Kill the Messenger - 4. Chapter Four

The kid didn’t hit the ground.

D caught him as he sagged, one arm looped around his shoulders, the other beneath his knees. He weighed next to nothing—slight, warm, too trusting. His hoodie bunched up as D adjusted his grip, revealing a narrow waist and pale skin where the shirt had ridden up. His breath was shallow but steady, his lashes dark against his cheeks, lips parted just enough to show the glint of teeth.

Too young to be this unlucky. Too sweet to be in a grave.

D shifted him gently against his chest, then moved—fast, steady, without looking back.

He carried the kid down a block to where he’d left the car. A plain black sedan, clean, quiet, forgettable. He laid the boy across the back seat with more care than he meant to—brushed blond hair out of his eyes, checked the pulse at his throat, just to be sure. Still strong.

“You don’t even know how close you just got,” D muttered, settling into the driver’s seat. He glanced in the mirror again. The kid’s head lolled slightly with the curve of the car, golden hair glowing soft in the dashboard light. “You dumb little idiot.”

But his voice wasn’t unkind.

He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, the city lights slipping past them like ghosts. The Velvet Room disappeared behind him, and he didn’t look back.

Destination: Pittsburgh.

It wasn’t a plan. It was instinct. Somewhere far enough to be safe for the night. He’d find a motel. A bus station nearby. In the morning, he’d buy the kid a ticket and hand over the phone and the money. He’d give the speech, same as always: Don’t look back. Don’t call home. Keep moving.

But this one… this one was different.

D’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, but his mind spun. He hadn’t asked for this. Hell, he avoided this. He didn’t get involved. Didn’t get attached.

Tavi had been a flinch of guilt. A sense of duty. He was someone’s cousin, someone who shouldn’t die over a mistake. Ethan… Ethan had been a harder case. He’d tried, twice, to steer the kid right. Warned him. But Ethan had made a choice tonight, and Vinnie didn’t do mercy.

D had pulled the trigger himself.

He hadn’t even flinched.

But this kid—this stammering, scared, stupidly brave little delivery boy with his shaky hands and green eyes—he’d walked straight into a nightmare and hadn’t run. Not fast enough, anyway. He should have been dead already. That was the rule.

Instead, D was here. Driving him out of state.

Saving him.

Again.

Why?

D glanced back at him in the mirror. The kid was curled slightly now, unconsciously protective, one hand resting near his chin. His lips were pink, soft, parted just barely as he breathed. His hair was a mess—golden and fine and sticking up in strange directions from where D had carried him—and his face had that frustrating, kick-in-the-gut kind of sweetness that made something twist low in D’s gut.

He wasn’t just protecting this kid.

He wanted to.

More than that—he wanted to keep him.

He didn’t even know his name.

“Jesus,” D muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “What are you doing to me, blondie?”

He didn’t get like this. He didn’t feel like this.

But something about the kid made him ache. The way he’d panicked but stood his ground. The way his voice cracked around Ethan’s name. The way he’d refused to run because his mom needed him. The way he’d looked at D like he was something solid in a collapsing world—and how that look had hit D square in the chest, rattling something that had been bolted down for years.

He’d seen innocence before. He’d saved it before. But never like this. Never wanted it the way he did now.

Not to ruin. Not to use.

To keep.

To hold.

To protect, even if it meant burning bridges that couldn’t be rebuilt.

D let the silence stretch between them, only the tires humming now, the highway opening up under the stars. They passed out of city limits. Buildings gave way to trees and open road. And still, the kid slept, safe—for now.

D loosened his grip on the wheel just enough to let himself breathe.

No one’s killing this one. Not while I’m around.

He let the thought settle like a vow.

As they reached the state line, the boy stirred.

It was small at first—a wrinkle of his brow, a shift of his shoulders. Then a breath sucked in sharp, a flinch, and a whisper: “Wh…where…”

D glanced in the mirror just as the kid blinked awake, dazed and wide-eyed, like a baby deer standing in traffic.

“Hey,” D said, soft but firm.

The boy’s gaze snapped to his, panic blooming instantly. “W-what—what—where—?”

“You’re okay,” D said. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The boy blinked at him, breathing fast now, confusion and fear clawing at his features.

D kept his eyes on the road. “We’re headed east. Pittsburgh. You needed to disappear. I’m helping you disappear.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then:

“…W-who are you?”

D didn’t answer right away. The road curved, and he guided the car with one hand, the other resting loose on his thigh.

He could still feel the weight of the kid’s body from earlier—light, warm, unresisting in his arms. The memory of it wouldn’t leave.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” D said finally.

