I've been walking the girls home each night for a few days now. Frank hasn't returned, but Lukas didn't want to leave anything up to chance. Since he couldn't close the café with the girls the last few nights, he asked me to get them home safe. I welcome the request, use it as an excuse to poke fun at Reece, try to break down those walls she's built around herself.

My time is spent sipping coffee and staring at Reece's black letters: It's safer being empty. And wondering how I can change it. Searching for a creative way to color the bitterness, breathe life into the darkness.

"You ready, Killfeather?" Kaila sasses, one hand pressed against the glass door. I tear my gaze away from the Wall of Expression, meet her eye, and nod. As I stand, my body aches with bruises and residual stiffness, I can't suppress the low groan.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," Reece jabs, scowling at my stiff stance.

I snort, sidle up beside them, and toss an arm around each of their shoulders. "Can't help it." I shrug, wince, and jerk my head at the soft, white flurries outside. "It's fucking snowing."

"Whoa! I hadn't noticed," Kaila snarks as we lumber through the doorway. The night has become increasingly vicious, and I suddenly regret electing for only a hoodie and toboggan. I know I'll warm as the walk progresses, which is more than I can say for the girls.

Reece turns the key in the lock and faces us, her expression agonized.

"It's not supposed to stick, should be gone by the morning." She says, glaring up at the night sky as if by allowing snow to fall, it's personally offended her. A gust of wind whistles past us, and Reece shivers, Kaila mimicking the gesture.

"You two need more clothing," I gripe, removing my hat and offering it to Reece. Compared to Kaila's flimsy knit beanie, her head is entirely exposed, and she clearly needs the warmth more than me.

Reece shakes her head, "You need that."

I remain with my hand extended. "I'm used to the cold. Take it."

Kaila takes it for her, shoving it down over Reece's ears and herding us all along the sidewalk. "Is Montreal comparative to Antarctica? Because we," Kaila gestures between herself and Reece, "don't do cold well."

I chuckle. "Lead the way, ladies."

Kaila hooks her arm through Reece's and tugs her along ahead of me toward the building's back alley.

I shove my hands in my pockets, brace against the chill. "Ever thought to invest in a car?"

"As if," Reece answers, looking back at me. "We can barely afford—"

A dark figure launches out from behind the alley wall. Kaila's arm jerks free, and a strangled yelp escapes her as she's dragged further into the cloying darkness. Reece stumbles, hits the ground on all fours.

Son of a bitch.

"Get off me!" Kaila cries.

I'm already bolting forward, skidding past Reece prone on the pavement. I vault over garbage cans in time see Frank with one arm around Kaila's neck, the other clamped around her inner thigh. Shit. Can't exactly brute-tackle the dickhead with her in the way.

Thankfully Kaila bucks; Frank curses when her head connects with his nose. There's a crack, blood runs, and Frank slams Kaila's body into the brick building beside us. She shrieks, slumps. Then he moves for her again.

Think again, asshole. My fist connects with Frank's face before he can reach for Kaila a second time. The satisfying give of flesh and bone echoes in my knuckles, my hand.

Frank reels away on a curse, his mouth and nose spraying blood along the alley walls and the front of his shirt. The punch was enough to daze him but not put him down. He struggles to find his footing, leers at me where I stand between him and his targets.

"Kaila!" Reece has regained her feet, starts moving toward her friend.

"Fucking hell," I grit, glancing between the girls and Frank.

"You again." Frank turns and spits blood onto the pavement. "Meddling faggot."

The slur can't possibly incense me more than I already am. Red rims my vision where I lumber forward, put more distance between Frank and the girls.

Frank brings his fists up, tries a right jab. It clips me across the cheek, but I catch him with a gut punch and drop an elbow across his face.

The blow makes him stumble backward and fall. We're where the streetlight can't reach us now, but I can see the bloodied mess all along his front, feel the fury singing through my veins and fists.

He attempts to sit up. Again, my fist lands solidly with his cheek, also his mouth. His head cracks back against the pavement. A puny, wet moan escapes him.

"You like beating up on women, huh?" I growl.

