So fucking polite, it’s setting my teeth on edge.
I don’t fucking want coffee. I just want to get the taste of Rooke out of my mouth before I puke since I can’t do fuck-all about the feel of his hands in my hair or the way my lips arestilltingling.
Ripping open the fridge, I root around inside until I find a Red Bull.
“From the statements I’ve taken so far, it’s reported you didn’t follow your brother to the hospital. Any specific reason?”
I crack open the can and drain like half of it before replying. “Went to check on Haven.”
“The girl whose name you’d forgotten?”
My jaw clenches. “That’s the one.”
“The one your brother has been bullying?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Was she?”
I blink at him. “Was she what?”
“Was she okay?”
Jesus,okay?
I barely stop myself bursting out laughing.
Neither of us were fuckingnearokay last night.
“Yeah. I guess. Traumatized. But, like, she’ll survive.” I hide my smirk behind another sip of Red Bull. “She’s not a wuss.”
“Did she seek any kind of medical attention?”
“What? No. Why would she?”
“You said…” Thatcher looks back at his notes. “Ezra put a collar around her neck and forced her to eat dog food.” He looks up again, so innocent, I don’t even know what to make of the question.
This guy’s playing me, isn’t he? He didn’t make any fucking notes about that shit when I told him. What the hell does he even write in that little fucking book? Or is he just doodling flowers?
“She didn’t sustain any injuries from this?” Thatcher asks.
“No, man. She’s fine. But Ezra’s a fucking dick, and if I hadn’t stopped him, he’d probably have done worse.”
I can’t tell if the cop agrees. He’s got the same politely curious look on his face as always.
“So after the altercation with Ezra, you follow the girl you were defending to make sureshe’sokay, rather than heading to the hospital to check on your own brother?”
Jesus, he makes me sound like a fucking sociopath. I turn my back, hoping he can’t see how my hand shakes as I drain the last of the sickly sweet Red Bull and toss the can in the kitchen sink from where I’m standing.
I burp, and I swear to God I can taste Rooke again.
“Got what you need?” I blurt out, not even bothering to tone down the annoyance in my voice. “I’ve got to study for tests and shit.”
“After visiting hours, I assume.”
“Visiting…?” I trail off when I catch Thatcher’s look as I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah, after, of course. Gotta go see how he’s doing.”
My voice has never sounded so hollow. My words so fake.