The boy blinked at him from the back seat, dazed but holding on. His voice was still groggy. “J-Joey,” he said. “M-my n-name’s J-Joey.”

D nodded once. “Okay, Joey.”

It suited him. Soft. Small. A little shy around the edges. Yeah. Joey.

“I w-was j-just doin’ a d-drop,” Joey mumbled, wiping a hand across his face. “F-f-for my b-brother, R-Ronnie. H-he told me t-to—t-to go t-to the cl-club and—” He hesitated. “G-give the e-envelope.”

D’s jaw tightened. “Ronnie sends you often?”

Joey shrugged, too tired to lie. “S-sometimes.”

Of course he did. Ronnie was the type who’d sell the boots off his little brother if it meant he didn’t have to walk.

“Ronnie’s not a good guy,” D said flatly.

Joey looked up at that. Defensive, but not surprised.

“He’s m-my brother.”

D didn’t respond to that. Just stared ahead, eyes narrowed on the dark horizon.

After a while, Joey spoke again. “H-he s-sent Ethan too, didn’t h-he?”

D sighed through his nose. “Yeah. He did.”

Joey’s shoulders slumped. “I r-remember him from school. H-he was s-so… perfect.”

Silence fell. Then Joey asked, “Wh-why d-did you… y-you know…”

D’s grip on the wheel flexed. His voice dropped low.

“Because I had to,” he said. “Because if I didn’t, someone else would’ve done worse.”

Joey flinched.

“I tried to save him,” D added, quieter now. “Warned him. Twice.”

“Y-you still d-did it,” Joey said, not unkindly. Just honest. Just brave enough to say it.

D didn’t answer.

Because what was there to say?

He had pulled the trigger.

That was the kind of thing that lived in your bones forever.

“I work for Vinnie too,” he said after a beat. “Have since I was younger than you.”

Joey’s eyes flicked to his, wide. “R-really?”

“Really. Grew up in the business. Didn’t think about it too much at first. Just... surviving.” A breath. He didn’t usually talk this much. “But lately? I don’t know. Something shifted. Maybe I got tired of doing what I was told. Maybe I just stopped believing in the people giving orders.”

Joey leaned his head against the window, watching him in the glass. “S-so wh-why not l-leave?”

“Because it’s not just Cleveland. Vinnie’s reach goes deep. Cities up and down the coast. Connections in every hole-in-the-wall town. You walk away, and they come for you. And anyone who helped you.”

Joey looked down. “S-still sounds b-better than l-leavin’ your soul b-behind.”

That one landed hard.

D let the silence speak for a while after that.

They passed a gas station, lights buzzing like a lighthouse on the dark stretch of road.

Joey shifted. “C-could we stop?”

D glanced at him.

Joey sat up straighter. “I-I just w-want somethin’ to e-eat. M-maybe cigarettes. P-please?”

D sighed, but the word please did something to him.

He blinked and flicked the blinker on, turning off at the next exit.

“Alright.”

Joey smiled, faint but real. His face lit up like it hadn’t in hours. Something in D's chest gave the slightest twist.

They pulled into the gas station lot. The light overhead made the interior glow warm and yellow.

As the engine ticked quiet, Joey glanced at him shyly. “Th-thanks… f-for not k-killin’ me.”

D smirked. “That’s a pretty low bar for gratitude.”

Joey giggled—an actual giggle—then looked away, flustered. He pushed his hair back and fussed with the zipper on his hoodie, and D couldn’t stop watching him.

The softness of him. The tremble still clinging to the edge of his smile. The flickers of bravery.

D had never wanted to keep someone before.

Not like this.

Not because they made him laugh, or because they needed saving, or because they looked at him like he was solid when everything else was sand.

This was new.

Joey peeked up at him again, green eyes wide and unsure. He held D’s gaze a second too long. And then he looked away, cheeks going pink.

D swallowed hard. This kid’s a virgin, he thought, almost stunned by how obvious it was. It radiated off him. His curiosity. His sweetness. The confused little stares. And the way his knees knocked together when he tried to act tougher than he was.

D shifted in his seat.

He hadn’t expected this.

He didn’t do this.

But now that Joey was here—sitting next to him, breathing the same air, looking at him like that—he wasn’t sure he could send him away after all.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

Joey slipped out of the car with a little stretch, hoodie tugging up just enough to flash a slice of pale hip. D’s jaw clenched reflexively and he got out slower, locking the car, falling into step beside him like a shadow.

The bell above the gas station door gave a little jingle, and Joey pushed in fast, drawn straight to the snack aisle like a moth to neon.

D veered left toward the back fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and turned in time to see Joey cradling a Red Bull against his chest like it was holy.

