Chapter 13
Kieran's POV
The silver Mercedes pulled away from the curb, engine purring like some sleek, expensive cat. I watched it go from the corner of my eye—watched Summer's face turn back toward me through the rear window, pale and uncertain in the fading light. Then I forced myself to look away, jaw tight, and focused on the mess of overturned equipment scattered across the pavement.
She'd left. Of course she'd left. That's what people like her did—they swooped in when things got dramatic, made a scene, then disappeared back to their climate-controlled lives in Back Bay. I told myself I didn't care, that her showing up meant nothing, but my chest felt weirdly tight and I couldn't quite shake the image of her throwing herself in front of Lily, eyes squeezed shut like she was bracing for a bullet instead of a drunk man's fist.
"Like a crazy little wildcat," I muttered under my breath, then immediately felt stupid for saying it out loud. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I even notice the way her hair had come loose from its clip, or how her voice shook when she'd demanded that asshole pay up, or the fact that she'd come back at all when she could've just kept driving?
Lily sniffled beside me, still perched on the metal step of the food cart. Her mushroom-cut hair fell forward as she rubbed at her eyes with both small fists, and every few seconds she'd crane her neck to look down the street where the Mercedes had disappeared. I caught her doing it for the third time and grabbed the back of her jacket, hauling her upright with my left hand.
"Stop looking," I said, keeping my voice flat. "She's gone."
"But Kieran..." Lily's bottom lip trembled. "Will that pretty lady come back?"
I didn't answer. Didn't know how to, really, because I had no fucking clue what Summer Hayes wanted from me, and I wasn't about to lie to my sister about some rich girl's motivations. Instead I crouched down—ignoring the way my right arm screamed in protest—and wiped the tears off her cheeks with my thumb, movements rough but as gentle as I could manage.
"You're okay," I told her. "That's all that matters."
She nodded, but her eyes were still wide and scared, and I could see the small blisters forming on her forearm where the oil had caught her. Angry red dots against pale skin. She was trying so hard to be brave, and something twisted in my chest—guilt, maybe, or just bone-deep exhaustion. I was seventeen years old and I was so goddamn tired.
The back door of The Happy Patty swung open with a rusty screech. My mother came rushing out, still wearing her grease-stained apron, hair falling out of its ponytail. Catherine Cross was small—barely five-three—with the kind of worn-down prettiness that came from too many years of bad choices and worse luck. She'd been washing dishes inside when it happened; I could smell the industrial soap on her hands as she grabbed Lily's shoulders, scanning my sister's face with frantic intensity.
"Oh my God," she breathed, accent thickening the way it always did when she was scared. "Oh my God, baby, are you okay? The servers were saying—they said there was a fight, that some drunk man—"
"She's fine," I said, standing up. "Just scared. Got a couple small burns on her arm, nothing serious."
Mom's eyes flicked to me then, taking in the oil stains spreading across my St. Jude's uniform shirt, the way I was holding my right arm slightly away from my body. Her face went pale.
"Kieran—"
"I'm fine too."
"You're not fine, you're—" She reached for me, then stopped herself, hands hovering in the air between us like she didn't know if she was allowed to touch. "Your uniform. All that oil. Did he—did you get burned?"
Before I could answer, Tony stuck his head out the door. He was in his fifties, beer gut straining against his stained apron, toothpick dangling from his mouth. His expression was pure irritation.
"Hey, Cross kid," he called out. "How many times I gotta tell you? Drunk customers, you just let 'em go. Why you gotta make such a big production out of everything?"
I clenched my left fist but kept my voice level. "Sorry, Tony. Won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't." He shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, eyes narrowing. "I let your mom set up this cart out of the goodness of my heart, you know that? Could've rented this spot to someone who doesn't bring drama to my doorstep. Next thing you know, we got health inspectors crawling up my ass because some kid got hurt on my property."
I felt my jaw tighten but said nothing. Just stood there and took it, because that's what you did when you were poor and someone held your family's livelihood in their hands.
Then Tony's expression shifted, something sly creeping into his eyes. "Speaking of which—that girl who was just here. The one making all that noise." He grinned. "Wasn't she the same one from last night? The drunk one who knocked over your tip jar?"
My throat went dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." Tony's grin widened. "Funny thing, her mom called earlier. Said she wanted to come by and apologize for her daughter's behavior. Guess the rich folks got some conscience after all." He paused, clearly enjoying himself. "You got yourself a sugar mama, Cross? That it? She feel guilty enough to come all the way down to Southie to make it right?"
My hands were shaking now, and I shoved them in my pockets so he wouldn't see. "She's just a classmate."
"Classmate. Right." Tony laughed, a wet, phlegmy sound. "Well, don't get any ideas, kid. Girls like that? They're just slumming. Having their little adventures before they go back to marrying guys from their own zip code." He waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway, clean this mess up. And you better be here on time tomorrow. No excuses."
He disappeared back inside, and I stood there breathing hard, trying to swallow down the humiliation crawling up my throat. Mom was looking at me with that awful mixture of pity and helplessness she always wore, and I couldn't stand it.
"Let me see Lily's arm," she said quietly.
I watched as she knelt down and gently examined the blisters on Lily's forearm. My sister was being so good, so quiet, even though I knew it had to hurt. She always was. Always tried not to be a burden.
"I don't hurt, Mama," Lily whispered, then pointed at me. "Kieran hurts more."
Mom's eyes filled with tears. She looked up at me, taking in the oil-soaked uniform, the way I was still holding my right arm weird. "Did you... did you fight that man?"
"No." I kept my voice flat. "Lily's exaggerating. It was just a drunk guy causing trouble. It's handled."
"The city..." Mom's voice cracked. "Maybe we shouldn't have come here. Maybe we should go back—"
"And go where?" I cut her off. "Back to what? There's nothing there for us."