Page 26 of Fractured Destiny

“Feels different,” I manage.

“I can tell.”

Silence between us doesn’t need filling. It never has. Diego and I survived plenty of precarious situations by knowing how to keep quiet.

Keeping quiet allowed us to stay together despite the many punishments we endured in silence.

Diego glances toward my left shoulder. I know he’s picturing the scars hidden under black cotton, as if he can see the marks through it. “I was thinking about Spanaway today.”

“Don’t.” The burger turns to sand in my mouth.

“I know.” He sets his food down. “I won’t go there.”

Except he is. We both are. It’s impossible not to remember once the subject is brought up.

The house with light-blue bathroom tile. A lighter. The smell of butane and skin. The warning. Tell anybody and they’ll split you up.

When Diego aged out with nothing but a duffel bag, he managed to send for me before the system swallowed me whole.

“You got me out,” I sigh. “Without the Rainier Foundation grant, who knows what would’ve happened to me.”

He shakes his head. “You were brave and got on the bus.”

“You bought the ticket.”

“You carried the guitar.”

“That you glued together after he smashed it.”

His mouth twitches. “Badly.”

“I played it for years.” I shake my head. “I had no choice.”

“Damn right.” He reaches over and ruffles my curls.

The track behind the wall reaches the chorus. My recorded voice fills the space.

Diego listens for a second, eyes fixed on nothing. “When I was sitting in there watching you, I kept thinking about how many kids are down there right now with nobody to help them.”

I nod because I realize how fortunate I was.

He leans back, thumb rubbing the edge of his wedding ring. A new habit. One he probably doesn’t realize he’s adopted.

“I’ve been talking to Vanessa about something. Nothing crazy.” Diego’s eyes dart back to the booth. “I think the Rainier Foundation needs a branch in Tacoma, but it’s not like I know anything about how a non-profit is run.”

“You know more than most.” I lean back in my chair.

“Well, I know the South Sound where talented kids disappear before anyone realizes they’re worth anything.” He looks back at me. “I don’t know how to approach him. Or whether I should.”

His question hovers between us, wrapped in the remaining chords of sound of the song I was able to record because Ty Rainier once heard a foster kid play a glued-together guitar and decided to invest in my future.

Diego doesn’t ask for much. He never has. Not even when he should.

I stand and grab my jacket from the chair.

He stands too. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Come on.” I nod toward the control room, where Ty’s voice cuts through the monitors as he says something to Linus I can’t make out.