Then he added a bag of sour cream chips. Then spicy beef jerky.

And then he just stood there, debating a king-size candy bar.

D raised a brow, amused despite himself. “This your survival kit?”

Joey flinched like he hadn’t noticed him coming up behind. “S-sorry—uh. Y-yeah. I—I guess…”

“You planning on living through the night or dying of sodium first?”

Joey blinked at him. “I—I like s-snacks.”

“You like snacks,” D echoed, deadpan.

“I d-do,” Joey said defensively, hugging his pile closer. “And energy drinks.”

“Those’ll kill you faster than Vinnie.”

Joey made a face at him and grabbed another Red Bull, like he was daring D to stop him.

D huffed a quiet breath through his nose. The kid was ridiculous. And…kind of adorable.

“I drink water,” D offered, holding up the bottle as if it made a point.

Joey glanced at it, skeptical. “Th-that’s b-boring.”

“It keeps me from twitching like a raccoon on meth.”

Joey let out a surprised laugh—short and awkward, but real. His cheeks pinked. And God help him, he looked away like he didn’t know what to do with D’s attention. Like he wasn’t used to being looked at.

D’s eyes tracked the flush up his neck.

There was something about him—soft where most guys were sharp, warm in places D hadn’t even remembered needing warmth. Joey’s blond hair curled where his hood had pressed it down, falling into his eyes. His lashes were too long. His skin was smooth, pale, unmarred.

Beautiful, D realized.

The kid was beautiful.

And sweet in a way that D didn’t trust but couldn’t stop watching.

He stepped closer. “You always eat like a vending machine or is this a panic thing?”

Joey tilted his chin up like he was trying to play tough. “I—I l-like what I l-like.”

The stutter was worse when he was nervous. But when he laughed? Or argued?

It smoothed. Not completely, but enough to notice. D filed that away.

Made a mental note: Ask about the stutter later.

He didn’t know why he wanted to. He didn’t need to. But he wanted to know.

That surprised him.

So did the way he was… enjoying this.

Watching Joey blush, flinch, smile—watching him try to match D’s calm with some brand of shaky, defiant energy. It made something twist low in his gut, something warm and slow and wrong.

He liked teasing him.

He liked the reaction.

That shy little stumble of words, the flicker of those bright green eyes, the way Joey bit his lip when he didn’t know what to say—all of it made D’s blood run just a little hotter. Like something dangerous curling under the surface, waiting for permission.

Fuck.

He looked away, lips twitching. “Come on, Blondie. Let’s pay before you empty the whole store.”

Just before they reached the counter, they passed a small rotating rack of keychains—plastic footballs, cartoon animals, glitter hearts. Joey slowed, glanced at D, then looked again.

D kept walking. Didn’t say anything.

But out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand flick fast and smooth into a pocket.

D narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Not yet.

At the counter, Joey spilled out a wad of sad, crumpled bills. “C-can I—uh—Red pack, too. P-please.”

The cashier didn’t look up. “ID?”

Joey handed over a ragged license like it might fall apart in the kid’s hands. D waited a beat, then smoothly stepped forward, pulling out his card.

“Put it all on this.”

Joey looked up, startled. “Y-you d-don’t—”

“Keep your money,” D said simply.

Joey bit his lip again. “You’re gonna s-say I owe you now, huh?”

“Sure,” D murmured, taking the bag. “Call it interest on a stolen strawberry.”

Joey froze.

Outside, they crossed the parking lot in silence. D didn’t speak again until they were back in the car. Joey climbed into the front this time like it was natural, curled up with his Red Bull and chip bag in his lap.

D started the engine, but didn’t pull out yet.

“So,” he said casually, “you like keychains?”

Joey blinked. “Huh?”

D held up two fingers, miming a small circle. “Little red ones. Glitter inside.”

Joey flushed. He reached into his hoodie and pulled out the shiny stolen strawberry, twirling it proudly on his finger. “I—it was cute.”

“You stole it.”

“I—I c-could’ve paid.”

“But you didn’t.”

Joey smiled at him, all wide green eyes and mischief. “Y-you didn’t t-tell.”

“No,” D said, mouth twitching. “No, I didn’t.”

Joey clipped the keychain to his belt loop, proud as hell, then dug into the chips. He crunched one, then handed the bag toward D. “Want one?”

D grimaced. “No.”

Joey laughed, cheeks pink. “Y-you’re judging me.”

“Harshly.”

“B-bet you eat like a monk.”

“Yeah,” D muttered. “And I’ll still be awake when that Red Bull crashes you into a coma.”

Joey laughed again, and D found himself smiling too. Just a little.