Frank tries to scrabble away on his hands. I fist the front collar of his sweatshirt, yank him to his feet. His knees buckle as I hold him.

"What's the matter?" I turn and slam him back into the brick, sneer when his head bounces off the wall. "Don't much like how it feels, do you?"

He whimpers.

I slam him again. "Do you?"

"N-no," he manages around the blood in his mouth.

I shake him like a ragdoll. "Sorry, Frank. Couldn't hear you over how fucking pathetic you are."

He's crying now. "No!"

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

Frank's hands come up, try and break the iron of my grip. Tough luck. "Please, man. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" I echo on a hiss, crack his skull on the brick again. "You're fucking sorry?"

"Please—"

"You're not sorry," I snarl. "You're a piece of shit."

Another small whimper.

"Say it." I hoist him higher on the wall. His fingers manage to tear the sleeve of my hoodie as his feet dangle an inch from the ground. "Tell me what a piece of shit you are."

Frank's voice is wet with blood and tears. "I'm a piece of shit."

"Good." I lick my lip where it curls over my teeth. "Tell me I'll never see you at the Anarchy Café again."

"You'll never see me," he blubbers. "Just let me go, man. I swear—"

"I swear the next time I see you, you'll have more than a broken nose and swollen face to worry about." I lower him to his feet, even though I'd really just like to slam him down on the pavement and beat him boneless. Releasing him, I take a half step back. "We clear?"

He gives a wide-eyed nod.

"Good." I spit at his feet. "Now get the fuck out of my sight."

I watch Frank scrabble and sprint out the other side of the alley. Only when I'm sure he's pounding in the opposite direction of the café, do I turn and walk back toward Kaila and Reece.

Reece has gotten Kaila to her feet by the time I return, both of them slumped on the wall. I catch the tail end of their conversation.

"Should we take you to the—"

"No, no, no." Kaila points at her with a blood-stained finger. "I'm fine, a bit of a headache is all. I've had concussions before, and this doesn't feel like that. Plus, I have the stuff to wrap my wrist in at home and plenty of aspirin."

"Kaila, you okay?" I ask, beckoning her forward.

I part her hair, inspect the small laceration at the back of her head. Then I shift to her wrist. I've seen plenty of low-key injuries in hockey, know enough to treat the minor shit. Thankfully that's all it seems to be with Kaila. "Not concussed or broken, at least."

"Awesome."

I chuckle, attempt some humor. "Nice move with the headbutt."

It earns me a watery smile. "Thanks."

The entire time I've been looking after Kaila, Reece has retreated further and further back from us. When I finally glance at her, I see the abrasions from the gravel on her palms. Anger still hums within me, wishing I'd done more than just put the fear of God into Frank. I should have broken something, left him with more of a reminder. Too fucking late now.

"Shit." I hold my hand out to Reece, "Let me see."

But she keeps backing up. I look up to meet her eyes, order her to let me near. Only the expression on her face steals the breath from my lungs.

Molten terror consumes her, like I'm some monster incarnate from her darkest nightmares. She's clutching her arms, guarding, holding, sobbing. She stumbles backward into the road, eyes unblinking as her blue lips move in ghostly pleas.

"Don't touch me," it's barely a whisper, shrill and breathy.

I become utterly paralyzed. I want to talk to her, go to her, protect her. I need to reassure her, get her out of the fucking road. Except she keeps backing away from me.

Kaila pushes herself off the wall, walks around me.

"Reecie, come on," she coaxes, glancing down the street in either direction. "Out of the road, no need to add car accident to this night. Bastien won't hurt you."

I scowl at Kaila. Hurt her? Still, I keep my mouth shut.

"I don't—I can't—he's going to—" Reece can't complete a thought, just spits out half sentences and fragmented words.

Kaila steps off the sidewalk and puts her arm around her shoulders.

"He's not going to hit you, okay?" She's speaking quietly, forcing Reece's gaze to meet hers.

I grind my teeth so hard I feel it behind my eyes. The pounding of bruises in my knuckles mirrors the hammering hurt in my chest.

Some guy hit her.

Some asshole fucking hit her.

And I just beat the hell out of Frank.

