You’d known Joey Lynch for as long as you could remember or at least since you were twelve, when your dad took him under his wing and gave him an apprenticeship at his auto repair shop.

Six years later, Joey was still there. Same place, same job, maybe the only steady thing in a life that seemed anything but steady. You saw him around school sometimes; not really friends, not strangers either. Just… something in between.

There were rumors, of course. Whispers about his father, about drugs, about fights no one ever talked about. You’d heard them all. Everyone had. But Joey never let anyone close enough to find out the truth. He wore his silence like armor.

So when the doorbell rang late on a rainy Friday night, the last person you expected to see standing on your porch was him.

Your parents opened the door, and you peeked from behind them, your heart lurching at the sight.

Joey was drenched, water dripping from his hair, his cheek bruised and swelling. He was clutching a couple of worn bags, and behind him stood his siblings, three younger brothers and a little sister holding an umbrella over them, trying to keep them dry.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Joey said quietly, his voice cracking just a little.

And for the first time, the boy who never asked for help finally did.