Raven's Song

Homecoming

I spent homecoming night in the empty daycare the police station had for workers or kids of people who'd been taken into custody. Tylor and I had set up in it after the last child had been picked up by their parent. The only option other than the daycare was the main waiting room. It was always loud and sometimes hostile. The first night, Tylor had left to get good coffee after thirty minutes of questioning looks and hadn't returned until I'd texted him that the daycare had opened up. The next night, I sat by myself in the courtyard. Tylor had something to do with his dad after we'd left the station, and I hadn't heard from him since.

I sat on one of the small couches, refreshing my notifications for some sign that he was okay. He never told me what he did with his father. I could only guess by filling in what little bit I knew about his father's business, but that was only a small fraction of what his father actually did. Every time Tylor had gone to help him, he'd come back injured in some form. A black eye. Bruised ribs. Bloodied knuckles. Always the reassurance that no one had been seriously injured, that the person was not good, and that he only ever did it as a last resort.

That wasn't something that I believed. His dad gave orders and everyone had to follow them. I'd asked Tylor if it would have been hard for him to walk away from it all, but he felt it was his duty. He was afraid of what would happen to his brother if he left. Spencer wasn't cut out to take over.

"Here's to homecoming," Tylor's voice whispered in my ear as he waved a fast-food bag in front of my face.

"Thank God," I said, sitting up and wrapping my arms around his neck.

He laughed. "I've never had someone react so happily to greasy foods."

I drew back and smacked his chest lightly. "A simple text would have been nice."

He set the bag on the small table, crouching down in front of me. I looked down at his hands, gently taking the one wrapped in gauze in mine.

"I was a bit preoccupied," he said as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. "I'm fine, though."

"Any stitches?"

"No. Just a nasty cut."

"You won't tell me what from, will you."

"I can't. Especially not here."

I shook my head. "I love you, Tylor, but...this is excruciating." I bit my lip and looked up at him. His eyes gave nothing away. "What if you end up dead one day?"

"It won't–"

"You don't know that."

He sighed and covered my hand that was covering his injured hand with his free one. "I know."

I pressed my forehead against his, still looking into his eyes. "What are we going to do?"

Tylor finally closed his eyes. "I'll keep in touch better. Once I have more control of the business, I can start dictating tasks to people and I won't be in harm's way so much. I'll just have to handle the big messes."

"And what does that mean?"

He drew away and sat on the couch next to me, opening the fast food bag. I crossed my legs and watched him. He handed me a box and took one out for himself, setting the bag with the fries remaining between us. I didn't open my food as he did. He took a bite and chewed before he answered.

"You know what that means, Kenna."

The smell of the food was making me sick. "And if I say that I'm not okay with that? Not even close?"