Guilt leeches the anger I held so righteously before. I jam my frozen, aching hands into my pockets, barely aware of anything outside the galloping of my heart and renewed pain in my body.

I don't know what Kaila does to get Reece back onto the sidewalk, but I'm more than grateful for it. I keep my distance as Reece picks the gravel from her hands, Kaila pouring small amounts of water over them. Then they switch, Kaila wincing when Reece pulls the hair from her head wound and exposing the sliced, bruised skin.

I'm not sure what to think as I shoulder both their bags and keep a closer pace behind them, leering into the darkness for Frank to come back with friends. Both girls are sluggish, bloody, and more than a bit shaken. I want to help them; wish I could reach out and offer my comfort. But the possibility of adding more fear to Reece's already shitty night holds me back.

Reece was right. It's not a far walk. I'm barely aware of the cold by the time we arrive. Really, I'm too busy watching her to notice, trying to gauge whether the monster's left and if I'm okay to talk to her again.

They live in a small apartment by the college. I'm assuming Reece's dad helps them afford it, considering the place's not so crappy appearance. We silently trudge up the three flights of steps, loiter in the hall, while Kaila struggles to get the key in the door.

I drop their bags inside, tell them goodnight, and turn to leave so I can start to process things. But Reece's voice, shaky and uncertain, stops me mid-step.

"I took your advice, you know."

I turn to face her, curious and wary, "My advice?"

"I Googled you," she won't meet my eyes, can't stop her hands from shaking—either from fear or pain—I'm not sure.

I catalog her again. Her knees are scuffed but will heal. She's shivering in the night air despite the layers and my hat. Blonde hair wafts forlornly in the wind, masking the gaze I desperately need to see.

Rolling my shoulders, I force a lazy smirk. "Find everything you were looking for?"

She shrugs. The action is short and non-committal.

I lean my shoulder into the doorframe, hide my hands from view, swallow thickly.

"I know where you went to high school, graduated from college, how many teams you've played on, when your birthday is, how much you love dogs. I know how tall you are, what your favorite color is," a nervous laugh, "I even know what you weigh."

Reece looks up, meets my eyes for the briefest of moments. "But I didn't know until tonight that you can be scary."

I tense, reach to close the door. "I can go—"

"Hold on, I wasn't done." Reece snarks and glares up at me. There's my girl. Cradling her hands against herself, she says, "Thank you for helping us tonight. My, um—" she pauses. Swallows visibly, "—issues have nothing to do with you, so don't think you did something wrong." Her brown eyes are imploring.

"It's none of my business."

I want to make it my business, though. Beyond just bashing the asshole who did this to her. I want to make her smile, show her I'm more than just a goon with a stick and a helmet.

Reece surprises me by stepping closer. Still, I'm guarded. I don't want her to ever look at me again like she did in that street.

"Google didn't tell me why you started playing hockey, what you look like when you smile, the childhood you had. It couldn't answer why you don't stay in one place too long, what you do when you feel scared or angry, why you'd care to walk two girls you barely know home."

I chuckle, relax a bit. "Observant, aren't you?"

She half shrugs, which is better than a full shrug.

"Neither of us does relationships, but you seem to keep showing up when I least expect it," I snort; she scowls, "and you did help us, so maybe we can friends. You can tell me all the answers I don't have yet, and I'll tell you the answers you don't have." Reece's jaw tenses, like she's scared of fulfilling that promise.

I watch her while she stares at the floor. "Look at me," I implore. "I like your eyes."

The corner of her mouth actually manages a slight curl. "That crap line again?"

"It's not a line." I want to reach out, tip her chin up, but refrain. "Look at me."

Reece takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then she raises those gorgeous brown eyes. Our gazes lock, and I don't let hers drop while I search her.

The fear is there, but not like before. This is different. Almost...excited.

"You're so beautiful," I murmur, more to myself than her. Then, louder, "You really want to know the answers to all of those questions?"

She licks her lips and gives a slow nod. "Yes."

"Even if I want the same from you?"

A flicker of defiance shines in her eyes. "Did I stutter?"

I chuckle, extend my hand. "Friends."

There's no hesitation as she meets the callouses on my palm. "Friends."