Diesel nodded grimly. “And I know that when he saw me, he nearly passed out from fear.” And that when he sat down for lunch, the boy had winced. And when he rose from the table he had given the seat a quick swipe with his fingers, surreptitiously checking his fingertips as if he worried he might have left something behind. Like blood. “I think that he’s been hurt by a man, in addition to his mother’s throwing things at him.”

Deacon blew out a harsh breath. “He didn’t want either of us in the exam room. He specifically asked for Kendra. Did he tell you who the man was?”

Diesel shook his head. “No. He never actually said there was a man. That’s my opinion.” Based on my own experience. But there was no way he was revealing that to these men. Only one other person in their circle of friends knew his secret—Decker Davenport, an FBI agent who’d been investigating a child pornography ring.

Diesel had given Decker some evidence that he’d gathered from a related Ledger investigation, evidence that had hit way too close to home. And for some reason that he still couldn’t fathom, he’d unloaded his sick baggage onto the agent, who’d promised not to tell anyone. And Diesel knew he hadn’t, because he hadn’t detected a change in the way the rest of their friends looked at him.

There would have been a difference, had they known. They wouldn’t have been able to help themselves. Decker had earned his trust, not something Diesel gave easily. He sensed Michael didn’t give it easily, either.

“I hope I can get Michael to trust me enough to tell me,” he murmured, then froze at the sound that suddenly exploded from behind the closed exam door.

His eyes slid closed, his chest suddenly tight. He knew that sound.

Sobbing. Desperate, uncontrollable sobbing for a pain so deep that nothing could help it. Nothing could heal it. It just went on and on and on until it clawed out of a person’s throat. Michael’s throat. My throat.

Because he’d made that same sound right after he’d spilled his secret to Decker Davenport. The man had simply grabbed his shoulders and let him cry until he’d cried it all out.

But he hadn’t cried it all out, because new tears burned his eyes. Tears for Michael. Tears for himself.

Tears that he couldn’t blink back. They rolled down his face and he wiped them away with the heel of his hand, just as the tortured sobbing quieted. His mind cleared enough to realize he’d just cried in front of two cops.

Fantastic.