"That's a serious accusation."
"It's true."
Cody looked toward the door as though expecting Trent to appear at any moment.
"If you go to Wallace, Trent finds out. If you go to the police, his dad gets lawyers. And then I still have to come back here."
Brian hated that the boy's reasoning made sense.
Not because the law would necessarily fail.
Because Cody had already lost faith that any adult institution would protect him during the time between reporting abuse and consequences arriving.
"Cody, I need an adult responsible for you."
The boy laughed bitterly.
"My mom left when I was six."
"I know."
"My dad's doing three to five."
Brian knew that too.
Grand theft auto.
Third conviction.
"Cody..."
"I live with Brenda Higgins."
"Your foster mother."
"She has five other kids."
"Does she know about this?"
"She barely knows what time I get home."
Brian frowned.
"That's not fair."
"It's true."
"Have you told her?"
"She told me last month I need to stop bringing school problems into the house because she's already overwhelmed."
Brian sat beside him.
"Anybody else?"
Cody hesitated.
"No."
"Grandparents?"
"Dead."
"Aunts? Uncles?"
"No."
"Siblings?"
Cody's expression changed.
Just slightly.
Brian caught it.
"You have a sibling?"
"Not really."
"What does that mean?"
"My brother."
"Older?"
Cody nodded.
"How much older?"
"Seventeen years."
Brian blinked.
"You're fifteen."
"He's thirty-two."
"Where is he?"
Cody immediately shook his head.
"No."
"I only asked where he is."
"No."
"Cody."
"You can't call him."
That reaction was almost as strong as the trainer-room panic.
"Why?"
"Because he'll make it worse."
"How?"
Cody stared at him.
For several seconds, he seemed to debate whether telling Brian the truth was better or worse than keeping it hidden.
Finally, he whispered, "His name's Jackson."
"Jackson Sullivan?"
Cody nodded.
"He goes by Brick."
Brian waited.
"Why?"
"Because when he hits something, it stays hit."
That was not comforting.
"What does Jackson do?"
Cody looked miserable.
"He owns an auto shop."
"That doesn't sound terrible."
"That's not what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
Cody looked at Brian.
"He's a Hells Angel."
The locker room suddenly seemed much quieter.
Brian had expected a difficult relative.
Maybe an ex-con.
Maybe somebody unstable.
He had not expected that.
"A patched member?"
"Nomad."
Brian sat back.
Cody rushed to explain.
"He's not like people think. Not with me."
"I didn't say anything."
"He went to prison when I was little."
"For what?"
"Aggravated assault."
Brian exhaled slowly.
"He got out three years ago. He promised he'd stay out of trouble. He works all the time. He's opening a shop. He has parole meetings. He doesn't drink much anymore."
Cody's voice became urgent.
"If I tell him Trent and Weston did this, he'll come here."
"Maybe that's not entirely bad."
"You don't know Jax."
A tear rolled down Cody's face.
"He spent half his life trying to protect me the wrong way."
Brian studied him.
"You love him."
Cody looked away.
"He's the only person who ever came back."
That sentence landed quietly.
Brian had heard a lot from teenage players over the years.
He had never heard loneliness explained more clearly.