“I’m not. No.” She frowned, staring at the mirror again.
I tried again. “I don’t know. My brother acts all weird around them too. One time, a stern lady cop knocked on our door, and he answered in pajamas, sweating so much she had to ask if he needed medical assistance. I cry just thinking about it.”
I laughed, expecting at least a smile, but she didn’t even react.
Her fingers tightened on her knee, her shoulders rigid, and my stomach dropped.
“Mitch.”
No answer.
She just kept staring at the mirror, her breath coming out sharper now, her foot tapping slightly against the floor mat.
Then she shook her head, exhaling hard. “We should get going. It’s dark out, and I have two hours of studying to do.”
Shit. Window of playfulness? Gone.
The energy in the car was completely different now, thick and heavy, a weight I could feel between us. I flipped on the alternative punk playlist, letting it fill the silence, but she still wouldn’t sit still.
Leg crossed. Uncrossed. Fingers tapping against the window. Arms folding, unfolding, folding again. She cleared her throat, twice.
By the time we hit the first stoplight, she’d already chewed half her thumbnail down to nothing. I reached over, placing a firm hand on her thigh.
Her muscles tensed under my palm, but she didn’t move away.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” My voice softened, shifting out of teasing, into something gentler. “Is it Ivan? You could call and check in on him if you want.”
She inhaled deeply, her fingers flexing against her lap. Then, finally, she spoke.
“That cop is someone I know well.”
The air in the car shifted again.
I nodded, studying her carefully now, noting the way her jaw twitched slightly, the way her fists balled in her lap like she was preparing for a fight.
“I take it… not in a good way?”
She let out a slow, measured breath, her voice quieter now, like she was talking to herself as much as me. “Wrong place, wrong time type of situation. My lovely father and brother were involved.”
I felt it, then.
The anger curling in my gut, slow and simmering, the pieces starting to connect. I knew better than to push her, but that didn’t stop the immediate urge to stop the car, park, and get the whole damn story out of her.
But I waited.
Because I knew she wasn’t done yet.
She ran her hands over her thighs and curled her lip up in a sneer. “His name is Ed Chambers. He refused to believe me when I explained what happened. I was seventeen at the time and had no idea what I was getting into.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I paused, keeping my hand on her to offer any comfort I could. She placed one of her hands on top of mine and squeezed it, and I swore I felt the contact all the way to my toes. Michelle didn’t accept comfort, and this was huge. “I shouldn’t have made a joke about you being afraid. I’m an ass.”
“You didn’t know,” she said in a soft voice. “My dad used me to run drugs without my knowledge, and when we got busted, I had stuff on me. Luckily, a teacher I knew well had a lawyer for a husband, and they helped me plead the case. Since I was a minor, they dropped any charges, but Ed made it quite clear he thought I was in on it.”
“Jesus,” I said, hating how gross the story made me feel. “Your dad made you fucking run drugs?”
“There’s a reason I don’t tell people about my past, Brooks. It’s not pretty nor something I like talking about.” Her tone turned sharp, and the shadows in her eyes grew as her expression darkened. “I wanted money like any teenager did, and it was better than staying in the house with my mom, who was a hot mess. My dad offered me fifty bucks to drive cars he worked on to his friends and take the bus back. It took thirty minutes. Never thought to check the trunk.”
A deep, urgent anger formed in my gut and spread through my limbs like lightning. “That is so messed up. My god. I can’t…” Words escaped me. “I don’t know how to express how angry I am for you.”
