“Jesus, Mouse, you don’t even know...” His voice was gruff and thick as he set me back on my feet, but he didn’t let go. One arm stayed around my waist. His other hand fisted the ends of my hair. His chin grazed the top of my head as I slid my hands down his chest. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
I rested my forehead between my hands, feeling his heart beat fast. I could hear people around us, and I imagined some were probably staring, but I didn’t care. Rider was warm and solid. Real. Alive.
“Hell, I wasn’t even planning to come to school today. If I hadn’t...” His hand unclenched from my hair, and I felt him draw a strand out. “Look at your hair. You’re no longer a carrot top.”
A choked laugh escaped me. When I was younger, my hair had been an orangey-red mess full of ratty knots and unruly waves, and thank God, the tone had calmed down somewhat. A visit to a hair salon had helped. The knots and waves were still up for debate whenever it was humid.
Rider drew back just enough that when I blinked my eyes open, I found him studying me. “Look at you,” he murmured. “You’re all grown-up.” His hand left my hair, and a fine shiver danced along my spine as his thumb swept across my lower lip. The touch startled me. “And you’re still as quiet as a mouse.”
My spine stiffened. Mouse. “I’m not...” Anything I was about to say died a fiery death, because his thumb had tracked its way across my cheekbone, the pad of his finger callused and rough, but the caress tender.
My gaze tracked up to eyes I’d never thought I’d see again, but he was really here. Oh my God, Rider was here, and so many thoughts bounced around. I could only grab hold of a few of them, but memories surfaced like the sun cresting a mountain.
One night I’d woken up, frightened by the booming voices coming from the dark downstairs. I’d snuck into the room next to mine, which had been Rider’s, and he’d let me crawl in bed with him. He’d read to me then, from a book that I’d loved, a book that Rider called “the stupid rabbit story.” It always made me cry, but he read to me to distract me from the shouts filling up the small, broken-down row home. I’d been five, and from that moment on, he’d become my entire world.
Rider suddenly stepped back and grabbed my right arm. As he lifted it, he turned it over and pushed the sleeve of the thin cardigan up. His brows knitted as he frowned. “I don’t understand.”
My gaze followed his, to where his hand circled my wrist. The skin near the inside of my elbow was a deeper pink, as was the skin on the inside of my arms and both my palms, but it was barely noticeable.
“They said you were burned badly.” Lifting his gaze, he searched my face. “I saw them taking you out on the stretcher, Mouse. I remember that as if it happened yesterday.”
“I... Carl...” I shook my head as his frown deepened, realizing he had no idea who Carl was. I focused, took a few moments and then tried again. “The doctors at Johns Hopkins. They...did skin grafts.”
“Skin grafts?”
I nodded. “I had...the best doctors. There’re...barely any scars.” Well, my backside, where they had grafted the skin, was also a different pink, but I doubted anyone would be seeing that anytime soon.
His thumb smoothed over the inside of my wrist in a slow swipe, sending a bolt of sensation up my arm. He didn’t say anything for a long moment as his gaze held mine. The golden flecks in his eyes were brighter now, making them more hazel than brown. “They said I couldn’t see you. I asked. I even went to the county hospital.”
My heart dropped. “You did?”
Rider nodded as the tension eased around his mouth. “You weren’t there. Or at least they didn’t tell me. One of the nurses called the police. I ended up...” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You ended up...what?” I asked, because it did matter. Everything that had happened to Rider mattered, even when it had felt like the world couldn’t have cared less.
His thick lashes swept down for a moment. “The police and CPS thought I’d run away, which was dumb as shit. Why would I have run away to a hospital?”
Probably because Child Protective Services had a file on us the width of the Honda. And also probably because Rider and I had run away before. More than once. I’d been eight and he’d just turned nine when we’d decided that we would do better on our own.
We’d made it to the McDonald’s two blocks down the street before Mr. Henry found us.
Then there were the other times, too many to count.
Rider laughed then, and there was a tug in my chest, because when I looked up at him, there wasn’t a smile on his striking face. “That night...” He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Mouse.”
Flinching, I stepped back, but he kept ahold of my arm.
“I would’ve stopped him, but I didn’t.” His eyes were darker. “I shouldn’t have tried—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, sickened by what he was saying. I stared up at him. He seriously believed what had happened was because of him?