“Deal.”
Stepping outside the house was more challenging than I expected. Last night weighed heavily on my shoulders. Even knowing Jamie’s dad was likely still locked up didn’t offer much comfort. Or maybe he wasn’t? The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I pulled Detective Aster’s card from my wallet -- whichhe’d handed me. As soon as I climbed into the car, I sent him a quick message.
His reply came fast:
Detective Aster: Arrested. Charged with assault, unlawful possession of a firearm, assault on school property, and endangering a minor. Refused bail. Arraignment scheduled for Monday morning.
I read it twice, the words pressing into my chest like the first real breath after holding it underwater. Charged. Refused bail. That meant he wasn’t walking free anytime soon. That meant Jamie could sleep easier. So could I. But it still left a trail of unease curling in my stomach. Because the damage had already been done, and not all of it could be fixed in court.
I messaged Aster again, fingers hovering before I hit send.
Finn: Do we need to be there? Do I? Does Jamie? Do witnesses go to arraignments?
A few minutes later, he replied.
Detective Aster: Witnesses are not required to attend. They usually aren’t unless the court requests, and I’ll let you know if that changes. Focus on taking care of yourself right now. I’ll handle the courtroom stuff. Keep your head down with the media. Your time will come to have your say.
Speaking of the media, we had to run from a group of them who’d somehow tracked down where I lived. They didn’t come into the apartment block but were outside, snapping photos, shouting questions, and blocking the entrance like vultures scenting blood.
Walker didn’t hesitate. He tugged a cap low over my head, pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt, and kept his body angled protectively between me and the crowd as we slipped out the side door and down the fire escape. His hand never left the small of my back.
He got me to his car fast, practically shoving me inside before slamming the door behind me. His jaw was tight, and his knuckles were white around the steering wheel as we peeled out of the lot.
“We’ll get someone to fetch your clothes, then we’re getting a place somewhere else,” he said through gritted teeth. “Somewhere quiet.”
“It’s my home—” I started, but he cut me off.
“But it’s not safe for a while, and, babe, you being safe is my priority.” We stopped at a red light. He looked over at me, something fierce and tender burning behind his eyes. “Let me look after you?”
I opened my mouth, ready to argue, ready to say something about independence or practicality, but the look on his face silenced me. It wasn’t a plea. It was a promise. I nodded slowly.
“Okay.” I wasn’t even going to argue.
“And this is the locker room,”Walker announced, holding me back before sticking his head around the door. “Clothes on! We got company!”
There was some cursing, but when he waited for a few more seconds until he let me in, everyone was covered up. The locker room was buzzing when we walked in, the usual clang of sticks and thump of skates on concrete echoing through the space. A few guys glanced up as Walker and I entered, their conversations dropping momentarily, but there were no smirks, no whispered comments. Just nods. Respect.
The art boys crowded around one bench, taping sticks and arguing about some abstract spray paint installation one hadseen over the weekend. Bob looked up first and gave us a low whistle.
“Look who’s still standing after all that chaos,” he said.
Walker raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who got tackled.”
I rolled my eyes. “You did the tackling. Big difference.”
Arnaud grinned. “Oui, and you are like… how you say… a freaking action hero, non?”
Walker groaned and sat in his cubby, pulling me down with him. “Not a hero. We were trying to keep a kid safe.”
Chip was suddenly serious. “Statistically, intervention in high-risk situations by bystanders reduces harm by up to 43 percent. Most people freeze. You didn’t.” His voice was quiet, but the room stilled for a second.
Then, Arnaud nodded solemnly. “Still sounds like a hero to me.”
Taft nodded. “Not everyone would’ve done it.”
That was the end of it. No jabs, no jokes. Just respect.
When Walker and the art boys stepped onto the ice a few minutes later, the guys who were already out there noticed. Sticks tapped on the ice one by one, and the noise echoed across the practice arena—sharp, steady, and unmistakably for him.
