His hands gripped the back of the battered leather seat, his knuckles going bloodless. “Ms. Lindt, I—”
“You know who I am,” she said, her tone calm despite her pounding heart.
He looked away. “Well, yeah. Chef G introduced you weeks ago.”
“No, you met me on a dark Friday night before then.”
Steven sucked in a breath, and what little facade he’d been clinging to dissolved, his face tightening into something pained, frightened. His fingers flexed against the seat. “You know.”
Her shoulders sagged with resignation. “I do now.”
His head snapped up at that, his eyes widening. “Wait, I—”
She lifted a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t.”
He deflated, tears springing into his eyes. “Shit. I can’t… I’m sorry, Ms. Lindt. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realize…”
She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes on the boy. “What you did was extremely serious, Steven.”
“I know it was. God.” He grabbed the top of his skull, squeezing as if trying to block out the thoughts. “Please tell me the dog’s going to be okay. I’ve been… I haven’t been able to sleep thinking about it.”
She stepped closer to him, trying to create a sense of safety so he’d keep talking, but also making note of the emergency exit door behind her. If he freaked out, she was still far enough away to escape. “The dog is going to be fine. He’s been recovering at the vet’s office.”
Steven’s head sagged, and his fingers continued to flex against his skull. “I never meant to shoot the gun. I swear to you. It wasn’t supposed to happen like… I needed money, and my friend said it was the easiest way. Use the gun to scare someone and then grab a purse. I didn’t even know there was a bullet in the chamber. I never meant… God. I never saw the dog coming. I didn’t mean…”
“Steven.”
His attention snapped up, his frantic gaze jumping to hers. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded, his words rapid and panicked. “I’ll give you back whatever I took. I never meant to hurt anyone, I swear. I just…I needed money, and I got desperate. I have to get out of my house. If I can save enough to move in with my friend…”
“Get out of your house?” she asked, nodding toward his head injury. “If you’re in trouble at home, there are services in place to help you. People who can intervene.”
That jolted him out of his panic for a moment. His lip curled. “Yeah, right. Services. Not when your old man’s a cop.”
“Cops aren’t above the law.”
“Sure they aren’t. You know what happened last year when I told the nurse my dad broke my rib? Some nice lady came over, and he sweet-talked her right out the door, telling her about his troubled son who’d stolen his motorcycle and had gotten himself hurt driving under the influence. He even showed her pills he said he’d found in my room. Pills, by the way, that were his. He told her he was handling it.” Steven’s face twisted in angry disgust. “And he did.
“As payment for reporting him, a few days later, he raided my room while I was at school and took everything but a drawer of my clothes and dumped it off at Goodwill. Things I’d bought with my own money. Photos of my mom and other things I’d kept to remember her. My laptop. Even the blankets on my bed. Told me that the only reason I had food to eat and clothes on my back was because of him, and I better keep my mouth shut or I could live on the streets.”
All the air left Rebecca’s lungs.
Steven’s jaw flexed, his eyes shiny even though he was obviously trying to be tough. “The only good thing to come out of that whole situation was that they put me here in this program.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “If you tell, that goes away, too. I don’t get another shot. They’ll throw me in juvenile detention.”
Her stomach knotted, the sweat on her skin going clammy. “Steven, I…”
“Please,” he begged. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do. I’ll work off the debt. I can do yard work, cut your grass, wash your car, cook your meals. I’m pretty good at fixing things if you need that. Whatever you want. Just please, please give me one more chance. I promise I’m not the guy you saw that night. That night scared the shit out of me. I could’ve killed someone.” He wet his lips. “You. I could’ve killed you. And you’re this nice person who gave us this bus and who Chef G likes, and I could’ve messed that all up.” Tears escaped now, tracking lines over his dirt-streaked cheeks. “Please tell me there’s something I can do.”
Rebecca pressed her hand to her breastbone, her brain and her heart in a screaming match. There really was no choice here, right? She had to report it. That was the only course of action. She had no idea if all the things Steven was saying were true. He could be putting on a show to get out of it. Armed robbery wasn’t some petty crime. He could do it again. Could kill someone the next time.
But the fears wouldn’t crystallize in her head. Her black-and-white world had gone hazy gray. Every part of her instincts was telling her that this kid was being honest. That he’d made a huge mistake but wasn’t an inherently evil person. He regretted what he’d done. He had a terrible situation at home that had driven him to desperate measures. His father was a cop who authorities were going to be more prone to believe.
She took a deep breath, trying to grab hold of the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. “How did you get the bruise on your head?”
He looked down and swiped at the escaped tears with the heels of his hands. “I tried that recipe I told Chef G about last week. I was cooking while my dad was sleeping off a night shift because he doesn’t like me doing the chef thing. He says it wastes money using all those ingredients and that only a sissy would want to be a chef. But I burned the meal, stunk up the kitchen, and set off the smoke alarm. It woke my dad up. When I tried to explain what had happened, he shoved me and I banged my head on the corner of a cabinet.”
“Christ.” Rebecca let out a shaky exhale. How the hell was she going to call the cops on this kid and report the robbery? Juvenile detention might be safer than his current home, but it wasn’t going to be good. If the kid had any shot at making somethi
ng of himself, being locked up would just make it that much harder. However, she also couldn’t stand by and do nothing. If nothing else, she had a duty to report the abuse. She rubbed the spot between her brows.