Sorry for not updating sooner. This one took me a long time to write because I had a lot to think about, had to go deep into the beginnings of this story to try to map out some continuity, and I got a new job so I'm working significantly more hours. I hope to have more time this week to write.

Anyways, thank you everyone for all your reviews. I'm so grateful to have this opportunity to share my writing with all of you!

The day was half over by the time Chris and Sergeant Conseiko reached Donna Carter's bungalow in Jersey. It was eerie to Chris to be so close to home - or at least where he'd called home during a significant part of his life - while he was so deep in the case. He was a different person back then, in this place.

It was here that his father retired from the Navy, settled his family, and became a patrol cop. It was here that he went to high school, played on the senior football team, and flunked out in his last semester. It was also here that his father bullied him into joining the Navy.

He could remember so clearly that morning when it all became arranged. He was sitting outside the principal's office like he'd done at least 100 times over the course of his high school career, but this time he knew it was different. He was dressed in his football uniform, having just been pulled off the field, informed by the coach that his father was meeting with Principal Rhodes, and that he was banned from playing in the semifinals. He knew why. As he sat there adjacent the secretary's desk, waiting for that office door to open and allow him inside, he knew what this was about. He wasn't going to graduate with his class. That was no surprise. Despite what his science teacher told him, he wasn't an idiot. He expected to fail. That was typically what followed when you didn't do the work. Hell, he'd never even met his English teacher. He would have dropped out. But then there'd be no football. All he wanted was to get his team to the championship. Even if he couldn't play, he'd called that a good year.

Still, he had the common decency to at least appear remorseful. He hung his head and prepared himself to gag out a series of convincing "yes sirs" and "no sirs." He had no intentions of apologizing. He was prepared for this. He was surprised he was allowed to get as far as to dress for the game. He'd even made it out onto the field and started warmup. He was so close that he was beginning to think he was actually being permitted to play. That was until coach yanked him off the field and told him it was over. All over. At least Coach seemed sympathetic. Apologetic even. Chris knew he didn't deserve it. He couldn't have done less that year and for the life of him, he couldn't make himself care. He knew it was coming and that in the grand scheme of things, high school didn't matter. He knew his father would get his way one way or another. Chris opted to have one last year of fun, of being a kid, before it was drilled out of him. But now that too was over.

By the time Chris was called into the office, he was sufficiently nervous. After all it was the point to leave him out there marinating in his own fear. Between Principal Rhodes and Chris' father, there was a lot of yelling and a lot of spit flying in Chris' direction. When they walked out of there, two things happened. The already fragmented relationship between Chris and his father had ruptured. So far irreparably since they haven't been on speaking terms in almost ten years. The other result of that final trip to the Principal's office was a vow that Chris made privately: he was leaving Jersey and he wasn't coming back.

He'd broken that rule many times. Countless dinners with his mother and sister for starters. Also, he'd make any excuse to wind up at Nicky's parents' house. It just wasn't home anymore. Yet something about being here brought him right back to those days this time. He couldn't put his finger on why. It was uncanny.

Chris climbed out of the car and cracked his neck. He straightened his tie as they walked up the driveway to Donna Carter's front door. Conseiko brushed wrinkles out of his suit.

As they approached the house, a storm door with a thin screen was all that separated them from Carter's home. Chris knocked and stepped back on the porch steps as a small, white Shih Tzu appeared and began barking.

"Afraid of dogs, Rivera?" Conseiko smirked.

Chris ignored him. While the dog's high-pitched yipping was nothing compared to the Belgian Shepherds he'd become accustomed to in the Navy, it awakened in him feelings of unease and impending threat. Call it his own trauma. He took in a long gulp of air and released it, forcing his heartrate to steady.

Eventually a short woman with bleached hair propped opened the door as she held the dog back by the collar.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, Ms. Carter?"

She frowned. "Who wants to know?"

Conseiko looked at Chris and stepped closer to the door. "I'm Sergeant Jacob Conseiko, ma'am. This is my partner, Detective Chris Rivera. We were hoping to ask you a few questions."

