“What about Bruce?” Dylan squeezes me closer.
“The US Attorney here opened a federal conspiracy investigation this afternoon. They’ve already pinged the phone number Johnson gave us. It’s a burner bought in Duluth two months ago, activated once, and never used again. The FBI in Minneapolis has probably already knocked on Mr. Granger’s door with a search warrant for his phones, computers, bank records…the works. If there’s even a single breadcrumb linking him to this, they’ll arrest him on the spot. If there’s nothing…he walks away, and Johnson looks like a liar trying to drag someone else down with him.”
Dylan’s jaw is so tight I can hear it. “It’s not enough that Johnson named him?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ruiz says. “Doesn’t mean he’s innocent, just means we can’t prove it yet. Johnson might flip harder if we squeeze him, or something could still turn up. And hopefully it will, if Johnson is telling us the truth.”
“Okay, thank you, Detective,” Dylan says.
“I’ll keep you posted,” she adds.
The call ends, and we’re all quiet. I don’t realize there are tears running down my face until Dylan turns and wipes them from my cheeks.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I put my hand on his cheek and take a step back. “I’d completely understand if you never wanted another thing to do with me,” I tell him.
He steps toward me, his hands holding my hips. “I want everything to do with you,” he says softly. “This is not your fault.” He leans his forehead against mine. “Please don’t pull away. That would hurt more than anything.”
I put my hands in his hair and lean on my tiptoes to get closer. “I love you so much. I just want you to be sure. This is a lot. Way beyond the normal baggage people bring into a relationship.”
“And you are worth every bit of it. Plus, you fell in my lap on a plane, remember? Can’t fly without baggage.”
My lips lift and he laughs softly, leaning in to kiss me.
When we break apart, Goldie comes over and hugs me. Everett does too. There is no condemnation in their eyes, not from a single person.
“I should go call my mom and update her on what’s going on,” I say.
Dylan squeezes my hand and nods.
I step outside, and when I tell my mom, we cry together.
I imagine my dad in his office and the agents coming in, asking him to step outside while they tear his life apart looking for proof that he tried to burn mine down.
I want him to be innocent because it hurts too much to believe he’s capable of this, but I know in my heart that he did it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
UNVEILED THREATS
DYLAN
Our plane touches down at MSP just after six, and the three of us are running on fumes. Chloe’s head lolls against Dahlia’s chest. Dahlia’s eyes are bloodshot, and I feel like someone poured wet cement in my shoes and is making me slog through it. Ten straight days of sixteen-hour shifts to get Surf Culture reopened after the fire, napping in the back room when I couldn’t keep my eyes open a second longer, living on Red Bull and whatever we ordered in to eat.
But we’re home. Or close enough.
We grab the bags and pile into an Uber, and Chloe somehow stays asleep the whole ride to Dahlia’s mom’s place. It’s a gorgeous summer night, about the same temp as LA was when we left.
Dahlia’s mom Maren opens the door before we even knock, like she’s been watching from the window. She’s beautiful, like an older version of Dahlia with lighter hair and eyes.
“Hello. Dylan, I’m so happy to finally meet you,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “Come in.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say.
She hugs Dahlia and Chloe, whose head popped up as soon as she heard her grandma’s voice.
“There are my girls,” she says.