As they pulled back onto the road, silence fell—but it wasn’t heavy this time. It was companionable. Easy. The kind of quiet that hummed.

D glanced over.

Joey was watching him again. Not sneaky about it. Just open. Curious. His eyes—bright green and steady now—held something soft in them. Wonder, maybe. Or confusion. Like he was trying to figure D out and not sure if he wanted to or if he had to.

D looked away first.

He’d saved a lot of kids. But none had ever looked at him like this. And none had made him want to look back.

Pittsburgh rose like a bruise on the horizon—dark shapes, blinking lights, a heartbeat of a city that never slept. They reached the city an hour later, at just a minute past midnight.

The streets got meaner as they got closer to the Greyhound station: graffiti-tagged brick, flickering signage, broken sidewalk teeth. The kind of place people passed through, not stayed.

D didn’t speak. Just drove with jaw tight, eyes sharp, one hand on the wheel, the other near the glove box. Always ready.

He found a motel two blocks from the station. No name, just a neon vacancy sign that blinked like it had a secret. The lot was half-lit, empty except for a dead-looking sedan and a truck missing two tires.

D left Joey in the car while he checked in—cash only, fake name, the usual. Then he opened the back door, tapped the sleeping kid’s shoulder.

“Come on. Inside.”

Joey blinked awake, hair stuck to his cheek. “W-where—?”

“Motel. One night.”

He led him inside fast, hustling him up two flights of damp-smelling carpet to room 206. The door stuck before it opened. Inside: a single bed with a stained coverlet, a buzzing mini fridge, a TV bolted to the dresser. The wallpaper peeled in one corner. The carpet was the color of old blood.

D peeked through the curtains as Joey moved awkwardly to the middle of the room. Outside: nothing but shadows and chain-link fences. No one followed. No headlights lingered.

Still. He didn’t relax.

Joey hovered by the bed, arms crossed. “So… w-what, I live here now?” he asked, trying for sarcasm but landing on lost.

D didn’t answer right away. He was too busy checking the blinds. “You’re getting on a bus in the morning,” he said finally, then moved to the door, locking it behind them.

Joey made a face. “I c-can just go h-home. I’ll be f-fine.”

“You won’t.” D peeled off his coat and dropped it on the chair. “Not with a hit on your name. Vinnie’s not the type to forget.”

Joey sighed, half exasperated. “I should t-tell Ronnie—about the d-delivery. He’s probably—he’s g-gonna think I messed up—” He reached into his hoodie and pulled out his phone.

D saw red.

Before Joey could even unlock the screen, D crossed the room in two strides, snatched it from his hand.

“Hey—!” Joey yelped, shocked.

D didn’t flinch. He turned, lifted the phone, and slammed it hard against the corner of the nightstand.

Crack.

The screen spiderwebbed. A plastic piece flew off. The battery skittered to the floor.

Joey stared at the wreckage, stunned. “W-what the fuck?!”

“That thing is a fucking target,” D said, voice low and sharp. “They ping it, they find you. And then they find me.”

“You—You can’t just—” Joey lunged at him, fist flying, but D caught his wrist easily.

Too easily.

Joey thrashed, small and wild, but D was stronger—so much stronger. He locked both wrists behind Joey’s back in one fluid motion, pulling him in close, pinning them chest to chest.

Joey was breathing hard, wide-eyed, struggling, his face flushed. “L-let me g-go—!”

“You think I want to do this?” D hissed. “You think I wanted to bring you here? You should be dead right now!”

“Th-then wh-why—why s-save me?!”

The words cracked open something between them. Their faces were too close—too much heat, breath mingling, hearts racing. D’s grip faltered for a second. Just long enough.

And Joey broke loose, tried to bolt for the door.

D spun him around, caught him at the waist, and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing.

Joey yelped, legs kicking. “D-don’t—!”

D carried him the three steps to the bed and threw him down, not hard, but firm enough that the mattress groaned beneath him. Joey scrambled to sit up, pushing his wild hair out of his eyes.

“I’m not letting another kid die,” D snapped, standing over him, chest heaving.

Joey’s eyes glittered. “Th-then you’re gonna have to watch a l-lot more die. C-cause that’s what’s gonna happen when y-you go b-back to Vinnie, isn’t it?”

D froze.

Joey kept going, breathless, furious, hurt. “Y-you’re gonna dump me on a bus like I d-don’t matter and then go r-right back. J-just like that. K-killing whoever he says.”

“It’s not that simple,” D said quietly, jaw tight.

“Bullshit!” Joey yelled. “You’re just s-scared. You’re g-gonna let it keep happening because it’s easier than leaving.”