"About your stolen car," Chris added.

"Oh, that."

"Can we come in?"

As the woman watched Conseiko wedge his foot between the door and its frame, she seemed to hesitate. "I already made a report." She said, yanking the dog back who had abandoned his barking and begun sniffing Conseiko's boot.

"There's been some developments," Chris said, embellishing a little.

As they stepped through the door, she glanced down at their feet disapprovingly. "Would you mind removing your shoes, detectives? I just had this carpet cleaned."

They exchanged a look, kicked off their boots, and followed her into the living room.

"Nice house." Conseiko was saying as he sat on the loveseat before being invited to.

"We won't take up much of your time," Chris said. Donna took the seat across from Conseiko and gestured for Chris to sit, as well.

"So, have you found my car?"

Conseiko started, "Not exactly. We have some follow up questions. It's possible that the person who took your car was also involved in another crime."

"Oh." Her eyebrows shot up. "Well, what can I tell you that I haven't already?"

Chris leaned his elbows on his knees. "Ma'am, we're curious about why you reported your vehicle missing here in Jersey and then again in Philadelphia."

"It's not like you lost it twice, did you?" Conseiko was smirking.

She pursed her lips. "No, it's not that. I never drive that old thing. It stays in the garage. It was my late husband's," she explained. "I happened to go out there one day and it was gone. I panicked. I shouldn't have really. I just worry about these things."

Chris shrugged. "Your car was missing. I'd be worried. Could anyone else have taken it?"

"I tried calling my son. I kept on calling. There was no answer. I just had to do something, so I went to the police station. It turned out that my son had borrowed it. It was all a big misunderstanding."

"Does your son often come up from Philly and take things without asking?" Conseiko asked.

Donna crossed her arms defensively. "No, of course not. He knows better than to just take things that don't belong to him. He said he needed it. His was getting worked on by a mechanic. He said he came by, but I was out, so he took it."

"And forgot to tell you?"

"I wasn't happy about it. Actually, I couldn't believe he'd take it." She said, narrowing her eyes. "He'd always hated that car when my husband was still around. That's why I went straight there." The woman looked like she was pissed all over again.

"How were you planning on bringing it home?" Conseiko asked.

"Bringing it home? I didn't care if he kept it. If Julian wanted it, he could have it. But he was darn well going to pay me for it." She had a hardness about her. She looked like your typical Jersey housewife at first glance, but something in the way she spoke suggested that she was putting up a front. It wasn't that she was lying. Rather, the lie seemed to be in the way she presented herself and her orderly home.

"And what happened when you got there?"

The woman shrugged. "Well, it wasn't there, was it? That's why I made a report in Philadelphia. My son told me he parked it in front of his house. Only it wasn't. Someone stole it. You know that damned city. It's no wonder with those kinds of people all around." She was looking in Conseiko's direction. "It used to be that you'd never see them. Now you can't go anywhere anymore. Even around here. This used to be a nice area!"

Chris' jaw tightened. He leaned forward in case she needed to be reminded that he was still present. "What kinds of people do you mean?"

She pulled a face.

"You mean Black people?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "No. You know. Druggies."

Conseiko sat back in his seat amusedly, offering nothing in support of his subordinate. Instead, the sergeant encouraged her. "Yeah, lots of those for sure."

With his face burning, Chris opted to change the subject. "Don't you think it's a little too convenient that as soon as you get out to Philadelphia to get your car, that it gets stolen? Maybe your son just doesn't want to give the car back."

The woman huffed. "Well, that's your job, isn't it? To find it?"

"You know, I grew up around this neighbourhood. Yeah, I went to Jackson Liberty High. Can you believe that?"

The woman raised her eyebrows. "My Julian went there. And my husband long time before. Then he did some coaching there. Decent school. Didn't like the principal. Always calling here to bitch."

Chris smiled. "Yeah, he did that at my house, too. You said your husband coached at Liberty?" He knew it couldn't have been football. He happened to know that his coach was still there and had been for years since he'd started high school.

