“I dunno. Twelve, thirteen. Old enough to know what was what and that I didn’t have any.” “Oh, Reese.” The ache in her voice, the pain. He knew—knew—she understood. And the knowledge hurt him more than it soothed him. But he had to get it out. “By the time I was fifteen, I didn’t think anything or anyone was tougher than me. And all I wanted was to get out of there, as far away as I could go. It took me close to two months once I left Oz to reach America.” “But you were only a kid.” “I was a big kid. I spent most of what money I had on a passport and fake ID. That, a fast mouth, and a willingness to do just about anything can get you a job on a ship more easily than you’d think.” He shook his head, an empty smile twisted his lips. “One day on the streets of Miami told me I didn’t have even a passing fair acquaintance with tough. I was worse than a fish out of water, didn’t fit in anywhere. The middle class blokes didn’t half understand me, the ones who didn’t think I was a wacko thought me a bloody savage.
