Docker says gently, “Your father beats you. I wondered, that day you had trouble with the green bin. And I’ve wondered since then. Guess I didn’t want to believe a man could inflict that kind of damage on his son.”

He knows. Docker knows the truth about Floyd. A wave of relief has me floating off the floor.

Then, like he stuck a pin in me, I crash.

I can’t risk losing Cassie. I better deny it—fast. Scrubbing at my face, I lever myself up on one elbow.

Docker pushes a box of Kleenex toward me and watches me blow my nose. He says, “The police—they deal with domestic violence.”

I open my mouth, then shut it. There’s no point in denial. Not with Docker. “You want to get me killed?” I say, trying to sound like I’m joking and making a half-assed job of it.

“I saw your face that day. It was a mess.”

Someone’s opened a tap and drained every drop of rage from my body. Into that emptiness, relief floods back, stronger than before. Docker’s decent; and in his impassive way, he’s tough. Maybe now I won’t have to deal with everything on my own.

Two people know. Docker and Tully.

He says, “Where’s Cassie when all this is going on?”

“I keep her safe.”

He reaches out a hand and pulls me to my feet. I drop his hand fast as I can, swaying on my feet. In a hoarse voice, I say, “Was this a setup? Let’s get Brick to lose his cool and see what happens?”

“What we just did with the pads is standard karate practice. It was your response that wasn’t standard.”

“He’ll do me in if he finds out that you know.”

“He won’t find out,” Docker says.

A shudder runs through me. “Wish I could believe you.”

“Brick, trust me, he’s not going to do you in. Ever. We’ll step up the lessons to two hours—the quicker you learn to defend yourself the better—and we’ll work harder on strikes. In the meantime, I’ll keep my mouth shut. If you get beat up again, though, I’m going to the police.”

My knees quiver with the strain of staying upright. The police ... not the police. “You don’t understand the first thing about it!”

“So explain.”

I grope through the words in my head. “If they find out, they’ll take Cassie away ... put her in a foster home. I can’t lose Cassie, she’s my kid sister.”

“You’re both under sixteen. They’d put you in the same place.”

“Guaranteed?”

He suddenly looks older. Old and tired. “No guarantees of anything, Brick. But I’d go to bat for the two of you, to keep you together.”

Gaping at him, I say, “With Social Services, you mean? Or in court?”

“Both.”