"Yes, he coached hockey." She stood and went over to a hutch in her dining room. Lining the top were several photo albums stacked neatly together. She pulled one out and brought it back into the living area as she flipped through it. Finally, she landed on a page and handed it to Chris. "That's him and one of the teams. They used to take pictures of the winning team. He had a five-year streak running until his first heart attack. He couldn't keep up the coaching after that."

Chris eyed the photo. Something clicked. It was familiar. It was not that he'd seen it before; he'd been there before. He'd been to that arena, that rink with Nicky. The hockey team posed stiffly beneath the old score board with teal tiles plastering the walls behind them. All this time Chris had known about Nicky's abuse, he'd known essentially who was responsible. He'd just never considered giving a face to the name, a face from his past to the abuser.

The photo was timestamped March 1978. He flipped the page and there was another team with new kids but the same coach. The bottom corner below the photo read March 1979. Chris flipped over to the next page of the photo album to find the sleeve empty. The photos to follow were labelled 1981 and 1982.

"Where's 1980?" Chris croaked, his heart beginning to pound. Conseiko had moved to his side and Chris handed him the album.

The woman's face was a culmination of puzzled and inconvenienced. "What?"

"Five-year streak between '78 and '82, but no pic for 1980?"

"Well, it should be. Maybe my son took it." She seemed to be joking, but detective and sergeant shared a knowing look, finally on the same page.

1980 was the year Chris' father took out a mortgage for the house on Lindley Avenue. It was also the year that his sister Nina turned 16 and bought herself a brand-new Ford Escort, which later became his car when she moved to New York with her new Sierra. It was the year Chris and Nicky turned thirteen. Chris played football; Nicky played hockey. It happened right there at Liberty High in 1980 despite the absent photo to prove it.

As Jonathon unlocked the apartment door, Shawn leaned his back on the doorframe and crossed his arms. A deep frown was etched over his face. This time it was he who had a bone to pick and he refused to let it go.

"I don't get you. If I'm already taking today off, why can't I just have the rest of the week?" He asked, staring fixedly.

Jonathon turned the knob and pushed the door open wide. "Hunter, you've already missed a ton of school. You've got to make it up sometime. And I don't need any more charges on my pay-per-view," he warned, stabbing his index finger at the air between them.

"Come on, man. I've been through a lot." The kid flashed a pathetic look, which might have swayed Jonathon's stance on the matter had he maintained it a little longer. However, Shawn must have thought it was hopeless for he started to barter: "How about tomorrow? Can I at least stay home tomorrow?"

"Get in there," Jonathon said, trying not to smile. He nodded in the direction of the open apartment and nudged him inside.

Shawn went straight for his room. That usually meant he was pissed, but he left the door ajar which said their argument wasn't over. At least there were some things about the kid that he could read. But not enough to be worth a damn.

It was obvious to Jonathon that he was no father. Even using the word with Henshaw made him feel like such a fraud. He lacked any intuition at all. How else could he explain not noticing how much pain Shawn was still in? Or maybe it boiled down to plain incompetence. Deep down Jonathon knew that the correct word for it was there orbiting his brain and he strained himself against bringing it into focus. But it was there, and it ricocheted sharply off his skull, blaring at full sound each time he failed the boy.

Neglect.

Jonathon was having a harder and harder time faulting Chet for his sins these days. It made him hate the man fiercer. It made him hate himself most of all.

It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon and Jonathon was aching for a drink. Reminding himself of the splash of whiskey he'd dosed himself with in the wee hours that morning, he thought better of it. His craving had more to do with knowing that he shouldn't than actually needing it. Alcohol ripped the Hunter family apart. There was no escaping that truth. Chet was an alcoholic who would get drunk and beat his son. In that order. To Jonathon, refusing alcohol meant tethering himself closer to his responsibilities. It meant committing himself wholly to looking after Shawn. It meant underscoring for them both the distinction between Jonathon and Shawn's father.

