Read BRAVE, Episode Three - the Color of Danger for Free Online Page A

alley.”
    “Logan, you—!”
    He overrode her feigned indignation with another lopsided grin. Then he caught the attention of their server and they waited until the table was clear and a silver carafe of coffee and two cups was brought out. Then he began.
    “Well, I was born in a small town not far outside of Akron. In the poorer section, actually—what you’d prob’ly call the wrong side of the tracks.”
    From the time he’d been old enough to understand its significance, he’d seen emotional and physical abuse from his father: towards his mother, towards his younger brother, towards himself.
    “That’s why I knew right away what was goin’ on, when you came tearin’ through my kitchen,” he explained.
    He paused for a few minutes and poured cream into his coffee and stir, then he sipped.
    The strings of a violin soared over the strains of Ravel as an accompaniment to their conversation, and the lights had dimmed just a little in deference to the later hour. Chloe watched him, watched the movements of his hands, watched the expression on his face as he recounted old memories—distant, yet still so much a part of him.
    “And I knew I had to help you,” Logan finished the thought. “Anyway, my mother managed one thing that someone beaten down by too much abuse often doesn’t try: she got away. Sound familiar? Yeah, she took me and my brother, Sam, and we lit out.”
    Their next home was in an even smaller town, in an even poorer section. With two young boys to support, his mother found a position working at one of the big rubber factories for which Akron was famous: long hours, low pay, few benefits, periodic cutbacks of staff.
    “Mom did the best she could. She loved us, and we always had enough food and clean clothes, and somehow she was able to pay the rent and utility bills. But there wasn’t enough money for extras, like sports uniforms or supplemental classes or some of the toys other kids had. No car, either, so we took buses or walked to wherever we needed to go. And Sam and I were on our own a lot. Here, want some more coffee, Chloe? No?”
    His gaze was fixed on the ornate spoon handle with which he used in drawing aimless circles over the tablecloth.
    In his mid-teens, wanting to help out— needing to help out—Logan applied for the job as cook at a small nearby restaurant. He got it; and, much to his mother’s dismay, he quit school immediately. Earning a paycheck came secondary to his discovery that, not only did he enjoy what he did, but he had a real talent for the culinary arts even in a poor excuse for a kitchen.
    “Guess I woulda stayed there forever.” He looked up to meet her regard full on, and her heart bumpety-bumped a few helpless beats in response. “Except that I got myself in trouble too often. Strangest thing—I never went lookin’ for it. It just seemed to find me.” He shot her a look of amusement. She’d divided her attention between Logan’s words and the room’s surroundings.
    “Trouble,” she repeated. “Such as?”
    “I got in with a bad crowd. It was a rough area, where I lived and worked, and there were too many bars and too many fights.” Shame scrunched up his brow. “And a few arrests, I’m embarrassed to admit.”
    “Arrests?” She was startled. “But you were just a kid?”
    “Yeah, and a damned stupid one at that. I landed in the clink, but Mom bailed me out before I had to spend time. Man, did she read me the riot act about my behavior, and what kinda bad stuff I was teachin’ my brother. After a while, my boss at the greasy spoon got tired of all the boozin’ and brawlin’ and let me go.”
    “Well, you must have still needed an income,” Chloe pointed out in reasonable tones. “Where did you go from there?”
    “Downhill, to hell in a hand basket,” he said gloomily. “I ran with a coupla friends of mine from high school days—Nick and Kevin—and we started boostin’ cars. See,” he shifted position, leaning forward to