9 #3
The whole thing with Daniel—driving him around, going to all his activities, becoming a second set of super gay parents—was about keeping him safe.
That’s what it boiled down to: making sure the wolves never got another chance at him because, for some reason, they seemed fixated on him.
Or at least one of the wolves was fixated on him.
And if Jem had to guess, he would have said that wolf was Kai.
The weird shit had started not long after they’d saved Daniel.
Someone had started following Daniel. And then Ammon had caught someone trying to jimmy a window at Rainbow House one of the nights that Daniel was there.
Why?
That was the big question, and the problem was Jem didn’t know. Because Daniel had gotten away? Because Daniel was a witness? He’d seen them without their masks? He could identify them?
All of those were plausible reasons.
But Jem and Tean had seen the wolves. They knew who they were. Hell, for that matter, the police knew who they were. Kai and his pack of fuck-ups had run away, so it’s not like there was a secret about who they were. And nobody had come after Jem and Tean.
Maybe, Jem told himself, because he and Tean were so badass.
But that seemed like wishful thinking. And while Daniel was young and vulnerable in ways that adults weren’t, the black hole in Jem’s gut told him the wolves—Kai—wanted Daniel for a much, much darker reason.
Even worse, Jem wasn’t sure if Kai even knew, or could admit to himself, why he wanted him so bad.
I’ll help you.
The thought popped into Jem’s head without any warning: the balloon wallpaper, Wendell reaching down, something tightening inside Jem’s chest until it popped.
Why in the fuck had he taken the donor packet? Why had he kept it? When he’d seen it in Tean’s hand, his heart had almost stopped.
You did something stupid, he told himself as he continued down the hall. You did something really stupid. You shouldn’t have gone there. You definitely shouldn’t have taken anything. And Tean isn’t an idiot. He picks up on things. He knows when you’re lying.
Not all the time, another part of him argued.
Jem passed the locker rooms. The doors were shut, but even so, the usual locker room funk floated out, in spite of the sharp odor of bleach mixed with it.
His hands had smelled like bleach. Or something. He hadn’t remembered that, but he remembered it now. When he’d reached down—
I’ll help you.
—Jem had caught a whiff of it. That was strange because he didn’t remember what he probably should have remembered. He didn’t remember biting him. He didn’t remember what it must have felt like. He didn’t remember blood in his mouth.
Enough. That’s enough. It happened, what, twenty years ago? You haven’t thought about him in twenty years. It’s not like he was always there, hovering in the background, this memory you couldn’t get away from. He’s just some asshole you couldn’t give two fucks about. So, stop it.
And that was strange, the more that Jem thought about it.
It was strange that he hadn’t thought about Wendell in all those years, and all it took was seeing him once, and a switch had flipped in Jem’s brain.
Going after him like that at Rainbow House.
Losing his shit like a fucking animal. Looking up his address after Tean went to sleep.
Going over there. Breaking in. Jem’s chest was tight.
He could feel his pulse in his throat, and his face was hot.
Something was wrong. Something was really wrong.
Okay, we’re done. That’s it. The end. It’s over.
He took the corner at the end of the hall.
This one ran along the back of the gym, where the second entrance was.
A bearded guy in a Jordan School District windbreaker glanced at Jem and frowned—it was the frown that said, No parents allowed—but Jem nodded at him and kept walking, and the man didn’t say anything.
What was so strange about it was that nothing had really happened.
Wendell hadn’t locked Jem in his basement for twenty years.
He hadn’t diddled him. Hadn’t even really copped a feel.
Hell, if anything, Jem should be proud of how he handled himself.
Nine years old, and he had more fucking fight in him than a lot of adults. That was something to be proud of.
So, stop. Stop thinking about it.
And Decker had been so much worse. Blake and Antonio and Tanner.
Being held down. His legs forced apart. The three of them taking turns.
Decker had fucked him up. But look, shit happened, and you picked yourself up and you moved on.
And things were good now with Tean. Things were great.
He was happy with Tean. He loved Tean. He trusted Tean.
Tean wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Not ever.
It would be like—like Scipio spinning around and snapping at Jem.
He flapped the hem of his shirt, trying to get some cool air on his skin.
They were going to get married. And that meant Tean wouldn’t do anything bad.
The house had looked perfect. That’s what he remembered. The lawn would be great for playing ball. And the big TV. The N64. That view over the valley. It wasn’t loud. There weren’t a million other kids crammed into bunk beds. Nobody was shouting.
What do you think about getting a dog?
And that had been before LouElla’s, so of course he’d said yes. He’d even had a name picked out. Crackers.
“Coming through,” a man said.
Jem was standing in the middle of the hall at a full stop. Behind him, a couple of guys were carrying one of the wrestling mats. Jem stepped to the side, and they kept going. He ran his hand across the back of his neck. He took a breath.
Okay. Okay. Okay.
But he’d forgotten about that. About the dog.
Focus.
A draft hit him.
A whisper of cold air.
The memories snapped off, and another part of his brain snapped on. He dipped his hand into his pocket and found the barrette he carried there, the one with the sharpened metal. A shiv he could fit in the palm of his hand.
At the next intersection, he found a pair of doors propped open.
Winter air rushed into the building, freezing the sweat in Jem’s hair, cooling his hot cheeks.
The doors led out to a service drive behind the school, where a box truck was parked, hazards flashing.
The two men Jem had seen earlier were loading the wrestling mat into the back.
This was why he had to do these patrols.
This was why they both had to come, nights like these, because there were so many doors, so many entrances and exits, so many places they could get in. So many spots they could be hiding.
A familiar laugh caught Jem’s ear.
Outside, he caught it again: laughter he recognized, the scuff of sneakers against concrete, murmured conversation, all of it barely audible over the rumble of the big diesel. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust.