Chapter 4: The President's Eyes

Nobody in the room said a word.

Gage put his duffel down on the floor by the door.

Brock got there first, with both arms out and a grin plastered on his face.

"Brother. Brother, we were going to come get you. The bus must have come early."

"It came on time," Gage said.

He didn't hug him.

He looked at the pool table, at the beer cans, at the torn vest in my hand, and at Rae with her red cheek.

"Who's that?" he said.

"Rae Cutler," Brock said. "You remember Rae. She's an old friend. She's helping out."

"I asked who she was to you."

Brock's grin twitched.

Nobody had ever heard Gage Rutledge raise his voice, and he didn't raise it now.

That was the whole problem.

"She's my old lady," Brock said.

Somebody near the bar made a small noise.

Gage looked at me.

I held the vest against my stomach and met his eyes.

They were gray, and they were tired.

"Hallie," he said.

"Gage."

"That's what you're wearing to this?"

"It's what's left of what I wore for three years."

His eyes moved to my cheek, which was still hot.

"Who hit you?"

"She did," I said, and pointed at Rae.

"And who hit her?"

"I did."

He nodded once.

"Why?"

"She was wearing my name."

Gage turned to the old brother at the bar.

"Old man, how long has this been going on?"

"Since the first of the month," the man with the ponytail said. "Brock moved her into the house two weeks back."

"My house," I said. "Where my son sleeps."

I heard the word son go through the room like a draft.

Gage's expression didn't change.

Something behind his eyes did.

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