D looked away.

There it was. The ugly truth. Vinnie wouldn’t just let him leave. He knew too much. Knew faces, bodies, cash trails that didn’t exist on paper. If he tried to run, they’d find him. If they couldn’t, they’d go after whoever he’d tried to protect.

Like Joey.

“I have to go back,” D said finally. “To cover the hole. Make sure your name disappears.”

Joey shook his head, wiping his face with his sleeve. “It’s not gonna stop. You’re just—y-you’re j-just gonna come back a-again, with blood on you. And no one’s gonna s-stop you.” His voice cracked at the end. He was breathing hard. His cheeks were blotchy, his voice shaking—but the stutter was softer now. Calmer. Rage, it seemed, made him smoother. “I’m taking a shower,” he muttered, and rolled off the bed and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

D exhaled slowly, then sank into the chair by the window. His hands were still shaking.

He watched the empty parking lot through half-lowered blinds, listened to the ancient pipes groan as the water kicked on. It sounded like it might rip through the walls. Joey didn’t come out. The shower went on forever.

Joey’s voice echoed in D’s head. You’re just gonna keep doing it.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

The kid was right.

And that hurt more than he expected.

He rubbed his forehead, weary, and leaned back, head against the wall. The mattress creaked behind him once. The water turned off.

Long minutes passed. Then the door eased open with a hiss of steam, and Joey stepped out into the room with nothing but a towel hanging low around his hips.

D looked up.

Joey froze.

They stared at each other.

Joey’s skin glowed—soft, damp, golden in the light. His chest rose and fell with nervous breaths. Water curled his hair at the edges. Drops rolled down his collarbones, across a flat belly, disappearing under the towel.

D swallowed.

Joey’s blush deepened as he padded across the room. “I—I didn’t mean to—I just… I only got one p-pair of jeans.”

D snorted, even though his throat was dry. “Right. I get it. Big day tomorrow.”

Joey shot him a look but didn’t reply. He climbed into the bed like he wanted to disappear, pulling the thin blanket up over his chest. He looked small again. Angry and embarrassed and... sweet.

Too sweet for this world.

Joey faced the wall. A pause. Then, shyly: “C-can you turn the TV on? J-just for noise?”

D nodded, grabbed the remote. The TV buzzed to life with a late-night cop show. He turned the volume down, clicked the lamp off.

In the dark, he watched Joey settle in. His lashes brushed his cheeks. His hands were tucked beneath his cheek. He looked exhausted. Small. Adorable.

Perfect.

He looked like something someone should be holding. Not hiding from a killer. Not sleeping in a roach motel on the edge of nowhere.

D stayed in the chair. Watched him breathe. And didn’t move again until the sun came up.

At some point, he closed his eyes.

The motel room was dim gray and stuffy when D opened them again. For one brief, disoriented second, he forgot where he was—until the soft sound of a breath shifted behind him and he remembered: Pittsburgh. Motel. Joey.

He turned his head slightly.

The kid was curled on his side in the single bed, face buried half in the pillow, hair a tousled, golden mess from sleep. His lips were parted just enough to show the barest hint of white teeth, and his long lashes fanned across pale cheeks flushed warm from the blankets. There was something about the way he clung to sleep that made D pause.

He was so damn pretty.

“Hey,” D said, low and gravel-rough with sleep. “Time to wake up.”

Joey made a noise—something between a yawn and a grumble—and shifted, stretching under the covers. “Huh…?”

D smirked. “Rise and shine. We’ve got a breakfast date.”

Joey struggled awake, slow and blinking, dazed as a kitten. “Wha—oh…”

And god, D didn’t expect it to be cute, but it was. Everything about him was too soft, too innocent to survive Cleveland, and somehow, he had. Barely.

Joey rubbed his eyes and sat up, the blanket sliding low over his stomach. He still wore only the towel from last night, wrapped low on his hips, clinging slightly from the humidity. As he stood and padded over to his jeans, D had every intention of looking away—but didn’t.

The kid’s back was smooth, lightly freckled; the taper of his waist gave way to slim hips and a sweet little curve of ass barely hidden by terrycloth. And when he bent to grab his shirt, the towel dipped just enough that D had to clench his jaw and drag his gaze away.

Jesus Christ.

He was not the kind of man to get distracted. But this kid? This awkward, blushing, stammering kid who somehow lit him up with every little movement? Joey was getting under his skin fast.

The boy pulled on his jeans and wriggled a bit as he adjusted them. He caught D looking and flushed scarlet. “S-sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to… uh… show off.”

“You didn’t,” D said dryly, but his voice came out rough. “You save those jeans for your big road trip?”

