Page 108 of Make Me Trust Again
Forget about the booster seat, Rose’s going to kill me for bringing him here in the first place.
I should’ve thought this through considering I know the kid wants to have a dog of his own, but it’s too late now.
“No, we’re here because I have to work.”
If I thought that would deter him, I had another thing coming. “You work here?”
“I help out occasionally.” I tilt my head toward the entrance. “I thought you could help me out today.”
“I can help with dogs?”
“Sure thing.”
Kyle flashes me a grin. “That’s the coolest! Let’s go, Shadow.”
He waves her over as he starts running for the door. I hurry after them, catching up just as he pushes the door open, a soft chime of the bell ringing in the air as we step inside. The AC’s blasting on max, the cool air making the hair on my arms prickle.
Kevin, one of the students manning the front desk, glances up. “Hey, Chase. What’s up, man?”
The couple he’s talking to looks over their shoulders, and I can feel their probing gazes on my face, the scars there. They’re with a little girl, probably around Kyle’s age, who’s holding onto a big orange cat. The animal lets out a hissing noise when she spots Shadow, so the girl clutches it tighter to her chest, and her father stands in front of her, shielding her. From me.
Keeping my face impassive, I shift my attention to Kevin. “Mae called me about a dog.”
“Yeah, she brought in a young Belgian Malinois a little while ago. She should be in the clinic.”
Of course, she is. I nod absentmindedly. “Thanks. I’ll go look for her.”
I press my hand firmly against Kyle’s back, and he tilts his head. “We have to go through that door.”
Kyle glances in the direction I pointed. “That’s where the dogs are?”
“Yes, there are kennels there and a vet’s office.”
The loud barking greets us the moment we step into the dim hallway. Kyle steps closer to Shadow, his hand resting on her back.
“Those people were looking at you.” He turns to me. Those big blue eyes seem way older than they should be as he observes me and tilts his head to the side. “Is it because of your face?”
“Probably.” There’s no sense in lying.
Kyle nods once, his gaze drifting away, a pensive expression on his face. “They look at me like that sometimes. When I speak.”
Dammit.
My jaw clenches at his softly spoken words. I hate that he notices things like this because the same kind of behavior is directed at him as well. Because people are judging him for his voice. He’s just a kid, for fuck’s sake.
“They say I have a funny voice.”
“Who says that?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Some kids in school.”
Little fuckers.
Didn’t their parents teach them better? Although seriously, is it even surprising? Adults are the first to give you a nasty look—the first to judge. People are afraid of those who are different. Of uniqueness. Of imperfections. Because by accepting it, you’re acknowledging the fact that we aren’t really so different from one another after all. They think the judgment gives them power, puts them above everybody else, when in reality, it just shows how broken this world is, how we’ve lost our kindness. Our humanity.
I place my hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to shift his attention to me. “There is nothing wrong with the way you speak, Kyle. Nothing.”
“My father doesn’t like it either.”
