At home, Emmett powered off his phone and handed it to Lizette. It was the only way to pull himself out from under the never-ending avalanche of hate, and silence the barrage of calls and texts from his family. They’d only make things worse.
“Shhh, Emmettito. It’s okay,” she murmured, holding him as he cried. “Don’t let the skinny fuckers upset you. They’re just mad because they’re hungry and have no asses.”
He chuckled through the tears, despite himself.
Lizette’s phone buzzed: a call from an unknown number. She silenced it, and the voicemail landed with another buzz.
Emmett watched the color drain from her face as she scrolled through the transcript. She rose off the couch and raised the phone to her ear.
“What is it?”
She didn’t answer, pacing.
“Lizette.”
At last she lowered the phone. “It’s the police.”
“What?”
“A detective,” she said. “He wants to talk to me.”
“What about? Did they mention me?”
“They didn’t say anything. Should I call them back?”
Emmett doubled over, sick with terror. “Fuck.Fuck.I can’t handle this right now!”
“I’m gonna call them.” She headed into her bedroom, the dogs scampering after her.
Emmett waited, nerves chewing a ragged hole through his stomach as he listened. Lizette was speaking to someone. The conversation was brief.
A moment later she came back into the living room. “They want me to go to the station. He said it was something to do with my clothes.”
“Clothes? What could—?”
“I don’t know. I’m gonna get ready and go.” An hour later, dressed,showered, and made up, she handed Emmett back his phone. It powered back on with a frenzy of notifications—dozens of texts, a voicemail from his frantic mom threatening to jump on a flight if he didn’t call her back at once. Lizette bent over the couch, planting a kiss on his cheek.
She drew back, almost in surprise.
“What?”
“You used to be so squishy.”
At one time the comment would’ve felt like a triumph. Now it landed with a ripple of guilt, as if he had taken something that was hers.
“Text me once you finish,” he said.
“I will.” She opened the door and— “Jesus!”
Aaron was standing there, a fist raised to knock.
Lizette didn’t greet him; Emmett had told her everything he’d said the previous night.
“We need to talk,” Aaron said, stepping past the barking dogs without waiting for an invitation. His jaw was set, fingers fidgeting with fury. Admittedly, Emmett had picked the worst possible day to bail on work.
“You good?” Lizette said.
He nodded.
