Page 77 of Inferno

When I stay quiet, the sound of Danny’s disappointment is deafening.

“Brother, I say this with love. Stop being a fucking idiot,” he snarls, then he ends the call, not giving me a chance to speak, to defend myself, or to tell him just how much of a fucking idiot I’ve been in the last few days.

With my cell still in my hand, I find Henry’s number and hover over the call button, but in the end, I can’t do it. I’ve already toyed with his emotions and his body too much, and it’s completely unfair of me to do it again now, just because I miss him.

Instead, I type out a text to Bay and hit send.

Me: Parker was supposed to be helping Henry move to his new place today, she can’t make it anymore. Do youknow of anyone in town who could help pack up his stuff and move it to his new place?

His response is almost immediate.

Bay: Penn said Henry was yours. Why aren’t you helping him?

It takes me a moment to decide how to reply; in the end, the best I can come up with is honesty.

Me: Because I’m an asshole.

The three dots appear, then disappear several times, before a reply flashes up on the screen.

Bay: Yeah, you are. We’ve got it from here.

The idea of someone else taking care of my boy makes red-hot anger swirl to life in my gut. Henry is mine, and I should be the one he turns to, but I made sure that wouldn’t happen yesterday. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it, no matter how fucking uncomfortable it is.

The morning drags, made worse by a hangover that’s making me question why I ever thought beer and whiskey could make me feel better. By lunchtime, I’m practically crawling the walls, wondering what my boy is doing, if he’s safe, if he’s smiling.

Then I remember the look on his face when he told me goodbye. He wasn’t sad, he was resigned, like he never thought we had a chance anyway. I haven’t asked much about his story.I know he was in the foster system, that he’s been on his own since he was eighteen, but I don’t know the real facts. Like, who held him when he fell down? Who soothed away his nightmares when he moved to a new family? Who took pictures of him and applauded him at his high school and college graduation?

I don’t know who his friends are or who he’d turn to in a crisis, and the reason I don’t know any of this is because I’m a selfish asshole who only thinks about himself. Since the moment I saw Henry sitting opposite Parker at the diner, all I’ve thought about is howIfeel, about whatI’lldo to him, about howmyissues will impact his life. I’ve never once stopped to ask about him. I don’t know what his favorite things are. I don’t know what he hates or what makes him happy.

And now I’ll never know those things, because I walked away and he said goodbye like it was the last time he’ll ever see me, and I have no idea if it should be. Can I stay away from him, even if it’s for his own good? Or do I need to leave? Do I need to remove myself from this town and the new life he’s only just starting to make for himself here?

Rattled and confused, I pace the living room, asking myself the same selfish questions over and over again. After an hour, I’m sick of my own company and the self-recriminations that my pacing can’t outrun.

Marching to the door, I open it and step outside, blinking as my eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. Scanning the curved circle of homes, my gaze lands on Knight’s place. Of the fourteen newcomers who moved to this remote mountainside community, Knight is the only one of us whose home looks identical to the way it did when he first moved in.

The barrenness of his front yard calls to me, and I stride over to his house and knock on the front door. Knight opens it a moment later, peering around me like he was expecting someone else.

“Anders,” he says, greeting me in his flat, monotone way.

“Hey, Knight, can I come in?”

He thinks about it for a moment, then pushes open the door and steps back. Entering his house, I exhale at the state of his living room and for the first time wonder what exactly Knight’s story is. His house reminds me a little of Henry’s apartment, only where Henry’s place is empty because he can’t afford to fill it, Knight’s furniture is clearly good quality, but his house is sparse with no personal touches.

“Are you okay?” Knight asks, tipping his head to the side as he takes in my bedraggled appearance.

“No,” I answer honestly. “No, I’m not okay.”

“Is there something you need my help with?” I can tell from his voice that although he’s offering, he doesn’t really want to get involved with my drama, and as cold as it sounds, I can appreciate that. Knight is very much no-nonsense. The only times I’ve seen him be even semi-passionate about anything was when Nero and Tori were in the early days of their relationship and Knight threatened Nero.

Knight and Tori have developed an unexpectedly close friendship, and Knight has made it openly known that upsetting her is a mistake.

The other occasion was when he shocked Oz and me by announcing that he’d met his future wife and planned to inform her of her role in his life the next time he saw her. He told us categorically that he intended to devote his life to her and would shape his future around hers.

To my knowledge at the moment, he’s still single, and as I haven’t heard of anyone getting a restraining order against him, I’m assuming he hasn’t been in contact with whoever this woman is yet.

“I’m bi,” I blurt, shocking myself.

Knight nods.

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