Jonathon couldn't imagine ever raising a hand to the boy. He didn't believe it was in his nature to hit a kid nor did he think of himself as a violent man in general. Sure, they had their moments. And Shawn knew how to piss his guardian off, but Jonathon couldn't ever see himself resorting to harming him. Nonetheless, his conscience told him to refrain from drinking just in case. Just in case. It was as though there was some chance. It was like there could be some combination of stars aligning on a given night where Jonathon had one glass of wine too many that he'd let his anger get the better of him. That he could turn into Chet. That he could hurt Shawn.

This fear visited him daily and it was debilitating. His sleepless nights awaiting Shawn's cries were often spent envisioning himself at his worst. He'd play out in his head all the ways that he could royally fuck up.

It always started the same. There would be some argument between them – as there always seemed to be – and then something would set Jonathon off. Each time it was something different. He made it his mission to think of every possible scenario as though to prepare himself for when it happened. Because it would happen. It was bound to happen, and he couldn't let himself become what he feared he would.

Sitting at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee warming his palms, he sealed his eyes shut and channelled his descent into this personal purgatory once again.

This time he pictured something new. His mind went right to their most recent argument, butting heads just an hour ago in the McDonald's parking lot. He replayed it, his actions, his words, his anger. Again and again he assessed what transpired until finally the 'what ifs' seeped in. What if I was gripping him too tightly and he just didn't say anything? What if it left a bruise? I didn't shake him, did I?

Next, was a complete reimagining of what happened. He gripped his mug tighter and entertained his worst nightmare.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in so much pain?"

"What do you mean?"

Looking him over, Jonathon could see the kid was perhaps not quite as good a liar as he thought. "Your jaw. After all the fighting we were doing over getting you to eat, you never told me it was too painful. I feel like a jerk."

Shawn raised his eyebrows, put his mouth on his straw and chewed it.

"I'm sorry." Jonathon couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut. "I should've noticed. I'm still new at this. Is that excuse getting old?"

"This conversation is getting old." Shawn said, shaking his head in annoyance. After a long pause, he added accusingly: "You just can't let anything go, can you?"

"What?"

The teenager rolled his eyes. "Can you just let it go? I don't want to talk about it."

He should've. He should've let it go, but his temper was getting the better of him. "No, I can't just let it go. Just so you know, that's what it's like having someone care. No matter how annoying that might be for you." Jonathon sounded convincing, but he didn't believe even himself.

When Shawn rolled his eyes again, Jonathon snapped. "Alright, enough of that, Hunter! Listen, you heard the doctor. If you don't get your weight up, you're going to be right back where you started in the hospital."

"No, I won't!"

"Shawn, you made a deal with him, remember? You start eating or they're putting in a feeding tube! This is serious!" He was yelling. Why was he yelling?

Taking a handful of fries, the boy stuffed them in his mouth and glared in his guardian's direction. "There. Happy?"

Jonathon scoffed. "Yeah, good. That solves everything." He said like the jackass he was. "You know, kid, if you don't start speaking up for yourself, telling me when something's wrong, you're never going to get better."

"Maybe I don't want to get better. Maybe I'm not ready." Shawn wasn't looking at him anymore. Control was there but it hung in limbo between them. It was out of grasp no matter how desperately Jonathon reached.

"What do you mean? You want to keep being in pain?"

Shawn looked like a much younger boy now. He crossed his arms and said with his face screwed up in a scowl: "No… Better than feeling nothing."

He watched Shawn swish the remaining liquid around inside his soda cup, pull a shrug with his mouth, and start for the trash can. Jonathon stepped in his path. His patience had run out. He took a deep breath, but his reaction was based only on instinct. He grabbed hold of the kid's arm and yanked him back.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Jonathon demanded. "You said you weren't feeling numb like that anymore. Are you telling me you're trying to hurt yourself?"

Shawn glowered at him and snatched his arm away from the man's grasp. Jonathon gripped both arms then and jerked him closer. "Hunter, let's not go backward." He shook his head. "If you're depressed, you gotta tell me."

"Get off me!" Shawn shouted, trying to shake free. "That's not what I meant."

"You said the pain was better than feeling nothing." Come on, Jon, not like this. Never like this.

