Very cool. We fall into an easy friendship. Emily isn't afraid of anything, including the angels. She starts coming over after school. Mom likes her.
Even Hawk seems impressed by her fearlessness. Weeks pass. The investigation into Judge Finch and Deputy Hargrove widen. More arrest. The local newspaper runs a special report.
My name is kept out of it, but everyone knows. The stairs at school change from fear to something else. Respect maybe. I'm invited to birthday parties. Asked to join study groups.
Suddenly, the wheelchair doesn't seem to matter as much. One afternoon, I sit with Patch in the garage. He's teaching me about engines. Oil stains my hands. Grease streaks my shirt.
Mom would have a fit, but she's working in the office. Hand me that wrench, Patch says, pointing. I pass it over. When did you learn about bikes? Foster dad taught me, Patch says.
One of the few good ones I had. He believed in me. He tightens a bolt. Said I had magic hand could fix anything. Is that why they call you patch because you fix things?
He shakes his head. Nah, that's from this. He pulls up his sleeve, revealing a massive scar on his forearm. Bar fight years ago took 52 stitches. Doc said it looked like a quill patch when he finished.
I stare at the scar. Did it hurt? Like hell. Patch admits, but pain fades. Scars stay.
He looks at me. That's not always bad, though. Scars remind us what we survive. I think about my own scars. The ones from the accident that took my legs.
The ones inside that no one can see. I have a lot of scars, I say. Patch nods. It makes you stronger. Does it?
I'm not sure I believe that. Look at you now, he says. A few months ago, you were alone, afraid. Now you've got a whole club at your back. He taps my chest.
That's strength, kid. That's beating the scars. I think about that a lot over the next few days. About scars, about strength, about family. One night, I wake to voices.
Angry voices. I will to my bedroom door open at a crack. Hawk and mom stand in the living room. Mom's arms are crossed. Hawk paces.
Can't just ignore it. Hawk is saying they threatened a child. My child. My breath catches. My child.
That's what he said. He's not your child, Hawk. Mom says, but her voice lacks conviction. He's club family, Hawk insists. That makes him mine, too.
And what message does violence send? Mom demands. What does that teach Eli? That actions have consequence? Hawk says his voice is that you don't threaten what's mine and walk away.
Mom suck. I understand you're angry. I am too, but this this isn't the answer. What then? Let the Finch boys come back to school.