Joey gave him a little glower and tugged on his shirt. “Kinda.”

D chuckled under his breath. “You hungry?”

Joey perked up. “Starving.”

“Denny’s down the road. Come on.”

The place was mostly empty this early—just a pair of old men at the counter and a waitress wiping down tables with the radio on low. D picked a booth in the back where he could watch the lot, and Joey slid in across from him, bright-eyed and fidgety.

Menus hit the table. D opened his. Joey didn’t.

Joey stared at the glossy pages for a long minute, fingers fidgeting on the edge. Then he tapped one of the photos—pancakes with bananas and whipped cream stacked high—and said, a little too casually, “W-what’s that one called?”

D blinked. “The banana caramel pancakes.”

Joey nodded fast, not meeting his eye. When the waitress came by, he ordered those and coffee—dumping in three sugars and two creamers the moment it landed.

D raised a brow and ordered something lighter—egg whites, toast, no butter.

As the waitress left, D tapped the menu still sitting in front of Joey. “You have trouble reading?”

Joey’s jaw twitched. He stared into his cup. “Y-yeah,” he admitted, voice tight. “I—it’s a—it’s a l-long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

Joey rubbed the back of his neck. “I s-stuttered bad as a k-kid. W-worse than now. Teachers didn’t know w-what to do. They j-just put me in the dumb c-class. I—I never g-got the help I needed. By the t-time I got older, it w-was too late.”

D’s chest ached. He’d known kids like that. Overlooked. Written off.

“I t-tried,” Joey said. “I—I wanted to learn. I s-still do. But m-most people d-don’t have p-patience for it.”

“You’re not dumb,” D said, flat. “Far from it.”

Joey looked up sharply, surprised. “Y-you don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” D said, and Joey flushed again, but D reached for the menu. “Let’s try something.”

Joey blinked. “N-now?”

“Why not?”

Joey looked like he wanted to crawl under the table—but he didn’t say no.

“Slide over.”

Reluctantly, Joey scooted around to D’s side of the booth. Close. Warm. Still smelling faintly like motel soap and whatever cheap shampoo he’d used last night.

D pointed at a random section. “Try this one.”

Joey squinted, lips moving silently, then muttered, “P-p-pan…”

“Start with the letters,” D murmured, voice low and patient. “P. A. N. C. A. K. E. Break it down.”

Joey let out a little groan. “This is s-stupid. You’re g-gonna laugh at me.”

“I’m not.” D’s voice didn’t waver. “Look. This one’s ‘biscuit.’ B-I-S-C…”

Joey leaned in, eyebrows furrowed, pink mouth tight in concentration. He stumbled over every syllable, stammering and huffing, face hot with frustration—but D just sat there beside him, steady and calm, coaxing each sound with a gentle hand on the table between them.

“You’re doing fine,” he said, softer now. “It’s not your fault no one ever taught you. You just needed someone who gave a shit.”

Joey stared down at the page, lips parted. “Y-you think?”

D looked at him—really looked. “Yeah. I do.”

Joey’s voice was barely a whisper. “M-maybe if someone had sat with me like that, I’d’ve l-learned. But no one ever h-had time. I was j-just a burden to my family.”

Something in D snapped silent and tight. He wanted to grab Joey’s hand. Pull him in. Tell him he was not a burden.

But he didn’t.

The food came, breaking the moment. Joey looked away, muttering something about syrup, and D watched him heap it on with too much sugar in his coffee again.

He let himself imagine—for one stupid second—what it would be like to take Joey home. Not dump him on a bus. Not shove him into the wind.

Home. A real one. A safe one.

But he couldn’t. He had a job to do. Tracks to cover. Blood on his hands.

Joey dug into his pancakes like he hadn’t eaten in days. D stared at his own plate, untouched.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to let this boy go.

And worse… he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

They didn’t talk much after breakfast.

In the car, D tried, a few times, to start something—anything—but every word caught behind the weight sitting in his chest. Joey just stared out the window, quiet except for the little jangle of the gas station keychain as he turned it over and over in his hands.

D caught himself watching those fingers too often.

The drive to the Greyhound station took ten minutes. It felt like two.

Joey looked around as they pulled up, brow furrowing. “W-we’re here?”

D nodded. Parked. Killed the engine.

They sat in silence for a beat. Joey tucked his strawberry keychain away and fidgeted with his seatbelt. D didn’t move.

I can’t do this, he thought, not for the first time this morning. He’s not ready. He’s not gonna make it out there. I should—

But it didn’t matter what he should do. He had to do this. It was the only way Joey lived.

D finally reached between the seats and pulled the small envelope he’d stashed last night from the glovebox. He handed it over.

