him.
Cam picked up a little glass pot that was sitting near the edge of the roof. It was pretty: red and gold glass panes in diamond shapes. The plant inside had died, but the roots were still there, tangled up in the dirt. He looked down. The cat was gone, the alley empty. Cam held the pretty thing up and then let go, watching the pot burst apart in the light of the street lamps below. He realized then that the glass had been broken and had cut into his hand. Now he would need to find something to bandage it. But at the moment he couldnât make himself move, or care. He lay back against the cold cement of the roof and stared out into the darkness.
â¢Â â¢Â â¢
The text message from Jax pulled Cam out of his thoughts:
Jets game & grub @ my place-104B Ave C @ 7
Cam smiled down at his phone. It had been forever since heâd gotten a come-hang-out text. He didnât hang out with any of the messengers at work.
His hand was still bleeding a little, so he ripped off the hem of an old T-shirt and wrapped it around his palm, then took the train down to Jaxâs place, which looked like one-quarter of a loft.
Jax answered the door wearing head-to-toe green and white. He clapped Cam on the back. âYou made it! Welcome!â
âThanks,â Cam said. He walked in and looked around. There were three beds in one corner. âNice place. You guys all live here?â
âMe and Tate and Dylan,â Jax answered. âOh, and my boys!â
At that moment, three pit bulls rushed toward Cam, almost knocking him over.
âI told you to hold them!â Jax called over his shoulder.
âI did,â Tate yelled. âNoodle started slobbering all over me. Your dogs, dude. Control âem.â
Jax smiled sheepishly at Cam. âThey told me if I bring home one more, Iâm out,â he confided. âTheyâre rescues. Iâm in this group, and they call me . . .â Jax shrugged as though to indicate his helplessness in the face of pit bulls in need. He led the way into the middle of the loft, where there were two big sofas and a flat screen already tuned in to the game.
âTold you before, dude. You gotta get your name off the sucker list,â Tate said, standing and greeting Cam with a handshake. âWelcome to the dog pound. Have a seat. Hope you donât mind dog hair. Or drool.â
âNo worries,â Cam said, sitting. One of the dogs promptly climbed up on top of him, staring at him with sad doggie eyes. He noticed that he only had three legs, and his ears looked like someone had attacked them with scissors. Cam reached up and petted his head. âPoor dude. Looks like you really needed a rescue,â he said.
Jax sat down across from him. âYeah, Sammy there had it the worst. He was a bait dog. People suck. But enough about my monsters. What do you like on your pizza?â
âAnything,â Cam said. âI mean, I guess anything except pineapple. Pizzaâs just not the place for fruit.â
âNo arguments here,â Tate said. âDylanâs on his way. With Nikki.â
Cam wasnât sure how to feel about that news. Part of him wanted more time with her. Part of him just didnât understand her, and feared he never would.
Tate was calling for the pizza. âSo you guys lived here long?â Cam asked Jax.
âMaybe a year? When I first came here I lived in thisâ
crap hole
doesnât begin to describe it. Finally, after meeting up with these guys, I went over to Tateâs, and his place was a crack den too. So I had the idea we could go in together.â
âYeah, Iâve lived in my share of garbage places,â Cam agreed. âYou said you came here? From where?â
âVirginia, the bottom partânear Tennessee.â
â
Whyâd
you come here?â Cam asked. âNo offense or anything. Iâve just spent most of my life trying to get out.â
Jax