"I'm sick of them treating me like a fucking criminal," Braden says. "I want to prove they're wrong and rub their fucking faces in it."
The four of us wait downstairs in the living room, Braden sprawled on the couch looking through his phone while Brock and Trystan anxiously pace the floor. I'm at the window, looking out at the waves. It's cloudy today, like it might storm, and the waves are choppy.
Ten minutes later the officers come downstairs, serious looks on their faces.
Brock walks over to them. "I'll show you to the door."
"I'm afraid we're not quite ready to leave," the tall officer says.
"And why is that?" Brock asks, anger in his voice.
"We found something."
"What'd you find?" Braden asks in a cocky tone. "Jock straps with my DNA?" He laughs. "Go ahead and take one. I have more."
"This isn't a joke." The tall officer motions to the other officer. The guy holds up a clear bag. I'm too far away to tell what's in it.
"What the fuck is that?" Braden asks, getting up from the couch. He goes over to look at it.
"It's a bracelet," the officer says. "It was worn by the victim the night of the party. Witnesses saw her wearing it but we didn't find it on her body." He takes the bag from the other officer and points to it. "It has traces of blood on it."
"Not mine," Braden says. He points to the bracelet. "That was never in my room. You fucking planted it there!"
The shorter officer goes up to Braden with handcuffs. "Braden Halliway, you are under arrest for the murder of Andrea—"
"What the fuck!" Braden yells, fighting the officer as he tries to cuff him.
"Officer, this doesn't prove anything," Brock says to the tall guy as the other officer continues to read Braden his rights. "A bracelet doesn't mean he killed her."
"He was the last to see her," the officer says. "They'd been fighting. The bracelet's chain is broken and there are traces of blood on it."
"So she broke her fucking bracelet and left it in my room!" Braden yells, struggling to get out of the handcuffs. "You can't arrest me because of some fucking bracelet!"
The officers go on each side of Braden, taking his arms and walking him to the door.
"Braden, go with them," Brock says. "I'll talk to the lawyer and we'll straighten this out."
"This is bullshit!" he yells as they take him outside. "We're suing your asses!"
When they're gone, Brock comes up to Trystan and me. "Not a word to ANYONE about this!"
"It's not a secret," I say. "It'll be on the news."
"You will not speak of it," he says, his eyes on me. "If anyone asks, you say you don't know. Understood?"
"Does this mean I don't have to go to counseling?"
"Yes," Brock says, rubbing his face. "Text Ms. Robbins and tell her we can't make it. I need to call up the lawyer and get down to the police station."
He races off, leaving Trystan and me in the entry. Trystan's standing there stunned, like he can't believe what he just saw.
"You okay?" I ask him.
He stares straight ahead. "What if he did it?"
"Guess they'll find out. If that blood is his, they might have their proof."
"It's not enough. They can't convict him on that."