Joey blinked. “W-what’s this?”

“Cash. Two grand. Should last a while if you’re smart with it.”

Joey gawked. “T-two thousand—?”

D pulled out the burner phone next. Flipped it open, showed him the basic screen and how to navigate it. “This is for emergencies. Don’t call your mom. Don’t call Ronnie. Don’t call anyone. Only use this if you’re in serious trouble.”

“But—”

“Shut up and listen.” D’s voice came out sharper than he meant, but his jaw was tight. His hands were fists in his lap. “Go west. Bus transfers are in Columbus. Make yourself hard to find. Start over. New name. New everything.”

Joey stared at him, stunned. The envelope trembled in his hands.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I c-can’t. I’ve n-never been alone like this. I d-don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t— I don’t even kn-know how to get a motel r-room. I can’t read the s-signs. I can’t— I’m gonna s-screw it up!”

D swallowed hard. His throat felt raw. “You’re not gonna screw it up.”

Joey laughed, bitter and watery. “Y-you don’t know that.”

“I know you’re smart. And I know you’ve survived worse than a bus ride.”

Joey bit his lip, hard enough it looked like it hurt. His green eyes filled up, tears just clinging there, making them shimmer. “Y-you’re not coming with me?”

D shook his head once. Firm. “I have to go back.”

“To him.” Joey’s voice turned sharp. “To Vinnie.”

“Yeah.”

Joey wiped his cheek fast. “He’s j-just gonna make you do it again. Kill again.”

D didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He just looked at the kid’s face—the way he was trying to hold himself together and failing. The way he was still gripping that stupid strawberry keychain in his pocket, like maybe it would keep him from falling apart.

“Get on the bus,” D said, voice quieter now. “If you stay, you die. I’m not gonna watch that happen.”

Joey didn’t move.

So D did.

He opened his door, came around, and opened the passenger side too. “Come on.”

Joey sniffed, blinking fast, but slid out with a sigh and walked beside D up to the bus platform.

The bus was there already. Humming. Idling.

People climbed aboard in twos and threes. Nobody looked too closely at them. They were just two more nobodies at a shitty Greyhound station in a too-early morning.

D stopped beside the door. Joey turned to him, and for a moment, neither said anything.

D stared down at him, at the curve of his mouth, the soft lines of his face. His hair was still a little messy, sticking up in the back. He looked like he hadn’t slept, like he’d been crying—and like he was trying so hard not to cry again.

D’s hand lifted without thinking, brushing a strand of hair back from his forehead. “You’ll be okay.”

Joey shook his head. “Y-you don’t know that.”

D gave him a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, well… I’m still hoping.”

Joey didn’t look convinced. He shuffled in place, his arms crossed over his chest like he was holding himself together.

Then, very quietly, he reached into the pocket of his jacket.

“Here,” he said, pulling out the little plastic strawberry keychain, red with glitter swirling inside when he tilted it. “I, um… I was gonna keep it but… maybe you should have it.”

D stared at the thing for a second, stunned. “Why?”

Joey gave a crooked, sheepish smile. “Maybe when y-you see it… you’ll think of me. And you’ll t-think twice the next t-time you p-p-pull the trigger.”

D took it. Held it in his palm.

It was ridiculous. Cheap. Probably worth a dollar. Glitter caught the light like a tiny snow globe. It was the stupidest thing he’d ever been given.

And he’d never held something that hit him harder.

“Joey…” he said, quietly.

Joey hesitated, then—very suddenly—threw his arms around D’s chest.

It stunned D. Totally. He stiffened for a half-second, then let his arms wrap around Joey’s small, warm frame. Joey buried his face in D’s chest like he couldn’t bear to be seen right now, his fingers fisting in D’s jacket.

He smelled like motel shampoo. And sugar. D breathed him in like he was

“Th-thank you,” Joey whispered.

D swallowed hard again. His throat hurt. “Don’t look back, kid.”

Joey pulled back slowly. His eyes were red, lashes damp, but he nodded.

Then he climbed the steps and didn’t turn around again.

D stood on the platform. Watched the bus pull away, metal and diesel and everything about it too loud.

He watched until the red lights disappeared. Until the road was quiet. Until he felt empty.

He’s safe, he told himself. That’s all that matters.

But his chest felt hollow as he turned back toward the car, heart pounding with something that felt too much like grief.

And somewhere in the distance, the sky began to lighten.

He had to go back now. Back to Cleveland. Back to the blood. Back to a life without Joey.

***

The ride didn’t last long.

Not because it was short—but because Joey had no intention of staying on it.

