Chapter 11 #2
The ride ends too soon, the car slowing as it pulls into the station with a groan of protesting metal. I’m still laughing as we climb out, my legs shaky from the aftermath of adrenaline, and Orien’s hand finds the small of my back.
I collect my stuffed fox from the bin, and we stumble away. “I want to go again.”
Orien shudders. “How about some real food first?”
“Weak,” I tease, but let him lead me back toward the food stalls.
We end up with an enormous corn dog, a square mountain of fries, and a bag of scones before we find a folding table near the perimeter of the lot, far enough from the nearest game booth for the shouting of players to fade into background noise.
As we share the food, I say, “Thank you for this.”
Orien meets my gaze before surveying the small fair, where the shopping mall is visible through the booths. “It’s not much.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, and mean it.
He doesn’t answer, but his shoulders loosen a little.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, observing the flow of people around us. A family passes our table, the parents hand-in-hand, the child between them bouncing with excitement. I track their progress through the crowd until they disappear from sight, a strange ache settling beneath my ribs.
The family holds Orien’s attention, too, and silence settles over him for a moment. “I grew up with a stepfather who drank.”
My hand freezes halfway to my mouth, a French fry forgotten between my fingers.
“Money was always tight, and sometimes he’d spend our grocery funds on booze. Rent, too, so we never had enough to come to places like this. He beat my mother until she left, then turned on me when I was the only one left to take her place.”
I set down my food.
“He put me in the hospital twice before I was old enough to fight back,” he continues, as if reciting a history that belongs to someone else. “The third time, I broke his arm and two of his ribs. He pressed charges. I went to juvenile detention at sixteen. That’s where I met Rowan.”
The words come without emotion. They’re simply facts, delivered without apology.
“I showed him how to survive the assholes we were locked up with. He got out first, and six months after my release, he tracked me down,” he says.
“I was working security at a club downtown, taking money to ignore certain people when they came through the back. Violence was the only language I’d been taught, and I was good at it. ”
He holds my eyes. “Rowan offered to teach me a different way to survive. Told me I could use what I knew to keep people safe instead of instilling fear. He gave me a choice when I didn’t think I had one.
He’s good like that, letting people know they have options outside of how they were raised or the shitty hand life has dealt them. ”
I listen without offering platitudes or murmured reassurances. I don’t think Orien is telling me any of this for sympathy, and I hear the message beneath. This is who Orien is, and why he’s loyal to Rowan.
I pick at the rectangle of fries, focusing on tearing it apart to keep my attention fixed anywhere but Orien.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was twelve,” I say, the words careful. “My brother was only twenty. He became my guardian before either of us was ready for it.”
I pause, weighing how much to share. There’s a version of this story I’ve repeated so often that the real one has started to blur.
The tragic death, the stoic older brother, the family business that needed a firm hand.
It’s what goes in my official biography, the story everyone knows. The one that’s safe.
But safe has never felt further away.
“I spent years proving I wasn’t a burden,” I continue, each word chosen with more care than I’ve given anything in weeks.
“Doing everything I could to be useful so my brother never had to question if it was worth keeping me around when he was already struggling to hold together the business our parents left him.”
I peek up at Orien. He studies me, but doesn’t ask what kind of business my family left to my brother.
“You should stop doing that,” he says instead. “Don’t diminish yourself so that other people are more comfortable.”
My head snaps up. “It’s not—”
“Don’t be afraid to be yourself, trouble. It’s more than enough for anyone who matters.” Before I can respond, he nudges the pile of shredded fries. “You want more of these? Or are you ready for more games?”
I take the easy out and stand, gathering our leftovers to take to the trash.
“I haven’t finished tormenting you,” I warn. “The roller coaster is happening again, and we’re riding the Ferris wheel before we leave.”
“Sure,” he agrees, grabbing my fox from the bench. “Whatever you want, trouble.”
We stay at the fair until my feet hurt, and the sun starts to set, playing the same games over and over. We spend so much time on other rides that the Ferris wheel never happens because Orien starts to look a little green.
When we head out, the lights are on in the parking lot, and I’ve eaten more fried food and junk in one day than I have in the entire year.
When we reach Orien’s car, he opens the passenger door for me, his hand warm on my back as he guides me in.
The drive back is quiet, but not uncomfortable.
Orien turns the radio to a station playing soft jazz, the volume low enough for conversation to be easy if either of us feels the need to fill the silence.
We don’t. The stuffed fox sits on my lap, its synthetic fur soft beneath my palm, and I don’t move it even when my arm goes numb from the position.
When Orien nears my building twenty minutes later, I’m not ready for the day to end.
“Come up for a drink.”
“Sounds good.” He scans the packed curb in front of my complex. “I’ll drop you here and find a spot to park. You can start on those drinks.”
My cheeks warm at the suggestion, because we both know I’m not really offering drinks.
He turns on the hazards, same as this morning, and stops traffic to drop me off as close to the door as possible. “I’ll be right up.”
I wet my bottom lip. “Don’t leave me waiting too long.”
Before he can respond, I dart out of the car and close the door behind me.