Thirteen
Malcolm’s jaw throbbed like a b***h. So did his ribs. He knew from his brief glance in the bathroom mirror that he looked like absolute shite, despite Charlotte’s ministrations the night before, and he embraced it. Why not have the outside reflect the pain he felt inside? He’d barely even been able to look at Gavin this morning, too afraid to see the disappointment—or worse, fear—in the lad’s eyes. He’d sent the kid over to Charlotte’s barely after dawn and taken the coward’s way out, heading for work in the remotest parts of the estate. After everything that had happened, they wouldn’t be left alone, and hopefully, Simon was still in jail for a few more hours.
He’d been over and over the whole thing a thousand times, searching for what would have been the better path. The one t
