The Runaways

Chapter 9

Guess my luck that morning wasn’t ruined, just rusty.

        “Would any of you boys mind explainin’ to me why in the hell I found Caleb half-barbequed and stranded out in your fields this mornin’?"

Rusty cut right to the chase. He’d always been a straight shooter.

Couple years back, I used to walk into town and smoke outside his office hoping he'd catch me. I figured if the sheriff saw, he'd throw me in jail long enough to put some distance between me and dad.

A week went by like that and nothing happened. I thought about giving up, 'til Rusty walked out one Friday, took the cigarette outta my mouth, and told me that I looked like I'd had enough trouble in my life to be gunning for more. He took me to the diner across the street, fed me ‘til I was full, and didn't ask questions.

 We kept that going a couple times a week for a little over a year. Sometimes I'd show, other times I was too beat to make the trip. But he never took it out on me.

I figured he knew my story just from the bruises, but he never pushed me to say anything. I liked that. I liked him so much I tried getting Marcus to come along with me. We made it out together a few times, but Liam found out and made us stop before the cops got nosey. Me and Marcus quit going after that.

I still wish I hadn't.

The minute Marcus figured out that Rusty hadn't come in guns blazing with the feds on the phone, the stiffness slipped right out of his spine.

        “Jesus Russ, I mistook you for one of the other boys at the station. Scared the hell outta me,” he said.

        “Do I look thirty years younger to you, Marcus?”

 Rusty’s Virginia "r's" rolled right off his tobacco-black tongue.

        “Not a day over twenty-five,” Marcus said, his half-assed flattery fell flat on its face.

        “Stop talkin’ and give me a hand with your brother over here please. The kid needs to lie down. ”

Marcus helped me to my bunk with the fakest look on his face I'd ever seen. He smiled at me and Rusty through gritted teeth.

I hit the sheets and sunk into my bed, feeling about as sore and shaken up as I used to around Dad. Sometimes it was hard to believe that things hadn’t changed much. The uglier parts of him still kicked and screamed in my brothers.

I wondered if any of him would end up kicking and screaming in me.

        “I’m gonna have to call somebody about that truck. That’s a nasty accident ya’ll got yourselves into. Good thing I saw the smoke when I did or this boy here would've been long gone.”

Rusty reached over and slapped me on the back. I smiled through the pain.

Liam didn't say a word to the sheriff, just messed around in the kitchen sink long enough to wash the blood and ash off his face. He wasn't trying to hide, just trying to look presentable. 

        “Quite the hero this morning aren’t you Russ? I owe you one for looking after the runt."

Liam sauntered across the room to Rusty like he was glad to see him. He tried his best to keep almost cool, to be almost friendly— but his smile was about as genuine as Sweet N’ Low in black coffee.

        “All you owe me is a good explanation, son. You look like hell," Rusty said.

He checked out the gashes on Liam's face through the bottoms of his bifocals.