Whenever Benny would rough me up pretty bad, she would help clean me up. Her mom was a nurse and always had first-aid stuff in the apartment that Lexi would sneak to me and patch me up with. But one night it got so bad that Lexi had to go get her mom to help.
We’d never gotten Lexi’s mom involved before, because as much as I despised my mother, I didn’t want to get placed in foster care. Thankfully, Lexi’s mom was a single mother and so busy working that she didn’t know much about me or my home life. But when Benny really beat me up good that night, there was no covering it up.
Benny got out of control and slammed me up against the wall so hard that I’m surprised he didn’t damage the drywall. We scuffled for some time before I managed to get away. I made a break for the front door and ran down the stairs, but Benny caught up to me and pushed me down the flight of concrete steps.
Lexi found me in a small pool of my own blood sometime later, wheezing and struggling to get up. It was so bad that she called her mom, who brought me to the hospital. I’d cracked my head open, needed stitches, and broken a few ribs. At that point, Lexi couldn’t cover for me anymore and her mom called child protective services. I wasn’t allowed to live with my mother after that, nor did I want to.
I got swept up into the system and never got a chance to go back to see Lexi again.
I shake my head. “Nah, I never met this one. They never last long, only a few months at a time.”
Olivia nods. “And you never met your dad?”
I feel my insides clench uneasily, knowing that I’ve just opened up a whole can of worms for her to prod into. While I may not be happy that she cracked me open and pushed her way inside, there is this weird sense of relief in finally sharing that part of my life with someone. Still doesn’t mean it’s any less terrifying or easy to share, though.
“Nope. My mom doesn’t even know who he is. She was too drunk or high to remember.”
She frowns and looks at me curiously. “Does that have anything to do with your tattoo? Unknown?”
She paid attention to my tattoo?
No one has ever really asked me about it or pieced it together. All I usually get are comments along the lines of “Sick tat, bro.”
“Maybe. Do you like tattoos?” I ask with a smirk, desperate to lighten the mood and change the subject.
She blinks once, processing my mood change before blushing. She gives a weak one-shoulder shrug, pretending to be indifferent. “They’re all right.”
I laugh, sobering after. “So are we good?”
I watch her body physically relax and she gives me a closed-lipped smile. “Yeah, we’re good.”
I blow out a relieved breath. “So the bear worked?” I tease, my lips tugging up into grin.
She laughs, shaking her head. “It helped. But I think to really cover your bases you should throw in some ice cream,” she says, eyes twinkling.
“You know I play football, right? See, Finch, you should have taken me up on my offer to teach you about football. There are no bases in football, sweetheart.”
She rolls her eyes, playfully swatting me on the arm. “Fine,” she says, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. She begins to walk away. “I guess you’re no longer forgiven.” She throws me a look over her shoulder, still strutting away from me.
I flash her a sharp grin and stand up, bolting after her. She lets out a squeal, breaking into a full-out run toward the motorcycle. Just as she reaches the bike, I catch her, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind.
“If we go to that old-fashioned ice-cream place down the road am I forgiven?” I compromise, resting my chin on her shoulder, my lips dangerously close to her ear.
Her body tenses a moment before relaxing.
“Only if you get me a double scoop strawberry ice-cream cone.”
I let out a dramatic sigh, gripping her hips and spinning her around to face me. “You drive a hard bargain.” I reach behind her and grab a helmet, placing it on her head and buckling the strap under her chin. “But since I really am sorry, I’ll even throw in some sprinkles and a cherry on top.”
She scrunches her nose. “Sprinkles?”
I let out a laugh. “What, you don’t like sprinkles?” I ask, amused, helping her onto the back of the bike.
She shakes her head, a mildly disgusted look on her face.
“All right, Finch, no sprinkles.”
I smile, getting on the bike and putting on my helmet. Once I’m set, I roar the engine to life, grab Olivia’s hands, and secure them around my waist before we take off down the road, feeling happy and content.