Shawn wasn't listening. He was struggling against Jonathon's hold, groaning, and gritting his teeth. "Ow! Stop it! Let go of me! Let go!"

"Then talk to me, goddammit!" Jonathon roared. He did let Shawn go but with a shove that sent him stumbling backwards. The boy caught himself with his elbows on the seat of the picnic table behind him. A soft whimper escaped his lips as he fell.

What a mistake that was.

Shawn was wide-eyed and quickly heaved himself to his feet. Though Jonathon didn't try to close any distance, the kid still stepped back several paces.

"Hunter –" Jonathon choked and tried again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Or swear at you. I –"

"You told me you wouldn't treat me like that!" Shawn's voice would've attracted an audience if there had been anyone around. There never was anyone around in these nightmares. That Jonathon could get away with it made it that much more haunting.

"You told me you'd never hurt me!" Something in Jonathon broke with those words. He'd done something he never wanted to. Maybe betraying the kid was imminent.

He visualized tears streaming down the boy's face. It wasn't difficult to do, doubtless a symptom of having witnessed it so frequently. The guilt he felt inside was real. Jonathon desperately wanted to take back what hadn't happened, what may never happen, the very fact that he feared it just may happen. He felt remorse for these things and disgust for himself as he asked his conscience if he really was what Shawn needed.

Jonathon could remember those early days when his role was simply to protect Shawn from a monster. He wondered when he'd become the monster. And whether he had what it takes to protect Shawn from that monster.

"Jon." It was Eli's voice that wrenched Jonathon back to the present.

Alarmed, he spun around to find his friend behind him and Shawn pushing the door closed. He didn't miss how Shawn's hand hovered over the chain as he debated whether to latch it. He apparently decided not to and casually raised his hand to his hair instead.

"Didn't you hear me knocking, man?" Eli asked frowning.

"I could hear it from my room," Shawn piped up, more curious than concerned.

Jonathon looked between them and scratched his head. "Nah, I think I just zoned out."

Pointing his thumb in Jonathon's direction, Shawn said to Eli: "This is your brain on drugs." He made a disapproving face and shook his head.

Eli smirked but Jonathon offered no reaction.

As Shawn went back to his room, Eli sat on the arm of the couch. "Funny kid."

"Yeah. Real funny," Jonathon agreed with a sigh.

"Jonny, you look terrible. Does that mean today went–?"

Jonathon shook his head and put a finger to his lips. With Shawn in earshot, it was best to table their conversation. The last thing Jonathon needed was something else to fight about with the teenager.

With a short glance over his shoulder, Eli grimaced disapprovingly. "Seriously? You need to get out of here, man. Let's take a walk."

"Eli, I can't just –"

"He's fifteen, Jon."

Jonathon leaned on the counter and pressed his fingers to his throbbing temple. "It's more complicated than that and you know it. Besides, I've got to go down to the pharmacy and pick up his meds. And get him to take them." Jonathon rolled his eyes. "That's gonna be a fight."

"Really?" His friend ran a hand over his mouth, thinking. "Look, do me a favour, man. Let's take a walk. We can stop at the pharmacy on the way. When we come back, I'll even hold the little man down for you."

A defeated smile was all he could muster, but Eli took it as affirmation. He passed Jonathon his coat off the coat hook but instead of taking it, Jonathon rolled his eyes and signalled he'd be a minute

"Hunter, I'm –" Jonathon was halfway through the doorway of Shawn's bedroom when he found the kid standing on his bed with his back turned and his head tilted up toward the ceiling. "What the heck are you doing?"

Without turning to look at him, Shawn replied matter-of-factly: "My spider's back."

"Then squish it already and … wait, did you say 'your' spider?"

"I'm not squishing Little Jon!"

"Little Jon?"

"Mhmm. He looks like you."

That time, Jonathon was sure the kid was messing with him, but he was in no mood. Feeling his fist tighten in his pocket as he watched Shawn sway absently on the bed, he hissed: "For crying out loud, Hunter. Would you get down from there? You're going to break your neck!"

