Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 25 - Lucilia

Ethan pauses, then speaks, "What do you mean by that?"

I peer into the window to make sure no one can see me, and then I sprint unsteadily to the tree line by the road. In the cover of the trunks, I speak, "H-His father's t-the–" I stutter out, my frame still shaking from what I witnessed.

I hear a sudden, harsh breath, and I know Ethan understood what I was trying to say. "Ace's father hurt him," Ethan confirms to himself. "The sheriff hurt him."

Even though it's not a question, I find myself nodding. "Y-Yes."

I hear something slamming against an object and then the honk of a horn, and I get the impression Ethan punched his steering wheel. "E-Ethan?"

I hear a soft exhale. "Yeah, Luce," he says, his voice portraying nothing of his previous outburst.

I sniffle and wipe my tears. "W-What are we gonna do?"

I hear nothing for over a minute, so I pull back to make sure I didn't lose the call. Then Ethan speaks, "First, I'm going to pick you up and take you home. Then w–"

"No!" I protest adamantly. "Ace needs us, Ethan. We can't leave him."

"I know that, Lucilia, and that's not what I'm saying. But rushing into this without all of the facts could do more harm than good. You understand?"

My shoulders drop in defeat. "Yeah." I hiccup. "Since when did you become mature?"

He snorts, which turns into a laugh. "You might find that I can be serious sometimes, but only sometimes. Being mature is very tiring."

I smile, despite the severity of the moment.

"Okay, Luce, I'm at the end of the driveway. Do you think you can come meet me?"

"Yeah." I clamber to my feet and head down the bumpy road. Within a couple minutes, I see headlights in the distance, and I pick up my pace to an awkward jog.

The door to the truck opens, and a silhouette steps out. I slam into his hug and cry into his shirt. Ethan pulls me close, rubbing my hair to comfort me.

"Geez, Lucilia, you're freezing. C'mon." He guides me into the truck, shutting the passenger door and then going around to climb in on his side. It is warm inside the truck, the heater blasting to an almost uncomfortable level.

Ethan reverses out of the driveway before speaking, "Okay, this is what we're going to do."

I look towards him.

"We're going to take you home." I open my mouth to protest, but he shoots me a look. "Unless Ace needs to go to the emergency room in fear of dying, then you're going home. Does he need to go?"

I think back to the bruises spattered across his face like the abstract painting we did in art class a few days ago. I see in my mind the grimace he wears as his father hits him and the pain in his eyes that beckons me to help. I picture the way he crumpled with each blow, and I wonder how many of the bruises he's had over the years are from actual fights or from his dirtbag of a father.

In my mind, yes, he needs to go to the emergency room, but I know that Ethan will disagree.

I shake my head. "He had a lot of bruises, but they didn't look life-threatening."

"Okay, so he'll be fine until tomorrow, which is when you are going to ask him about it."

"Me?" I squeak. "Won't you be there with me?"

Ethan shoots me a look. "I've only known Ace for a couple weeks, and while I consider us good friends, Ace-well, you know him. Do you really think he'll tell me about it?"