Page 82 of Fighting For You

"Juvenile charges. VIN tampering, possession of stolen vehicle parts. Felony-level, but he's seventeen, first offense, no priors, no weapon. He's not getting certified to adult court."

"What happens next?"

"He gets released to Nora tonight. Conditions of release: curfew, juvenile probation officer assigned, court date within a few weeks. And a no-contact order with every name on the arrest sheet." She paused. "Jesse. Wayne. All of them. He can't see them, call them, text them. It's court-ordered."

I nodded.

"Adjudication hearing comes later. If he's found delinquent, he's probably looking at probation, community service, restitution. For a first-time nonviolent offense with a stable guardian, the judge isn't sending him to a facility." She shifted her weight. "He got lucky, Knox. Wayne's an adult. He's facing years. Jesse's in the same boat as Ian, but Wayne's the one who brought them into it."

"Does Ian know that?"

"He knows." She looked at me. "How's Nora?"

"Holding it together."

I leaned against the wall beside her and ran the math.

Ian was coming home with us. There wasn't another option. Nora was his legal guardian and she was living with me, and a seventeen-year-old on juvenile probation needed to be in the same household as the adult responsible for him. That was the sofa for tonight. Tomorrow I'd start looking at two-bedrooms. We'd need to move fast. The kid needed a door he could close, a room that was his, not a borrowed cushion in someone else's living room.

I didn't think about whether I was ready for it. It didn't matter whether I was ready for it. Nora needed this, and Ian needed this, and I had a lease I could break and enough in savings for first and last on a bigger place.

"Thanks for calling her, Andy."

Andy nodded once. "Take care of them."

Ian came out through a side door with a probation officer and a manila envelope with his personal effects. He was taller than I expected. Still filling out, shoulders broadening under a T-shirt that didn't quite fit him, the rest of him catching up. Dark hair like Nora's. Same jaw. I could see her in his face before he even looked at me.

Nora put her hand on his shoulder as we walked to the truck. He let her, but barely. His body stiff under her palm, his jaw set, his gaze fixed somewhere past the parking lot lights.

I unlocked the truck and held the passenger door open for Nora. Ian climbed into the backseat without a word, pressed himself against the far door, and stared out the window.

Nobody spoke on the drive home.

I glanced in the rearview. Ian had his forehead against the glass and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked exhausted and furious and young. So young it made my chest tight.

I knew that kid. I'd been that kid. Sitting in someone's car after the worst night of his life, convinced the whole world was against him, too angry to see that the people in the front seat were the only ones who gave a damn.

I turned onto the boulevard and drove us home.

The apartment was dark when we got in. Nora turned on the kitchen light and stood there for a second, looking at the sofa like she was trying to figure out where to put everything that had just happened.

"I'll grab sheets and a pillow," she said.

"Nora." I touched her arm. "Can I talk to him? Just me and him."

She looked at Ian, then at me. Something moved across her face. Not quite relief, not quite fear. Both.

"Okay."

She went down the hall. The bedroom door closed quietly behind her.

Ian was standing by the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, his weight on one leg, looking at everything in the apartment except me.

I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down. Pulled out the other one.

"Sit down."

He looked at the chair. Then at me. He sat.