Shawn scoffed. "No, I'm not. Relax. I just want to see where he keeps disappearing to."

"Probably the floor where all your junk is." Jonathon kicked a pile of clothes away from the bed to clear a path for himself. "Come on. Get down. Now."

When Shawn finally heeded his request, Jonathon held out a hand which unsurprisingly was refused. Instead, the man outstretched his forearm in front of the kid's thighs preventing him from doing what he knew he was about to. "Don't jump! Hunter, come on! This is why your ribs won't heal. What are you thinking?"

"Jon, chill!" Shawn said smugly as his legs came out from under him and he landed on his rear on the bed.

"Would you please start taking this seriously?" Jonathon chided.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

The teacher's eyes narrowed quizzically. "Hunter, I'm not yelling at you."

"Well you've been on my case all day."

"Because you won't sit still and take it easy!"

"Now you're yelling at me again!" There was a hint of a smile on Shawn's face. The kid was cleverer than he let on.

Jonathon threw his hands up and sighed. He thought for a moment, then beckoned him forward with a wave of his finger. "Come with me."

When Shawn didn't oblige, he steered the kid out into the living room. "Sit," he commanded, pointing at the couch. "Stay."

"I'm not a dog," Shawn grumbled, fending off Eli who had begun mussing his hair and asking "Who's a good boy?" in a derisive voice.

Jonathon retreated into the kitchen and returned with a bag of frozen peas in hand. "Here. Find something to do with this. And don't eat them. We're going for a walk. Your job can be to get on your own case."

When they got down to the street, Eli was quiet. If he was waiting for Jonathon to speak first, he would be disappointed.

Finally, this fact dawned on him and he broke the silence. "So, I don't mean to pry. That's not why I came. I just want you to have someone to talk to."

They were headed west toward George Washington Memorial Park and Jonathon was feeling uneasy, wondering how long they would be walking for. "Eli, I appreciate that. I just I feel like we're so far gone. Shawn and me. I couldn't expect anyone to understand."

"Don't you think you'll need to let someone in eventually?"

Jonathon ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes from his friend's burning gaze. "Let someone in? Who would want in on this mess?" He said, realizing the weight of his words.

He couldn't see it, but Jonathon knew Eli was making that face of his like you'd told him you had sixteen toes and were from Mars. "Jonny, you're not in this alone. You made a choice. A noble choice. But not even you can fix this kid by yourself. You can't let it break you. What good will you be to him then?"

Jonathon was fighting with himself on whether to say what was already in his mouth. He swallowed hard and heard the words pouring out his lips, betraying him. "I'm not sure I'm any good to him now."

Eli stopped walking. Jonathon got several paces ahead before he noticed the other man was no longer beside him. He turned around to face him.

"Of course, you are. Are you kidding? You've taken him in. Given him a home. A safe home. You care for him. How could you think he'd be better off anywhere else?"

"Yeah, you should've heard the doctor. My God, Eli. He's so broken." Jonathon had risen his hands to his head and interlocked his fingers. He was trying to breathe easier like he'd done that morning, but it wasn't working this time. "Busted ribs that should've healed by now. Broken jaw that I didn't even know about." Jonathon cringed as he pictured Shawn's beat up body. "He's so fucking skinny. Man, I'm surprised they didn't call social services."

Eli put a hand on Jonathon's shoulder. "That's not your fault. He's messed up. He needs time to get better. Jon," Eli said, pausing to capture his gaze. "You need to give him time. And give yourself time. No one expects you to come in and make everything right. You're only a man. You can't –"

Jonathon couldn't stop himself now that he'd opened his mouth. "He does though, doesn't he? He expects me to take all that pain away. To have it all together. And it's my fault. I told him I would. I was so confident that I could." Jonathon shook his head and started walking again without making sure Eli was following. "I couldn't even bloody well protect him. I let it happen again."

"Jon, you didn't let anything happen." He could feel Eli at his heel. "When are you going to start facing the fact that this affecting you, too?"

Please review! I'll try to update quicker this time.