He sat stiffly in his seat near the back, hands folded tight in his lap, the envelope of cash shoved deep into his hoodie pocket like it might explode. His fingers itched to check it again—make sure it was real—but he resisted. Barely.

He could still feel D’s arms around him. Could still hear that deep voice in his ear, telling him to go. Telling him he had to.

But Joey was done being told what to do.

The bus rumbled and wheezed into the next stop about twenty minutes outside Pittsburgh. A nothing-town station with one busted vending machine, a sleepy attendant behind the glass, and a single neon “RESTROOMS” sign flickering like it was on its last legs.

Perfect.

He didn’t hesitate. As soon as the driver opened the door, Joey was off.

He didn’t even try to look casual. Just bee-lined for the tiny building like a kid on a mission. And he was on a mission.

He was going home.

The cool air outside the station hit his cheeks, but it didn’t make him stop. He ducked inside, heart racing, and went straight to the vending machine. Slipped in two bills, pressed the button for the most aggressive-looking energy shot he could find. Red and black label, lightning bolt font. So much caffeine the bottle looked like it might shake.

He popped the top, knocked it back, and grimaced like he’d licked a battery. But he was awake now. Awake and pissed and ready to be done being everyone else’s problem.

“Go west,” D had said. “Lay low. Don’t look back.”

Joey snorted under his breath and rolled his eyes. “Sure. I—I’ll get right on that.”

Because D didn’t get it. D was gorgeous and tall and intense and smelled like soap and sin—but he didn’t understand.

He didn’t know what it was like to be Joey.

To have a family that barely noticed you unless they needed something. To lose out on jobs because you couldn’t read the fine print. To feel like the world had been passing you by since kindergarten and everyone just let it happen.

D had seen him for two seconds and decided what was best.

Well screw that.

Joey walked right up to the ticket counter, pasted on a sweet smile, and pushed a few crumpled bills through the slot.

“C-can I g-get a t-ticket b-back to W-Warren, please?”

The lady didn’t even look up. Just tapped keys and asked, “Round trip?”

He almost laughed.

“N-no. Just one w-way.”

She handed over the slip, and Joey tucked it into his pocket like a trophy.

He was going home. Not because it was smart. Not because it was safe. But because it was his.

He belonged there. And someone had to feed the dogs.

Besides… D had said not to go back.

And Joey kind of wanted to see what would happen if he did.

He took his seat in the station’s little waiting area, knees bouncing, ticket in hand, energy shot still burning in his throat like battery acid.

The buzz hit fast, but his thoughts hit faster.

D.

God, what a freaking man. Broad shoulders. Voice like thunder tucked into velvet. The kind of guy who didn’t just walk into a room—he quieted it. Like gravity answered to him.

And those eyes.

Black, sharp, steady. Looking at Joey like he was something fragile and stupid and worth protecting anyway. Joey had felt them on him every second they were together, like warm hands ghosting over skin. And when D had picked him up last night—thrown him on that bed like he weighed nothing—Joey thought for half a second he was going to die… and then thought maybe he didn’t care if he died, as long as D kept standing over him like that, watching him with those dark, serious eyes…

Joey shifted on the bench, skin buzzing in a different way now. His hoodie felt too tight. His jeans—ugh, they were tight in the wrong places, too. He hugged his arms around his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Stop it,” he hissed under his breath, cheeks burning.

Because what the hell was this?

He’d never felt anything like that before. Not for a guy. Not for anyone. He’d always figured there was something broken in him. Love and sex were for people who didn’t stutter in job interviews or screw up reading a menu. He’d never even had a real kiss. Never been wanted.

And then came D.

This dangerous, terrifying, gorgeous stranger who acted like Joey was something worth saving. Who looked at him like he mattered. Who held him like he fit there—right in his arms.

And Joey hated it.

He hated the fluttery, tight feeling behind his ribs. Hated how he’d liked it when D was bossy. How his stupid body had reacted when D got close. How even now—sitting in a gross little bus stop—he wished he could feel those arms around him one more time.

Just one.

Just to see if it felt as good as he remembered.

He swallowed, hard, and shoved the thought down so deep it made his stomach ache.

No.

He didn’t belong in D’s world. He didn’t belong to anyone.

He just needed to get home. Back to Ronnie. Back to the dogs. Back to… normal. Whatever the hell that meant.

He stared out the window, willing the next bus to pull in. His legs bounced. His chest felt too small.

“C-come on,” he whispered to no one. “J-just… g-get me outta here.”

And still, behind his eyes, all he could see was D’s face—the way he’d looked back at the station, jaw tight, trying not to fall apart.

Joey pulled his arms tighter around himself and waited with his heart in his throat.