But no. Wesley pulls his legs
beneath his chair, out of harm’s way. Then he covers Mr. Fordham’s
hand with one of his own. Long, thin fingers slip between the hand
and his knee. The older man sits up, leaning over the clipboard now
balanced precariously in his lap. Once again, he doesn’t let go of
Wesley as he writes. “Be good,” he whispers.
Jason barely
hears the words, but he sees the smirk they bring to Wesley’s
face.Is it my turn yet?he wonders, glancing at the nurse. This time she
looks up from the computer and sees him. She looks over at the two
men across from him and reaches for another clipboard, then turns
her attention to Jason again. “Mr. Harraway?” she asks, holding up
the clipboard and a pen.
God. He feels Wesley’s hot stare as
he folds the magazine and sets it on the table. He knows the kid is
watching him—would it look really bad if he took another seat on
the other side of the room? Away from these two, and whatever