He turns to me, his eyes scanning my face as he seems to consider what he wants to say.
“I think it’s best if I leave. If you need legal counsel, my office can recommend someone.”
And then he’s gone.
“Shit,” Deacon says.
“Was calling him the right thing to do?” I sink down on the bed.
“Who the hell knows? But I do think he’s a stand-up guy. And I don’t think he’ll let you take the fall for this if it means Camille gets in trouble too.” Deacon moves closer, pulling me to stand. “Let’s do this, get whatyou need from here and bring it to my room. We’ll get you settled in there. I can stay in here tonight if that makes you more comfortable.”
“Okay.”
We dig around for my phone charger, my favorite pillow, some pajamas. My room is a complete disaster. My sadness turns to anger. Not only was I violated by whoever planted that knife but also by the cops who tore apart my room. Once I have everything I need, we walk upstairs to his room. I crawl in his bed while he plugs in my charger.
“What do we do?” I should probably correct that toWhat shouldI do, but he doesn’t seem phased.
“Not much tonight. Try to get some rest and we’ll make a plan tomorrow. I’m going to take a quick shower and then I’ll head down to your room.”
I watch as he gathers some clean clothes from his closet to take into the bathroom with him, and in that instant, I’m not only angry about someone trying to pin Ben’s murder on me, I’m angry someone took away a night with Deacon that I was looking forward to. It’s the worst possible time to start something with him, but the one thing I’ve learned is not to wait for what you want because you never know how long you have to get it. He’s being delicate with me, which is really sweet. But it’s not what I want right now.
Without overthinking it, I throw off the covers, shed my clothes, and join Deacon in the shower.
Chapter 33
Ben
Ten years ago
We’re both quiet on the ride back to Corbeau. Margaret spent a few hours at the townhouse with Silas yesterday then left to go home. I ordered us a pizza and we watched a baseball game and spoke only a few words to each other. Before this weekend, Silas and I got along fine. He’s a couple of years younger than us so it’s not like we were close, but we could easily hold a conversation.
I glance at Silas. “The silence is getting old.”
He’s leaned back in the passenger seat, staring out of the window. “I know you think I should be appreciative that you’re lying for me but I didn’t ask you to, my dad did.”
“So you don’t want me to?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what I want. You’re stuck doing it and I’m stuck letting you. Neither of us really ever had a choice.”
Laughing, I say, “How sad for you that your dad is making sure you don’t go to jail for drunk driving and God knows what else. We still don’t know what happened to whoever you hit.” He flinches at my words.
That accident wasn’t picked up by the Baton Rouge news stations so we still haven’t heard if anyone was hurt.
“Whatever my dad is doing is for him and the family name, not me. You’re stupid enough to think you’ve got some power over him now. And he’ll let you think that as long as it keeps you in line. What he really did was figure out your price, which was pretty low, honestly. Whatever happened to the people I hit is on you too. Plus whatever happens to Paul Granger, because they will bury him for this.”
“Whatever. Paul should have been in jail years ago. You forget, he’s from my side of town. He’s a drug dealer who doesn’t care about the quality of his product or the people he poisons with it. Only reason he’s free is because the people on your side of town would have to admit their kids are addicts. Probably save some lives by getting him behind bars.”
He grunts, taking issue with my assessment of Paul. He can do his own digging and he’ll find out I’m not exaggerating.
“You’d rather go down for what happened? Really? I’ve seen how you live and you wouldn’t fare well behind bars.”
Silas finally turns around. “No, I don’t want to go down for it but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like fucking shit for what I did. And for those people I hit. And for Paul, even if he does deserve to be in jail.”
We pull into their driveway. It’s long enough that you can’t see the house from the road.
Mr. Everett had called before we left Baton Rouge and told me to drop Silas off but not come in, adding that someone would stop by my house later for my statement.
There’s a cop car in the driveway, telling us Foster is already here. Silas straightens but there’s no hiding the look on his face. It’s fucking pitiful. “You need to pull yourself together. If you’re struggling so bad, get your daddy to hire a shrink you can talk to.”
