“Hey, you're nothing of the sort.” I rested a hand on his shoulder. “And maybe you're right. Maybe whatever you're worried about is nothing. But don't discount your gut, either. Is this about the party I heard you guys talking about?”
“Ugh, sorta.” I let James mutter under his breath, trying to work out whether to tell me more or not. “Theo says there's nothing to worry about. And I trust him, really. It's some of the other people who are going to be there.”
“Well, if you decide you don't want to go tonight, just let me know. Billy and I are more than willing to be the bad guys so you don't lose cool points.” James rolled his eyes, unamused by my very un-cool suggestion. “I'm serious. You don't have to go if you don't want to.”
“Thanks, Michael.” Even though his brow was still creased with stress, his shoulders relaxed. “But really, I'll be fine.” He started to walk out of the room, then turned back. “But maybe, if I go and then change my mind, would you come and pick me up so Theo doesn't have to leave?”
“Anytime. No matter how late it gets, one of us will be there,” I promised him. One of the few things my parents had done right was give my sister and me the same assurance.
Brushing off my feelings of unease seemed simple enough once James had disappeared back into his pack of friends. After all, he was a teenager, a territory marked by shifting moods and dramatic expressions. But as I immersed myself in the day's mundane chores, the shadow of James's anxiety continued to loom, refusing to be ignored. My heart ached for the kid; his entire life had been tossed on its head and he felt ill-equipped to act like a “normal” teenager.
As dusk fell, James's friends started gathering their things to head out.
“Come on, man, let's go,” Deacon said to James, clapping him on the back.
James shook his head, forcing a smile. “Nah, not tonight. I'm beat.”
Connor elbowed him playfully. “Don't wimp out on us now. It'll be fun.”
“Seriously, I’m going to crash early tonight,” James insisted, not meeting their eyes.
Deacon and Connor exchanged a look. “All right, catch you later then,” Deacon said with a shrug before they turned to go, the rest of the group trailing out behind them.
Once they were gone, the house seemed oddly quiet. James lingered in the living room, tidying up stray soda cans and chip bags, but his movements seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere.
A moment later, James's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and a hint of a real smile crossed his face for the first time that evening.
“Hey T, what's up?” James answered. He listened for a minute, his eyebrows drawing together. “No, I'm fine. Just decided to stay in tonight… I know, but it's all good. Don't worry about me.”
Another pause, then James laughed softly. “I promise. I'll call you tomorrow… Love you, too. Night.”
His face burned bright when he glanced up and noticed me in the room. James ended the call and let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought and staring blankly at nothing.
I considered going over to talk to him, find out more about where his friends had gone tonight. Or I could mention my concerns to Billy, see what he thought about the situation. But in the end, I just let James be, figuring it was typical teenage drama.
Eventually James dumped the last of the trash in the bin and headed down to his room for the night. His footsteps seemed heavier than usual trudging down the stairs.
I tried to focus on doing the dishes and making a shopping list, but I couldn't shake this uneasy feeling. Glancing at the clock, I was surprised to see it was past ten already. Billy was in the living room watching the Mavericks game. It was cute how he grumbled any time they were playing on the west coast because the games started so late. The house was quiet now except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the muffled sounds of the announcer on the television.
I was just drying the last plate when I heard the knock—three loud, insistent bangs on the front door. Frowning, I made my way to the foyer and peered out the sidelight window. Two police officers stood on the porch, their faces grim. My stomach lurched, and I debated rushing to the bathroom instead of answering. Nothing good ever came from police visits this late at night. As I opened the door, my mind raced with possibilities of why they might be here.
“Officers. Can I help you?” The sound from the television stopped abruptly.
“I'm sorry to bother you so late, but we have a few questions,” Officer Mickelson said, his expression grim.
Billy stepped up behind me, sliding a supportive hand to the small of my back. “What seems to be the issue, Kevin?” he asked. I could hear the forced calm in his voice.
The younger officer, whose name I couldn’t remember at that moment, cut right to it. “Do you know where James is right now?”
His tone set me on edge. “He's in bed down in the basement. Why? What is this about?”
The officer's eyes narrowed. “Was he with Deacon Jones and Connor McGrath earlier this evening?”
“They were all here earlier, but they left well over an hour ago,” Billy replied. “The other boys took off, and James went to bed. Did something happen with them?”
Officer Mickelson sighed. “It seems Deacon and Connor decided to do some spray-painting tonight. We caught them red-handed over at the church on Montgomery.”
Billy stiffened next to me. “Well, hell. That’s not like them at all. What in the world were they thinking?” His protective instincts were in overdrive. All those kids spent time at the youth center, so of course he was worried.
