He's a member of their damn club, did he tell you that? He didn't volunteer it, I said. I reached out for him, caught his shirt, and drew him into us. He's right. She spoke as if talking about her son was something she had to do, or she'd explode, or break down.
I touched his hair and tried not to look at what I'd done to his face. And just like that, he took those few steps forward. I just said, you wanted to talk, so talk. That they would use their best judgment and not blindly follow.
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