"You think you know where Lucas is?" Nathan was surprised Karen and Jamie had both gotten out of bed so quickly. After all, they both got up at 4:00 a.m.—common knowledge to everyone who worked at the café.
Nathan nodded, watching Karen stir the hot chocolate, anxiously watching Jamie to make sure he didn't care if Nathan had something to drink in the middle of the night. "I might," he said. He bit his lip and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I didn't remember."
"It's okay, Nathan," Jamie reassured the teenager. "What's important is that you remember now."
Skillz came upstairs at that. "Hot chocolate, Karen? Can I have some?"
"We wake you up, Skillz?" Jamie asked him.
Shrugging, Skillz replied, "Yeah, it's okay though. I've got a math test today; should probably review the material a bit. I think I can get an A."
"That's awesome," Jamie praised him. "Good luck on your test."
"Thanks." Skillz eyed the hot chocolate, which was almost ready. "You okay, Nathan man?"
Nathan shrugged, but bit his lip and accepted the hot chocolate, not drinking any until Jamie had his first sip. Then he glanced at Skillz warily, unsure he wanted to share this information with him also. Not that he didn't trust him – he did – but he was already scared of Jamie.
Sensing Nathan wanted him gone, Skillz took his cup of hot chocolate, said good-night, and walked back downstairs. "Or should I say good morning?" he called up.
"It's okay, Nathan, relax. We're not going to hit you for what you did or didn't remember," Jamie said reassuringly.
"Do you guys remember the basketball game last year when we lost to the Twig Pligs?" Nathan asked, knowing that the game would be at least imprinted in Karen's mind—Lucas had outscored Nathan in that game.
"I do," Karen replied, settling in at the table. "I remember that you were furious because Lucas outscored you, right?"
"Yeah," Nathan admitted, blushing and ducking his head. "Dad warned me never to let that happen—ever. So since we lost too, he was really pissed. He kept calling me names on the way home. We got home, it was like midnight, he said 'pack.' I said, 'what?' he said, 'pack for the weekend.' I said, 'Dad?' he said, 'pack.' So I threw some clothes in my bag, and we took off." Nathan swallowed hard, remembering. "When I was packing, I guess Dad made a few phone calls. He said that I was going on a trip. I asked him where, and he smacked me in the mouth."
At that, Jamie closed his eyes, hoping that Dan hadn't had time to do to much damage to Lucas. He watched Nathan pause, his eyes darting nervously.
"I said, 'Dad, I have school Monday.' It didn't matter to him – wherever we were going, we were going. He smacked me again, and then we went out to the car. We drove for about six hours to a place called Orange County, Florida." Nathan winced, tapping his foot nervously, looking anywhere but in Jamie's eyes. "My dad, he… was upset. When we got to the house, I asked him what was going on and he smacked me, again—harder this time. Then he knocked on the door, and Keith answered." Nathan swallowed hard, looking down at the kitchen table. "It was the worst weekend of my life," Nathan whispered softly. "I couldn't even go to school that Monday because of how many bruises I had. Dad kept me home – locked me in the closet and made me promise to never tell. I couldn't go back to school until Wednesday. He told me that if Lucas outscored me again, he'd kill me. And I believed him." He looked directly at Karen, now. "I'm sorry I caused so much pain to your son," he said, his eyes revealing his true thoughts. "I just couldn't let him outscore me. I believed Dad would kill me. I'm sorry."
"We don't blame you, Nathan," Jamie said, placing his hands protectively on Nathan's. "Do you know if the house is under Dan's name or under Keith's?"
"Keith's," Nathan answered instantly. "He used to live there and run a garage there until he sold it and moved here."
"Why'd he move here?" Jamie asked, curiously.
Nathan looked at the ground for a minute, but finally brought himself to meet Jamie's eye. "Because Dan paid him too. Ever since we lost to the Twig Pligs, he's had Keith watch over me on most weekends – which was usually why I was so upset when I went to school on Mondays. Almost every weekend until Keith was arrested." Nathan shuddered, remembering how he dreaded the weekends.
"Thank you for telling us," Karen said sincerely, looking at Dan's oldest son, praying silently that Dan wouldn't be able to brutalize Lucas the way he'd obviously done to Nathan. "We forgive you, Nathan. Lucas has never thought badly of you before, and I'm sure he won't now. Lucas always forgave you."
--
"Don't touch me!" Lucas backed away from the basketball team captain angrily. "Let go!"
"Hey, Royal!" the coach, Mark White, approached him. "Can I have a word with you?"
"Yes, sir," Lucas replied, looking at the captain warily. As he followed the coach into the office, he said, "Sir?"
"Michael, you worry me, buddy. You know Justin's completely trustworthy. He's not going to hurt you."
"He said he was going to smack me good." Lucas refused to look into White's eyes. It was the truth, and it hurt. He'd already been badly beaten by Dan because he'd refused to answer to 'Michael'. Dan had been careful to only leave a few bruises, though.
"That's the way Justin talks," Coach White explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Michael, are you and your father having problems? I'm sure your mother's death was hard on you both."
"No!" the word ripped from Lucas' mouth before he could do anything about it. "I mean, no, no problems."
"I have a question for you, Michael." Coach White leaned back in his chair. He had taken a bunch of classes for college, and he could spot an abuse case a mile away. He himself had been a textbook example, and he knew the lies people made up. "What happened to your leg?"
"My leg?" Lucas looked down, seeing the bruises. "It's a long story, Coach."
"I've got plenty of time, Michael."
"I can't be late," Lucas protested, grabbing his backpack. "I've got to be home by five or my dad'll start to worry."
"Michael," White replied, "I need you to be real honest with me, okay, buddy? Please tell me where they came from."
"You want the truth?" Lucas demanded, studying White. The truth was he didn't trust White for a minute. He knew Dan had bribed at least two teachers, the principle, and some members of the police force. He wouldn't be surprised if the man had bribed the coach.
"That would be nice."
"The truth is, Coach, I skateboard a lot. My dad doesn't like it because it's dangerous and I fall down a lot. Last night I decided to see what would happen if I skateboarded down the stairs in our new home and I fell and landed really hard."
White frowned at that and leaned back in his chair. He glanced at the clock—four-thirty. He knew Michael wasn't telling the truth, and he suspected that the boy had a fair amount to hide. "Go ahead and go home," he said with a sigh. He hated sending the boy into an abusive situation, but knew he didn't have any proof.
Michael took off, all-to-grateful to be gone.
Honestly, White probably would have believed Michael's story if the bruises matched, but he'd fallen down the stairs many times himself, and no matter how many times he fell down the stairs, he could never seem to get bruises in the places Michael got them.
He really felt the need to call Child Protective Services on this.
--
A/N: I know that most abusive cases are not discovered quickly, and they take years to be discovered and some are never discovered. But hey, I'm trying to keep Lucas alive here… and who says that White'll really report the abuse, anyway?