Page 36 of Emmy's Ride

I swallowed the last bite of my lunch, pushing the empty takeout container aside. I really didn’t know what to make of the man across from me. I knew him, yet I didn’t. Too many years had gone by.

I studied him across the desk, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. “That kid earlier,” he said casually. “He’s been through hell, hasn’t he?”

I hesitated. I couldn’t discuss specifics, not without breaking patient confidentiality, but I could confirm the obvious. “Yeah. He has.”

Austin hummed, his gaze distant. “He’s got fight in him.”

My brows furrowed. “You got all that from a conversation in the waiting room?”

His lips twitched. “I recognize survival when I see it, Emmy.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten. He wasn’t just talking about the boy. He was talking about us too.

Austin had survived a bully of a father, and I’d survived being raised by a dad who spent more time away from home on missions than he did making sure Luke and I ate every day. Then he was killed, and I had to figure out how to survive in that world. Luke had made it as normal as he could, but there were still nights I went to sleep terrified.

I looked away, busying myself with stacking the trash back into the takeout bags, but Austin wasn’t done. “What about the girl?” he asked. “The one with the sleeves over her hands.”

My stomach twisted. I knew exactly who he meant. She was a cutter and didn’t like people seeing her scars. He had noticed that?

“She seemed nervous,” Austin continued, “but when she sat down, she relaxed a little. I didn’t push her to talk, just made a comment about the book she was holding. That’s when she looked up. She asked about my tattoos. Evidently, she’s thinking of getting one.” He paused. “The way she held on to that book? Like it was her only safe place?”

I exhaled. “It might be.”

Austin’s jaw tightened. “Parents?”

I sighed. “Not great.”

“School?”

I shook my head. “Not much better.”

He muttered a curse under his breath. “And the kid with the hoodie? The one who wouldn’t look me in the eye?”

I hesitated before answering. “He trusts almost no one.”

Austin nodded slowly, rubbing his jaw. “I kinda got that feeling. But he still showed up.”

“That’s something,” I agreed.

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Austin leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Where do these kids go when they’ve got no one, Em?”

I blinked, caught off-guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said deliberately, “if home isn’t safe, and school is just another battleground, where do they go? Who steps in for them?”

I had spent years grappling with that very question, trying to fill the gaps where the system failed. But the truth was… there was no easy answer. “Sometimes, they find a mentor,” I said. “A teacher, a coach, a neighbor who sees them, really sees them. But for most of them?” I shook my head. “They slip through the cracks.”

Austin’s eyes darkened. “And no one does a damn thing.”

I felt the same frustration often in my line of work. “Not enough people, no.”

His hands curled into fists on the desk. “That’s bullshit. Every kid needs someone to at least believe in their dreams.”

“I know.”

Austin fell silent, but I could see the gears turning in his head. It was scary how good it felt to know he cared about my kids.

Then he met my gaze. “These kids—what do they need most?”

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