eyes meet my brown ones and he wipes his mouth, swallowing the food he was chewing. “W-w-w-what?” His face pinks, and my heart hurts.
I tilt my head and cross my arms, the sandwich forgotten. “I’m waiting for you to finish eating so we can talk.”
He sighs and bites his sandwich again, stuffing as much into his mouth as he can. “Hey,” I say, laying a hand on his arm. “I wasn’t rushing you. Take your time.” I look at my watch and see that I need to be back at the office in twenty minutes and it’s a twenty-minute walk from here. But no way will I leave this kid without knowing his story. “We can sit here as long as you want. Are you lost? Do you need help?
He shakes his head, chews, then swallows. “No. Not lost. Just o-o-on,” he stops talking, taking a deep breath, then says, “on my own.”
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Kid?” He grins and I return it, the first in days. “I’m t-t-t-taller than you.”
“Genetics, not age. Name.”
He sighs and sits back. “Tanner.”
“Good to meet you, Tanner. I’m Benjamin Hendrix, but you can call me Benji. Why are you on your own? Do you need anything?” He shakes his head, sipping on his drink. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, then look down at my sandwich. “Okay, where are your parents, little alpha?”
His face closes off and he looks off to the side, clenching his jaw. I don’t rush him—I just pull my drink back to me and take a sip. I figure if I try to force him, he’d clam up even more.
Tanner’s lip trembles briefly, but he covers it quickly. “D-d-d-drugs. He uh … his f-f-f-friend …” He stops talking with a frustrated growl, then takes several deep breaths. “Doesn’t matter. I’m n-n-not going b-b-ack.” He drops his eyes, cleaning dirt from his fingernails and discreetly rubbing a finger under his eye.
I think I can extrapolate what he means. And if I’m right, I’m fucking furious. A father selling his child for drugs? I feel my blood boil.
“Does he know where you are? Can he track you down?”
Tanner shakes his head, grabbing his sandwich to take a hearty bite. I don’t ask him more questions until he eats more of his sandwich. From the looks of him and how he was stealing food, he might not have had a good meal in a while.
When he sets his sandwich back down, I lean forward on my elbows before I ask, “Where are you from?”
“New Mount, Vermont.”
My mouth drops open. New Mount is a six-hour drive from Fair Falls, two states away. He ran off on his own, six hours away?
