because Dante is one ruthless son of a bitch. But it won’t be because of you . Don’t for a minute think this is your fault.”
She nodded, although she clearly wasn’t convinced. It reminded Simon again of Lena. She’d blamed herself afterwards, too. As if it wasn’t enough for women to be abused by men, they somehow felt the need to bear the guilt of it, too.
“This was not your fault,” he said again.
She shrugged. She glanced hesitantly over at Frances. He hadn’t spoken since she’d come in the door.
“Thank you,” she said.
Frances hung his head, and mumbled something unintelligible. Simon could tell by the boy’s demeanour that he was blaming himself as well. Simon could have smacked them both.
Simon had her leave the vinegar and extra bandages and promised he’d tend to Foster himself. It didn’t seem fair that Cami should have to do it. He could tell as he let her out the barrack’s door how relieved she was to be able to leave to task to somebody else.
He turned back to find Frances still in the same spot on the bunk, looking down at his boots.
“Stop grousing and tell me what your problem is.”
Frances sighed in frustration. “I should have been able to do something!”
“You did do something!”
“Yeah. I ran away.”
“You went for help. That’s not the same thing as running away.”
Frances hung his head. “It feels the same.”
Simon sighed and put his hand on Frances’ shoulder. “Your first instinct isn’t to fight, that’s true. But that ain’t a bad thing.”
“It makes me feel weak.”
Simon could understand that, and yet, he knew Frances had strength, too. He’d grown immeasurably since the incident with Miron. Countless times they’d been in situations as dangerous as the one with the bull had been, and not once had Frances balked. He’d covered Simon’s back in a fight, and although he’d come away with a black eye and his nose broken for a second time, he hadn’t backed down. And today, he’d tried to stop Foster, and when it hadn’t worked, he’d gone for help. Simon didn’t want him to be ashamed of that.
“Look, kid. You’re never going to be Deacon, who keeps men in line with his fists. And you’re never going to be Dante, who bashes people’s heads in with a chair as easy as breathing. But if you ask me, that ain’t necessarily a bad thing. I’d take you at my back any day over a wild card like Dante.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” But he could tell by Frances’ voice that he was pleased to have Simon say it.
“I wish somebody had been there to go for help when it was Lena.”
Frances looked up at him in sudden realisation, his eyes big and full of embarrassment. “Oh, Simon. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think—”
“It’s all right,” Simon said, cutting that conversation off before it had a chance to drag him down. “You did well. A lesser man would have pretended he’d seen nothing. A lesser man wouldn’t have wanted to risk having Foster as an enemy.”
“I couldn’t let him do that to her.”
“I know.” He gripped Frances’ shoulder tighter and shook him until he smiled grudgingly. “Quit beating yourself up. It’s ‘cause of you Foster wasn’t able to do what he wanted. Count it as a win.”
“On the bright side, he’d have to be a fool to try again.”
“You’re right about that.” But Simon wasn’t as confident as he let on. In his experience, when it came to women, men were fools far more often than not.
Chapter Nine
Foster didn’t awaken that day, although Simon assured Dante the man was still breathing. Dante didn’t care. He’d never been one to waste sympathy on men like Foster. He noticed, though, how Cami wouldn’t look at him. She was pale, and her hands shook as she served him lunch.
“Are you sorry I did it?” he asked her.
“I just don’t want him to die because of me.”
“It won’t be because of you.” Dante had no trouble admitting to himself whose fault
She nodded, although she clearly wasn’t convinced. It reminded Simon again of Lena. She’d blamed herself afterwards, too. As if it wasn’t enough for women to be abused by men, they somehow felt the need to bear the guilt of it, too.
“This was not your fault,” he said again.
She shrugged. She glanced hesitantly over at Frances. He hadn’t spoken since she’d come in the door.
“Thank you,” she said.
Frances hung his head, and mumbled something unintelligible. Simon could tell by the boy’s demeanour that he was blaming himself as well. Simon could have smacked them both.
Simon had her leave the vinegar and extra bandages and promised he’d tend to Foster himself. It didn’t seem fair that Cami should have to do it. He could tell as he let her out the barrack’s door how relieved she was to be able to leave to task to somebody else.
He turned back to find Frances still in the same spot on the bunk, looking down at his boots.
“Stop grousing and tell me what your problem is.”
Frances sighed in frustration. “I should have been able to do something!”
“You did do something!”
“Yeah. I ran away.”
“You went for help. That’s not the same thing as running away.”
Frances hung his head. “It feels the same.”
Simon sighed and put his hand on Frances’ shoulder. “Your first instinct isn’t to fight, that’s true. But that ain’t a bad thing.”
“It makes me feel weak.”
Simon could understand that, and yet, he knew Frances had strength, too. He’d grown immeasurably since the incident with Miron. Countless times they’d been in situations as dangerous as the one with the bull had been, and not once had Frances balked. He’d covered Simon’s back in a fight, and although he’d come away with a black eye and his nose broken for a second time, he hadn’t backed down. And today, he’d tried to stop Foster, and when it hadn’t worked, he’d gone for help. Simon didn’t want him to be ashamed of that.
“Look, kid. You’re never going to be Deacon, who keeps men in line with his fists. And you’re never going to be Dante, who bashes people’s heads in with a chair as easy as breathing. But if you ask me, that ain’t necessarily a bad thing. I’d take you at my back any day over a wild card like Dante.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” But he could tell by Frances’ voice that he was pleased to have Simon say it.
“I wish somebody had been there to go for help when it was Lena.”
Frances looked up at him in sudden realisation, his eyes big and full of embarrassment. “Oh, Simon. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think—”
“It’s all right,” Simon said, cutting that conversation off before it had a chance to drag him down. “You did well. A lesser man would have pretended he’d seen nothing. A lesser man wouldn’t have wanted to risk having Foster as an enemy.”
“I couldn’t let him do that to her.”
“I know.” He gripped Frances’ shoulder tighter and shook him until he smiled grudgingly. “Quit beating yourself up. It’s ‘cause of you Foster wasn’t able to do what he wanted. Count it as a win.”
“On the bright side, he’d have to be a fool to try again.”
“You’re right about that.” But Simon wasn’t as confident as he let on. In his experience, when it came to women, men were fools far more often than not.
Chapter Nine
Foster didn’t awaken that day, although Simon assured Dante the man was still breathing. Dante didn’t care. He’d never been one to waste sympathy on men like Foster. He noticed, though, how Cami wouldn’t look at him. She was pale, and her hands shook as she served him lunch.
“Are you sorry I did it?” he asked her.
“I just don’t want him to die because of me.”
“It won’t be because of you.” Dante had no trouble admitting to himself whose fault
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