Page 29 of Wrecked Rose

And that’s when Sam loses it. His already battered face contorts, and his eyes squeeze shut. He looks down as he furiously swipes his fingers over his cheeks. His shoulders shake up and down, his cries silent.

I’ll admit I have no idea what to do in this situation. I’m no counselor or therapist. The idea that something I’d do would cause further distress weighs on me. In the end, I do what I feel like any human being should do for another. I loop an arm around his back and pull him tightly to my side. “I know it’s hard.” I squeeze his small bicep. The poor kid hadn’t stood a chance against a group of bigger, older guys. We walk slowly to my SUV without another word.

Chapter 20

Max

“Oh no. Your mom’s here. I can’t go in. What if she asks questions? What if—” Sam and I stand in front of my SUV, where he’s caught sight of my mother walking past a window.

I put my hand on his shoulder, and squeeze. “If she gets a look at you, she’s only going to want to help. Promise. But we’ll try to get in there without bothering her. Get you cleaned up a bit. Then I can take you home whenever you’re ready.” I side-eye him, noting the anxious look in his eyes and how tense he seems.

Sam visibly shudders but then he nods. “If you think it’s okay for me to come in…”

“Absolutely. You’re always welcome here.”

He looks at me warily.

“I mean it.” I’m unsure what else to do or say to reassure him, so I lead him up to the door and let us into the house.

I’m able to get him upstairs without anyone seeing us. Sam follows me into my bathroom, and I gesture that he should sit on the built-in bench against the far wall. “Hang here for a sec while I go grab a few things. Be right back.”

I bolt down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mom’s standing at the island, a glass of wine in her hand. She’s very into her volunteer work, but some days are harder than others, so a glass of her favorite pinot noir is her way of winding down after a long day. I’ve always thought it was interesting that some of the stuff she does is pretty demanding—and she does it happily without a paycheck. Not that we need it with Dad at the helm of Sutton Pharmaceuticals. He took over for my grandpa about ten years ago. I’ve always been grateful for the business Dad runs, which has allowed Mom to spend her time raising me. Not every kid gets that.

She gives me a bright smile. “Well, hey. I thought you were already out for the night. What are you up to?”

“Uh.” I grimace, not really wanting to explain. But I rarely hide things from my parents. We have a very open, honest relationship. “I’m helping out a friend. He’s upstairs.”

“Oh?” Her brows raise a fraction.

“Yeah. He got into a fight after school and is pretty banged up.”

Her face pales, and she tucks a stray strand of light-brown hair behind her ear. “Do you need some help?”

I shake my head. “No. He would freak out. But do we have something cold for his face? He has some swelling that isn’t gonna feel so great tomorrow.”

Mom winces and eyes me carefully. “You know I’ve always given you your space. Do I need to be worried about something, Max?”

“I’m good.”

“And this friend?”

“When I said ‘a fight’, that was an understatement. He’s being bullied and was beaten up pretty badly.”

“What?” She sucks in a breath and her eyes search my face for answers. “Why?”

I lift my gaze to hers. She won’t like hearing this but I won’t lie to save her from worrying about me. “He’s gay. I guess he ran into the wrong crowd at school. And for whatever reason, they’ve fixated on him.”

Mom inhales sharply. “Oh no.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty bad. And he’s not even really out, but somehow…” I blink, then look directly into her eyes and note how they soften when she looks at me. “I should get back upstairs. I’m going to help him get cleaned up, then I’ll take him home.”

“Okay. I’ll be here if you need anything.” She walks to the fridge and opens the freezer drawer. “Here. I’ve got peas.” I accept them from her, only she doesn’t let go of the bag. “Promise you’ll come to us with… well, anything.”

“Always, Mom. You know that.”

She nods and lets go. “Hang on a sec.” Holding up a finger, she hurries out of the room. When she comes back, she has some clean washcloths and a pile of assorted first aid supplies. Without another word, she hands them to me, then picks up her wine glass and refills it.

“Thanks, Mom.”

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