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He was also the only person who actually gave a damn about Jace. Dianne tried, but when Liam got sick, she’d been too busy for him and Rick. And in the six months since Liam had died, she’d been too drunk. Rick was right about that.
But Dewey spent time with Jace. He taught him stuff. Dewey never treated him like he was too stupid to remember to breathe.
Maybe he could go live with Dewey. Jace wasn’t excited about running away with Rick. He’d seen the shows about what happened to teenage runaways.
Then it occurred to him that he had no idea where Dewey even lived. He’d always seen him at Corey’s construction business or at Aaron’s house.
“Whatcha got, Dewey?” Jace asked, stopping at the end of the dock. There were three boats tied up—Bobby’s, Aaron’s, and Dewey’s old jon boat. It had a smaller motor than the other two boats did. It also had oars. It was the kind of boat a fisherman would like.
Dianne had taken them fishing, before Liam got sick. Jace missed that life.
“Aaron’s starter. I’ll show you how to fix it. I figured you’d be getting stir-crazy right about now.”
“You don’t even know,” Jace murmured.
“C’mon, kid. I’ll take you to my little workshop and you can tell me about it.” Dewey threw an arm around Jace’s shoulders and they started walking. “Why did you boys do it?”
Jace sighed. “I was just the driver. I didn’t even know that’s what Rick was doing until a few seconds before he did it. I guess Rick did it because he wanted Aaron to come home.” Because as angry and unpredictable as Aaron had become after Liam died, he was still so much nicer than Corey. “Aaron... don’t beat us.”
Dewey made an understanding noise. “I know.”
They passed a second cabin, identical to Corey’s. “Whose is that?”
“Aaron’s.”
“And that?” He pointed to a little shack that looked a breath away from falling down.
“Where I sleep sometimes when I spend the night.”
“Oh.” They came to a fourth building, a little smaller than the two cabins. “Is this your workshop?”
“Yeah. I bring things here to fix. It’s quiet. Kind of meditative.”
Jace had no idea what that meant, but he nodded anyway, then smiled once he’d followed Dewey through the door. There were two long tables covered with engine parts. It smelled intensely of motor oil. “I like this. Do you have a workshop where you live?”
Dewey seemed to still, then shook his head. “Nope. I live in a space not much better than that shack over there. A bit upriver.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the wall, the movement causing the sleeve of his T-shirt to ride up, exposing his dragon tattoo.
“Oh. I got one, too.” Jace tugged his own sleeve up and angled his body to show off his tat, which looked pretty similar to Dewey’s, if he said so himself. Of course, the sketch he’d made from memory was much closer to Dewey’s, but the tattoo artist had been kind of drunk. So not exactly the same.
Dewey’s eyes widened. “Is that real? I mean, permanent?”
“It is,” Jace said proudly.
Dewey frowned. “Boy, you’re only fifteen. Who gave you a goddamn tattoo?”
Stung, Jace dropped his hand, letting his sleeve ride back down. “Some guy in the city. He didn’t ask for ID. I pass for eighteen all the time.”
“I guess you do. You’re sure big enough. Here, let me see it again.” Dewey whistled. “It’s just like mine. Why?”
Jace shrugged awkwardly. “I liked yours. You’re always nice to me, y’know? I just... well, I wanted it.”
Dewey’s eyes changed, softening. “Don’t let your brother see it if you don’t want an ass-whoopin’,” he said gruffly, “but it’s real nice. Now, what d’you say we fix Aaron’s starter?”
“Sounds good.”
Maybe if Jace was very helpful, Dewey would take them away. If Rick was right and Corey was planning to do more than just beat them, Dewey’s place—no matter how run-down it might be—would be a lot safer.
3
