Beyond Broken(75)

Caleb closed his eyes, remembering exactly what it was like being alone as a teenager and not wanting to go home. His mind was already made up. He just hoped he was doing the right thing.

"Come on," he said, standing and holding out a hand to help Peter up. "You can stay with me. At least until you figure out something else."

Peter shuffled his feet and looked down, his backpack hanging limply in his hand, sketchbook hugged close.

"Go get the car warmed up, okay?" Caleb murmured softly, handing over his car keys after fishing them out of his pocket. "I'll be there in a second."

He watched as the boy nodded and slowly made his way out the ground office door, his walk slow and sluggish. Caleb made quick work of the office and shut everything down. The car hadn't even had a chance to warm up by the time he returned.

The drive to the house was silent. Peter's gaze was glued out the window, even when Caleb swung by the store to get him some medicine and food. When they pulled up in the driveway, Peter peered at the house curiously, but didn't say anything. Caleb could tell that he was embarrassed, embarrassed that he found himself in this situation, embarrassed that he needed help at all. Caleb understood. No one liked to be pitied. It didn't change the fact that Peter needed help.

"Are you hungry?" Caleb asked once they got inside. Peter stood in the entryway, unsure in an unfamiliar place. He shook his head, darting a glance up at him before looking away. "You should eat a little anyways. I'll heat up some soup. Take a seat," he said, pointing at the couch. The coffee table was cluttered with cans and empty paper plates and Caleb dumped them in the trash, wondering how he hadn't realized how dirty the house had become, before he microwaved some soup.

Once Peter ate a little, Caleb made him wash it down with a couple spoonfuls of medicine that would help bring his fever down and then showed him where the bathroom was. "You'll feel better after a shower. There's shampoo and soap in there. And I'll go get you a towel."



       
         
       
        

Caleb returned only a couple minutes later, but when he pushed open the door, Peter was in the process of undressing. The teenager froze, his t-shirt half over his head, and Caleb cursed when he saw the dark mottling of bruises over the teenager's torso.

"What the fuck, Peter? How long has this been going on?" Caleb demanded, staring at the sheer number of them. Peter tugged down his shirt, unable to conceal a wince, but he didn't say anything in his defense. "Peter, tell me right now or I swear to-"

"Please don't tell anyone," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I know people in the system. I've heard things. Bad things. I only have a year and a half until I'm eighteen. Please don't say anything."

"Peter," Caleb said, closing his eyes. "You can't ask me to do that. This is serious."

The teenager was on the verge of tears. "Please, I'm begging you! Don't say anything. Only a year and half more. That's all. Then it won't matter."

Jesus.

"What were you planning to do?" Caleb asked, his jaw pulsing. "Live in the garage for that time? Your parents would come looking for you."

"They don't even know I'm gone," Peter said. Caleb was surprised by the bitterness creeping into his voice. "They won't come looking for me."

"You don't know that," Caleb said. He blew out a breath, pinching the space between his brows.

"Please, Caleb," Peter pleaded. "Please."

Caleb looked at him and then his eyes strayed to the dirty t-shirt covering up the boy's bruises. He couldn't send Peter back into a home like that. Nor could he bring him to the attention of the state. Caleb had heard stories as well. Sometimes, the kids were worse off in the foster system.

Caleb handed Peter the towel. "Get cleaned up. I'll leave fresh clothes outside the door."

Then he turned and shut the bathroom door, staring at the dark expanse of his hallway. He didn't know what to do. If he didn't say anything, Peter would be his responsibility. Was he ready for the consequences if someone did find out? Was he ready to care for a teenager?

He snorted. No. He was sleeping in a living room, for fuck's sake.

After leaving a fresh pair of clothes for Peter, he ventured into the bedroom he had as a teenager, for the first time in months. The air was stale when he pushed open the door, but everything was neat and exactly how Caleb had left it. The room was perfectly fine, if not for those dark, ugly memories. It would have to do for Peter. At least it wasn't a utility closet.