Chapter 3 – ELLIE #2
Reese turns, a rock still in his hand. He's gotten bigger over the years, bulky in that way that comes from genetics rather than actual work and has made him Sheri's favorite minion by default.
That and the fact that his cousin is a cop.
His hair's cut short, and his mean eyes narrow when he sees us.
"None of your fucking business, fire boy. "
"See, that's where you're wrong." Kade steps closer, and the rest of us fan out behind him like we've choreographed this. Which, honestly, we kind of have. "Everything that happens in this park is my business. That's what people pay me for."
"No one pays you shit," Reese sneers. "You're just a bunch of stupid kids playing—"
The rest of his sentence dies as Tank suddenly explodes forward.
I've seen Tank fight before. Usually, it's controlled, purposeful. One punch to end things before they really start. This isn't that.
This is… brutal.
Tank's fist connects with Reese's face with a sound like raw meat hitting concrete. Reese goes down, but Tank doesn't stop. He drops to his knees, fists flying in a rhythm that's more machine than human. Blood sprays across the dirt, and Reese's friends scramble forward to help.
Tank backhands one without even looking, sending him sprawling. The other backs away, hands up, suddenly remembering he has somewhere else to be.
"Tank, stop!" Kade grabs his brother's shoulder, trying to pull him off. Tank shrugs him away like he weighs nothing.
Sheri's screaming now, magazine forgotten in the dirt. "You're gonna kill him, you giant freak! Stop!"
Cyrus and Jinx both try to grab Tank's arms, but he throws them off too. Reese isn't even fighting back anymore, just trying to cover his face as Tank's fists rain down like hammers.
"Tank!" I don't think, just move. My hand touches his arm, gentle as I can manage. "Tank, stop."
He whirls on me, fist drawn back, and for a heartbeat, I see what everyone else sees when they look at him. Not my gentle giant who builds bridges for ants. Not the boy who carried me when I was hurt and scared.
A monster.
His bloody fist hovers inches from my face, close enough that I can smell the copper, see the split skin across his knuckles. His eyes are wild, unfocused, like he's not even seeing me.
Then recognition returns, and the horror that replaces the rage is worse than the violence.
But I'm already looking past him, at the tiny bundle of feathers in the grass. A baby bird, probably pushed from its nest, one wing bent at an unnatural angle.
"Oh," I breathe, understanding flooding through me.
He's already backing away, hands shaking, blood dripping from his knuckles onto the dirt. Before any of us can say anything, he turns and runs, disappearing into the woods behind the trailers.
"Get the bird," I order the others, already moving to follow him. "Carefully. Don't touch its wings."
"Ellie, wait—" Kade starts.
"I'm calling the fucking cops!" Sheri screams, already pulling out her phone. “He's fucking crazy! He almost killed Reese!”
I don't stay to hear the rest. Tank needs me more than I need to deal with Sheri's dramatics.
The woods are darker than the park, branches catching at my clothes, leaving scratches on my arms that sting like tiny fires. I follow the sound of breaking branches, the path of destruction Tank's leaving in his wake.
"Tank!" I call out, stumbling over roots and rocks. "Tank, wait!"
He doesn't wait. Of course he doesn't. He's probably replaying that moment over and over—his fist inches from my face, the fear in my eyes that I couldn't quite hide fast enough.
I find him by the stream that cuts through the back of the woods, crouched with his back to me, hands clutching his hair hard enough that it has to hurt. His shoulders shake with something that might be sobs if Tank could make sounds like that.
A twig snaps under my foot, and he freezes. His hands fly to his face, adjusting his bandana that had slipped down. I didn't see anything—I never do—but the frantic way he fixes it like he thinks his entire world will end if I do breaks my heart a little more each time.
He holds his hands out when he straightens to his full height and turns, the universal sign for 'stay back,' like he's something contagious. Something dangerous.
"I'm okay," I say, moving closer despite his warning. "Tank, I'm okay. I know why you did it. I saw the bird. Reese is an asshole. He deserved it."
