But I am certain that we’re on our own now. And there’s nothing easy about that.
“Can we please just get our friend?” Shawn demands, breaking through the argument. “I’m going to be late for dinner.”
Shawn has unbreakable dinner plans with her grandparents. Everyone knows that.
“Tell Magda that I said hello,” the sheriff says, nodding to her. “And I will go get the Matthews boy, but…”
“His name is Jamie,” I say. “He has his own name.”
The sheriff exhales, then nods that he understands. When he looks at me again, his voice is softer. “Listen,” he says. “I know things are hard right now, but you are my priority. All of you kids. Not just the Chasers, not the Collective. We have a real tragedy unfolding right now.” He chokes up, and quickly adjusts his stance, shielding his watering eyes from the other officer. “And I can’t let it get worse. So please, please, just this last time—I need you to trust me.”
He waits for me to answer, his lips pressed tightly together as if holding back what he really wants to say. He’s keeping the answers close to his chest, but there is only so far I can stretch. For now, though, I nod—giving him the reprieve he desperately seems to need.
He smiles, grateful. “I’ll go get… Jamie,” he says, as if just remembering his name.
When he leaves for the jail cell in the back room, Shawn turns to me.
“That was intense,” she murmurs. I hum out my agreement. “Do you trust him?”
“No,” I say simply.
A few minutes later, I hear the door and look up to see Jamie walking through the room with Sheriff Castillo behind him. My heart swells when I see him, even though he looks awful.
Jamie’s left eye was already bruised, only now it has puffed up. His hair is a mess and his shirt is torn. There is noticeable bruising across the front of his neck. I look abruptly at the sheriff.
“No charges against Matteo? Or Jamie’s father?” I demand. Jamie quickly lowers his head, and I’m surprised that he doesn’t look angry. He looks… ashamed.
Sheriff Castillo holds up his hands helplessly. “The witness statements all say Jamie started it,” he tells me. “The only one pressing charges is Matteo.”
I turn to Jamie. “You don’t want to press charges?” I ask. Jamie shakes his head no.
While the sheriff looks sympathetic, Shawn seems as enraged as I am. Someone hurt Jamie, and by the looks of it, they really tried to. I have no idea why he wouldn’t want to act, but at the same time… it’s not my fight. All I can do now is support him.
“Thanks for the help, Sheriff,” Shawn says, reaching to take Jamie’s arm.
I latch on to Jamie’s other arm, careful to avoid his bandage, and walk with Shawn to the door. Part of me expects my uncle to stop us, ask more questions or beg for more time. But he lets us walk out into the setting sun, our lives a complete mess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
—JAMIE
The sunshine, although fading, makesmy eye hurt. The entire area pulses, aches. At first, I thought Matteo had broken my eye socket, but the ambulance assured me it’s just a nasty bruise. Either way, it hurts like hell.
Shawn left for dinner while Noa and I decided to walk back to the beach. I needed time to gather my thoughts, some fresh air in my lungs. While I was sitting in the cell of the sheriff’s station, waiting for someone to bail me out, I assessed my options.
I’m not going to lie, I considered leaving Cape Hope and never looking back. Protecting Noa from my father by disappearing and ignoring her calls—just like I did before. But leaving like that would crush her. Honestly, I’d rather be dead than hurt her again.
Another option was to tell the sheriff everything I know, implicating my father in a crime. Of course, I don’t have any proof, just my word against his—and it’s pretty obvious who they’ll believe. Then, of course, my father could make good on those consequences.
So now I’m stuck between two terrible options. And I’m scared, and I’m alone. When I called my mother from the jail, she barely got out the word “no” before hanging up. She didn’t even want my side of the story. Nothing has changed. After everything, nothing has changed.
“Jamie,” Noa says softly from next to me. Her voice is filled with concern, and when I turn to her, she smiles sadly. “You’re going to need a new shirt,” she says, poking her fingers through the holes near my collar.
“Maybe I can borrow one from the Surf Shack,” I say, my voice still scratchy.
“That would actually be super cute,” Noa replies, gingerly taking my arm as we walk together. “You’ll look good in the tie-dye.”
The single-lane road to the beach is deserted, piles of sand built up along the curb. The sun has warmed the pavement and I can feel it through my shoes. Noa smells like salt and coconut; she smells like home. I finally let down the last of my walls.
