I nearly dialed 911 on the tattooed teenager holding a screaming baby inside an empty 1 AM laundromat. Then his bag tore open, and my stomach sank with utter shame.

room.

Then at Rachel.

Then back at Jackson.

“Is she my friend?”

Jackson closed his eyes for half a second.

When he opened them, they were wet.

“She wants to be,” he said.

That answer cost him something.

I saw it.

Rachel saw it too.

Her hand flew to her mouth again.

Emma took one step into the room.

Then another.

The door closed.

Jackson stood on the other side of continue reading …