His hands move rapidly, but I catch enough of the signs to understand.
Don't give a shit about Reese. Almost hurt you.
"But you didn’t.”
Could have.
“But you didn’t,” I repeat, signing it for emphasis before moving closer, ignoring the way he flinches back. "You didn't hurt me."
Almost. So close. Could have—
"Stop." I reach up, taking his face in my hands. He cringes but doesn't pull away. I can feel him trembling under my touch as my thumb brushes over the scarred and ropey skin pulling at his right eye. "You would never hurt me. Never. I know that."
His eyes soften, and I see the tear tracks on the visible parts of his face. This boy who everyone fears, who just nearly beat someone to death for hurting a baby bird, who's so gentle with me it's like he thinks I'll shatter if he breathes wrong.
"Let's go back," I say softly. "I'll tell them what Reese was doing."
But we both know it won't matter.
No one cares about kids like us, let alone a bird. Tank hurt one of their own—not run-of-the-mill trailer trash like us, but someone with parents who actually give a shit, or at least pretend to. Someone with connections.
There will be consequences.
We walk back together, his hand in mine. For a few moments, the world is peaceful, but then the red-and-blue lights strobe through the trees on the edge of the forest near the park and that peace shatters.
Tank's hand tightens around mine.
Two cop cars sit in front of Reese's trailer, lights on, sirens off. Kade's on his uncle's porch, arguing with the cops and his guardians simultaneously, his voice carrying across the park.
"He was protecting a fucking bird! They were torturing it!"
"Watch your language," his uncle snaps, hand tight on Kade's shoulder to keep him from charging forward.
Jinx stands on his own porch, holding a shoebox that definitely contains the bird.
Kyle lounges against the front door, beer in hand, watching the show with the same detached interest he'd give a mediocre TV drama.
Half the neighborhood's come out to watch, because entertainment's hard to come by in the park.
"There he is!" Mrs. Johnson points at Tank, and my blood turns to ice.
The cops move forward, and Tank doesn't run. Doesn't fight. Just stands there looking sad and tired and younger than his size suggests as they cuff him.
"Hey, you fucking assholes, get your hands off my brother!" Kade yells, trying to break free from his uncle's grip.
"No," I say, stepping toward the cops. “Wait, you can't. He was protecting—”
Arms wrap around me from behind, and Cyrus's voice is calm in my ear. "You can't do anything but make it worse right now. Don't give them a reason to arrest you too."
"But he didn't do anything wrong!"
"He beat a kid unconscious, Ellie. A kid who's got family on the force. Doesn't matter why he did it."
Tank goes with them peacefully, hands behind his back. He looks so different right now, dark hair covering his eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Please," I beg, tears streaming down my face. "Just let me say goodbye. Please."
The cop looks at me, then at Tank, and his expression softens slightly. "One minute."
Cyrus lets me go, and I throw myself at Tank, wrapping my arms around him as tight as I can, burying my face in his chest. "We'll take care of the bird," I promise. "We'll make sure it's okay. And I'll be here when you get back. Tomorrow, right? Just one night?"
Tank looks down at me, and the sadness in his eyes tells me what I don't want to know. This isn't going to be one night.
"I'll be here," I repeat fiercely. "No matter how long. I'll be right here."
They take him away, and I stand there watching until the taillights disappear into the darkness.
Tank doesn't come back the next day.
Or the next.
When Kade tells us his aunt and uncle won't put up the money for bail, and that he actually thinks they were relieved to get rid of Tank because he scares the shit out of them—which is fucking insane—I ask if selling my bike would be enough, and his bitter, miserable laugh is all the answer I need.
The trial's quick, but none of us can tell if that's a good thing. Assault. Previous record. Pattern of violence.
They send him to juvenile detention the week after that.
Summer has always been my favorite time of year. Three months of freedom with my princes in our kingdom of rust and gravel.
This summer's going to be the longest of my life.