Chapter 101
Emily's POV
The boy hesitated. I could see the calculation happening behind his eyes. Weighing options. Assessing risks. Trying to figure out if accepting help from a stranger was more dangerous than whatever he was running from. But the rain was relentless and he was shivering hard now. His body making the decision his mind was still debating.
After another moment he unfolded himself from the ground with visible effort and limped toward the back door.
I waited until he was inside before circling back to the driver's seat. My hands shaking slightly as I gripped the wheel. Whether from adrenaline comedown or the cold or the sheer recklessness of what I'd just done, I couldn't say.
The boy was hunched in the back seat when I checked the rearview mirror. Arms wrapped around himself. Staring at nothing with an expression that made my chest ache in ways I didn't want to examine too closely.
"I'm Emily." I pulled back onto the road. Resumed our crawl through the storm. "Since apparently we're doing this."
Silence from the back seat. Then, so quietly I almost missed it under the drum of rain on the roof: "Mason."
"Mason." I committed it to memory. I'd figure out later what the hell I was going to do with a traumatized teenager I'd just collected off the street like some kind of humanitarian hoarding project. "Okay. Mason. When we get to my place, you're taking a hot shower. I'm cleaning that cut. And then we're having a conversation about what happens next. Those are the rules. You good with that?"
Another pause. Longer this time. Then: "Yeah. Okay."
The drive to my apartment took twice as long as it should have. Visibility staying terrible. Traffic moving at a crawl. But eventually I pulled into the underground parking garage and killed the engine. Mason hadn't said another word the entire trip. When I glanced back at him he was still curled in on himself. Staring at his hands like they held answers to questions he didn't know how to ask.
"Come on." I was softer now that we were out of the weather. Now that I could see him properly in the garage's fluorescent lighting. The blood on his face had dried in rust-colored streaks. There were dark circles under his eyes that suggested he hadn't slept properly in days. "Let's get you upstairs."
He followed me to the elevator without protest. Keeping a careful distance that spoke to either deeply ingrained wariness or previous experience with situations where proximity meant danger. I didn't push. Just led him down the hallway to my door and let us both inside. Immediately turned up the thermostat because the AC I'd left running that morning suddenly felt like overkill.
The apartment was exactly as I'd left it. Mason stood just inside the doorway. Dripping onto the hardwood. Looking around with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Bathroom's down the hall. Second door on the right." I was already moving toward the linen closet to grab towels. "There's soap and shampoo in the shower. Use whatever you need. I'll find you some dry clothes. They'll be too big, but better than what you're wearing."
He took the towels I offered without meeting my eyes. His fingers brushing mine for just a second before he pulled back like the contact had burned. "Why are you doing this?"
It was a fair question. I wasn't sure I had a good answer beyond the truth. Looking at him felt like looking at a version of myself from years ago. The one who'd learned too young that home wasn't safe. That asking for help was dangerous. That survival meant making yourself small and invisible and hoping no one noticed you were drowning.
"Because someone should." It was both insufficient and the only answer that mattered. "Now go get warm before you catch something."
He disappeared down the hall. A moment later I heard the bathroom door click shut. Followed by the sound of running water. I stood there in my soaked clothes. Making a growing puddle on my own floor. Wondering what the hell I'd just gotten myself into.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Alex asking if I'd made it home okay. The storm having made national news apparently. I typed out a quick response confirming I was fine. I wanted to tell him, started typing out an explanation about the teenager I'd nearly hit and then brought home like a stray cat. But I deleted it before sending.
Maybe this stray would be gone by morning. Slipped out before I woke up. Disappeared back into whatever situation he'd been running from. Then this whole night could just be something that happened in the rain. A story I'd half-convinced myself was real. I could tell them tomorrow. After I saw whether Mason was still here when the sun came up.
I changed into dry clothes and grabbed a pair of Ethan's old sweatpants and one of his oversized hoodies from the closet. They'd swim on Mason. But they were clean and warm and that was what mattered right now.
The shower was still running when I knocked softly on the bathroom door. "I'm leaving clothes out here for you. Take your time."
No response. But I hadn't really expected one. I set the stack of clothing on the floor and retreated to the kitchen. Pulled out the first aid kit I kept under the sink. Something Alex had insisted I maintain with almost paranoid thoroughness. Complete with sterile gauze and antibiotic ointment and a selection of bandages that could handle anything short of major surgery.
The water finally shut off about ten minutes later. Mason emerged wearing Ethan's clothes, and while they hung loose on his frame, they weren't comically oversized. The kid was taller than he'd looked curled up on the asphalt. The sweatpants hit just above his ankles. His hair was clean now. No longer obscuring his face. With the blood washed away I could see that the cut on his temple was indeed minor. Just a shallow scrape that had bled impressively but wouldn't need stitches.
"Sit." I gestured to one of the kitchen chairs. "Let me look at that."