Brown eyebrows sprang upward, over the tops of the policeman’s glasses. J.D. thrust out his hand. “J.D.,” he said. “I’m Stephen’s uncle.”

Stephen shot J.D. a suspicious glance that spoke volumes, then reached into the back seat of the patrol car for his battered skateboard.

“You might want to have his eye looked at,” the officer said to Tiffany. “Helluva shiner, if you ask me.”

“I will,” Tiffany promised as Christina buried her face into the crook of her mother’s neck, smearing blood and dirt on the long column of Tiffany’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Stephen mumbled, a hank of black hair tumbling over his forehead and partially hiding the eye in question.

“I still think it should be checked,” Tiffany said, her nervous gaze skating over Stephen’s injuries. Then she asked, “How’s the other boy?”

“Looks about like this one here.” The officer touched Stephen on the shoulder. “Let’s hope this is the last of it.”

Sullenly Stephen studied the ground.

“It will be,” Tiffany promised as Talbot offered a patient smile, then turned back to his car just as the interior radio crackled to life. Talbot’s pace increased and he climbed behind the wheel of the cruiser. He snapped up the handset of the radio.

“What happened?” J.D. asked Stephen. The cruiser took off.

“Nothin’.”

“Black eyes like that don’t appear by themselves.”

With a disinterested lift of his shoulder, Stephen carried his skateboard and sauntered toward the house.

“Wait,” Tiffany commanded. “I think we should have your eye checked at the clinic or the emergency room.”

“I already told you it’s okay.”

Christina, as if sensing all of the attention was focused on her brother, sniffed loudly. “My chin hurts.”

“I know it does, honey.” Tenderly Tiffany placed a kiss upon her daughter’s temple. “We’ll fix it while we take care of your brother,” she assured her daughter.

Stephen snorted. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Sure you do,” she quipped back and followed him inside. J.D. didn’t hesitate but walked past a fading Apartment for Rent sign and up the two steps to the front porch.

“Gosh, Mom, just get off my case, okay?” He rolled his one good eye and with as much attitude as he could manage, he dashed up the stairs. An instant later a door on the second floor slammed and within seconds the sound of angry guitar chords filtered down the stairway.

Tiffany hesitated as if she wanted to chase after him, but finally shook her head. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said to J.D. and he noticed the worry in her amber eyes, as if some of the fight had left her.

His heart twisted stupidly. “You need some help?”