“He’s a child abuser,” Dixie argues. “We saw him hitting Liam and you reacted after years of similar abuse. Can’t she do something about that? Make them see why you did what you did?”

I hold her by the shoulders. “What I did isn’t okay, babe. Besides, Ashley has no idea about my childhood. I know you understand because you care about me and you care about Liam, but that’s not how the justice system works. Bottom line is I took matters into my own hands using excessive force. I committed a crime and there will be a punishment. I knew that. I deserve it.” And I don’t actually regret it, even though I know I should.

I don’t discuss my childhood with anyone, so Ashley wouldn’t know to even attempt to use that defense.

“This sucks, Gav. Seriously. Every mark I see on Liam makes me want to murder Carl myself with my bare hands.”

I can’t help but laugh at my sweet girl talking about murdering someone. “You save those hands for playing Oz, okay?”

“How’s your hand?” She uses her delicate fingers to examine my still-battered knuckles. “Will you be ready by Friday, you think? Honestly?”

I cup her chin and kiss her on the nose. “I’ll manage. I’m tough.”

She frowns and I notice how exhausted she looks. “Yeah, but—”

“But nothing. It’s late, Bluebird. Go to bed and get some rest so we can talk to Sheila in the morning.”

She huffs out a breath and gives me one last hug before mumbling something about me being bossy like Dallas.

After she’s gone, I take care of the reason I came to the bathroom in the first place.

When I go back to the couch, Liam is muttering softly in his sleep. I tense, fully expecting something that might trigger a flashback of my own, but all I can make out is “brinner” and “another marshmallow.”

My life is still a mess, one I’ve mostly made myself, but I fall asleep smiling for the first time in a long time.

The knocking seems to be in perfect rhythm with the ringing of my cell phone. I almost reach for my drumsticks to tap it out. Rubbing the hazy blur out of my eyes, I remember I’m in Dixie’s living room. Sitting up quickly, I glance over and see Liam still sleeping in the tent beside me. The knocking grows more persistent and I have a voice mail.

Sheila Montgomery.

I jump up and trip my way across the room to open the door.

Dark eyes narrow at me. “Did I wake you?”

“Hi. I’m sorry. It was a long night.”

She frowns. “I thought you were done with those.”

I nod. “I am. It was, uh, a different kind of long night.” I open the door wider and gesture to the pillow and blanket and tent fortress.

“Ah. I see.” Sheila steps precariously through the room and makes her way to the couch. “So that’s Liam?”

I nod again. “Yeah. He has marks, scars, and sores. My guess is he’s about fifteen pounds underweight and after seeing Carl hit him for myself, I can imagine what a typical day was like for this kid. That plus the fact that he’s skittish, fixated on death, and his house is the local crack den, I’m not thinking the abuse will be hard to prove.” I remember Dixie’s words from the night before. “He didn’t know what scrambled eggs or hash browns were. Ate like he hadn’t seen food in weeks. Said he doesn’t go to school much, which begs the question, how has the state not already gotten involved?”

“They’re understaffed. You know this, Gavin.”

I sigh and watch Liam toss and turn for a minute. “I know. Still. This shouldn’t have slipped by so many for so long.”

“You did,” she says quietly. “When they did come to question you, you lied and made excuses. Protected her.”

She’s right. I did.

I still do.

“I know. I’m guessing he’s been doing the same. Still . . .”

Sheila watches me carefully. “It looks different on this side, doesn’t it?”

I don’t answer because I don’t know how to. It does seem different. Growing up, I blamed myself for the way my mom was. If she didn’t have to deal with me maybe she wouldn’t have gotten so bad off. But looking at Liam, I can’t think of a single way what happened could have possibly been his fault.

As I got older, when I started using myself, I blamed myself for having drugs around and exposing my mom to temptation. She would always find my stash, no matter what it was. When she would get clean, I laughed at her when she told me she was pulling it together. I’d heard it so many times and it had been a lie so many times, I started being an asshole about it. That might not have caused her to fall back down but it certainly didn’t help.

I run my hands through my hair and pull in some much-needed oxygen. “I assaulted his dad, Sheila. I saw him hit him and I lost it. He’s still in the hospital.”

The creases in her aging face deepen. “Well, that’s not great, Gavin. What did you think that would help?”

“I didn’t think,” I answer honestly. “I just reacted.”

“Time for another round of anger management?”

I nod. “Yeah. Pretty sure I’m going to get the mandatory kind, courtesy of the state of Texas.”

“Could be worse,” she says.

“Agreed. Can I get you some coffee?”

Sheila sets her purse down and I notice a bag with an expensive-looking camera in it. “That’d be great. Then we need to wake him up so I can talk with him and take a few photos of the marks you mentioned and document his weight.”

I glance at Liam, wishing I could let him sleep more before putting the poor kid through this. “Okay. Be right back.”

After I’ve made a pot of coffee and poured Sheila a cup, I knock on Dixie’s door but don’t hear a response. I push it open and she’s standing there in her jeans and a bra. I turn my head quickly. “Sorry. I know it’s early but, um, Sheila is here so . . .”

“I saw the car in the driveway,” she answers while pulling a black tank top over her head. “Be right there.”

I make my way back to the living room and lean down to where Liam is already beginning to stir. “Hey, buddy. Want some breakfast?”

He sits up, his small body wavering a little and his voice scratchy when he speaks. “Do we have dinner for breakfast here?”

I laugh at the genuine interest in his question. “Nah. I was thinking some fruit and yogurt and toast if that’s okay. Miss Dixie eats kind of healthy in the mornings. I guess so she can wolf down bacon and waffles at dinnertime.” I wink at her when she comes into the room at the end of my comment.

She smirks at me. “I have cereal, too, thank you very much, and oatmeal.”

Liam perks up. “I like oatmeal. The kind with apples.”

“On it,” Dixie says, looking hugely relieved that he has a food he likes and nodding briefly at Sheila, who raises her coffee mug in greeting. “Anyone else want oatmeal?”

“I won’t turn it down,” I say.

“I’m good. Thank you, though,” Sheila answers.

“Be right back,” Dixie tells us before disappearing into the kitchen.

I help Liam out of the tent and turn to a channel I think might have cartoons. Sesame Street is on, which seems nuts since I watched it as a kid.

“This okay?”

He nods.

I introduce him to Sheila and his immediate wariness tells me he’s met social workers before. But Sheila is a pro so she puts him at ease pretty quickly, discussing the differences between Bert and Ernie.

They chat amicably for a few minutes before Dixie returns. She hands Liam his oatmeal and a cup of orange juice, setting him up on her grandpa’s chair with a TV tray.

I notice she put some fruit on both of our plates and smile as I thank her.

Sheila gets down to business pretty quickly, taking statements from Dixie and me both and getting Mrs. Lawson’s info as well. When Liam finishes eating, his pace a little slower with the distraction of Big Bird, Sheila asks him if it would be okay if they spoke for a few minutes on the front porch after he changes out of his jammies. She’s already coordinated with Dixie how they’ll get the photos of the marks without upsetting him. Basically Dixie is going to help him change his clothes and Sheila is going to be as discreet as humanly possible.