“Please, Ms. Lindt.”
“We have to report your father again, and you have to tell the investigators the truth,” she said finally. “If you need a lawyer to help you through that process, to advocate for you, I could help. You should document the incidents that have happened in the past, build up your case. Take a photo of today’s bruise. Try to think of anyone who’s ever witnessed him treating you abusively or maybe heard him yelling at you so we can get a statement from them. I assure you, your dad won’t be able to sweet-talk past me. He may be a cop, but he’s not invincible.”
Steven blinked, his lips parting. “Wait, you want to help me?”
The question fell between them like a heavy stone. She could barely believe she’d made the offer herself. What was she doing? This wasn’t her area of expertise or her job. But her answer came more easily than she expected, the rightness of it feeling solid in her gut. “I do. But,” she said, eyeing him and using her no-bullshit tone, “I’d need an agreement from you that you will take this chance like the lifeline it is. What you’re going through is awful and needs to be fixed, but it does not excuse what you did. An animal was injured. You could’ve killed me or someone else. Whatever happens with your dad, it’s not going to be easy. It may involve foster care. But there will be no more breaking laws. No more guns. You will give me back everything you stole from me. And when this is all done, you will volunteer somewhere—an animal shelter or food bank, something to give back and make amends.”
He nodded, his expression still stunned. “Of course. Anything. I swear.”
She stepped closer, her posture formal, and put her hand out. “I am making you a great deal, Steven. I need you to shake on it and keep your word.”
He swallowed hard, eyeing her hand, but then he put his hand out, taking hers. He gave it a firm shake. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And I’m going to have to report what you told me about your dad.”
He winced. “When?”
“Right now. I can call, and they can interview you here.”
His eyes went wide. “No. Please. Not here.”
“Why? We can keep you safe here and—”
He shook his head. “I don’t want anyone here to know. The kids here actually like me, treat me like I’m just another guy. Last time CPS was called, it was humiliating when they came to school. I had to hear all these gross comments about how my dad was probably touching me and stuff. I ended up in so many fistfights over it that I nearly got expelled. I don’t want the kids here thinking that stuff about me.”
“Steven, they won’t—”
“Just give me a few hours. Until seven tonight. My dad’s working middle shifts this week. I can get home before he’s off work, get my stuff and the money I stashed out of there, and go to my friend’s house. I promise I’ll tell the social workers anything they want to know, but please not here. I need this place to stay the same.”
“I—”
“Hey there, overachievers,” Wes said, startling Rebecca as he poked his head into the bus. “Stop working so hard. It’s snack time.”
Steven quickly dropped Rebecca’s hand, and Rebecca forced a smile Wes’s way, hoping the thick tension in the air didn’t betray her. “Sounds good.”
But Wes was far too observant. His gaze met hers, his eyebrows lifting and questions hovering there.
She shook her head slightly, hoping he wouldn’t prod. “Lead the way, chef.”
Steven sent her one last pleading glance, and she was hit with a bone-deep reminder of that boy so long ago. Not the scary version of Trevor. Not the warped-beyond-repair killer. The boy he’d been before. The lost one. The depressed one. The one who’d trusted her with his vulnerability, only to have Rebecca crush it in her hands.
Her stomach rolled.
Steven was asking for a small reprieve. To give him just a few hours so he could save face in front of the only group he felt a part of. He wanted to have at least one safe space where he was just another kid, someone who was liked, accepted. A place where he was the kid who could cook his butt off and riff on recipes, not the kid who was humiliated on a daily basis by his father and peers at school. Not the criminal.
She had to afford him that. She’d seen what humiliation could do to a person, how it could kill off the good parts inside someone. So she nodded, agreeing against her better judgment to grant him a few hours. His face sagged in relief, his eyes full of gratitude. He turned for the door, sealing the deal. She followed Steven out, trying to keep her expression casual, but her head was tangling with worries and what-ifs, vines knotting around her thoughts.
Wes helped her down the bus’s steps and waited until Steven was out of earshot. “Everything okay?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s fine.”
“Why were you two shaking hands?”
She glanced at Wes, his expression one of curiosity, not suspicion. Now was not the time. “Nothing important. Just telling him what a good job he did in there.”
“Oh,” Wes said, his smile reappearing. “Great.”
Yeah, great.