Calmly, Carefully, Completely(111)

I reach out and clasp his hand, squeezing hard, our thumbs crossed the way men shake hands. “It was an accident.”

“Do you think they’ll believe it?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. I don’t want to give him hope if there is none.

“I had plans, you know?” he says. He sniffles. “I wrote them down.”

Jesus Christ. This kid had plans.

“I wanted to be somebody my sister can be proud of. I wanted to be for her what no one was for me.”

“You can still have those things, Edward,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Will I go to prison?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say again.

“I don’t want to go to prison,” he says.

“We need to get you some tattoos,” I say. “Nobody f*cks with you in prison if you’re all tatted up.” I squeeze his hand. “I need for you to do me a favor,” I say.

“What?” he asks, his eyes wary.

“I need for you to remember that you’re just as important as your sister.”

“I’m not,” he starts.

I get in his face this time. I can only think back to when I used to call him Tic Tac in my head, and I realize what a disservice I did this kid. He’s better than that. He’s good on the inside, and I could try to be more like him. But I judged the outside, and I feel terrible about it. “You’re just as important as she is, and you never had anybody to fight for you.” I feel my eyes filling with tears, and I blink them back. “But you have somebody now, dummy. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“They told me my whole life that I’m not worth anything.”

“They lied,” I grit out. “They lied to make themselves feel better.” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s up to you if you believe them.” I let his hand go because holding it is getting awkward. “You’re pretty f*cking amazing,” I say.

“My sister needs to go to a group home until I can get her out of foster care,” he says.

“We’ll talk to Phil and see if he can help.” I heave in a deep breath. “Don’t give up, okay?” I say.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Look what you’ve been through, Edward,” I say. “How many people could have survived it? You did. So, don’t throw it all away now. Have hope.”

“I can’t afford any hope.” He snorts. “That shit’s expensive.”

“Then you can have some of mine. Hell, you can have all the hope I have for you. Because there’s a whole f*cking lot of it.”

“I never had anybody on my side before,” he says.

Phil and Mr. Caster walk into the room. Mr. Caster glares at me, and Phil looks curious. “The guy fell on the knife,” I say. “Edward didn’t do it on purpose.”

Mr. Caster pulls out a notepad and starts to write. He motions for Edward to continue, and he goes through the whole story while Reagan’s dad takes notes.

Phil claps a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you,” he says. “I really think you could be successful in this line of work.”

“I’m not sure I can take the heartache,” I admit.

“He sobbed like a baby,” Edward tosses out. He laughs and then clutches his side when it hurts.

“I didn’t sob,” I grumble. I point to his side. “And that’s what you get for being a smart-ass.”

“Better a smart-ass than a dumb-ass,” he says. I flip him the bird.