Grant moved before anyone else could.
“Stay here,” he told the others.
But they were already following.
He crossed the parking lot quickly, then slowed as he reached Lily, lowering himself to one knee so his size would not frighten her.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You need a hand?”
Lily nodded. Her voice came out barely above a breath. “I can’t get across fast enough.”
Grant looked at the countdown.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Then he looked at the cars.
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t need to be fast,” he said. “The world can wait.”
Lily blinked at him, as if no one had ever said anything like that to her before.
Grant stood and lifted one gloved hand.
“Tank,” he called.
One of the bikers, a heavyset man with a shaved head and sunglasses hanging from his collar, stepped into the street like a wall had grown legs. He raised both arms.
A minivan screeched to a stop.
Another biker moved to the opposite lane.
A third walked behind Lily.
Grant stayed beside her.
Suddenly, where there had been chaos, there was stillness.
Cars stopped in both directions. Engines idled. A woman in a white SUV rolled down her window, ready to complain, then saw Lily’s braces and closed her mouth.
Grant leaned close. “Take your time, Lily.”
She looked up sharply. “How do you know my name?”
Grant froze for half a second.
Then he smiled gently. “Your backpack tag.”
Lily glanced down. A small plastic name tag hung from the zipper: LILY B. — ROOM 204
“Oh,” she whispered.
They began to cross.
Step.
Click.
Tap.
The walker touched the asphalt.
Step.
Click.
Tap.
Grant walked beside her with one hand hovering near her shoulder, not touching, just ready. The bikers formed a shield around her. The cars that had rushed so carelessly moments before now waited under the silent command of men they had judged from a distance.
Halfway across, Lily’s right foot caught against a raised strip of paint.
She stumbled.
Grant caught the side of the walker instantly.
“Easy,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Lily’s eyes filled again, but this time the tears were not only fear.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Grant’s expression hardened with grief.
“Never apologize for needing help.”
By the time they reached the other curb, the second bell rang. Children were nearly all inside now. The front doors of Maple Ridge Elementary began to swing shut.