I keep my chin where it is, flick my eyes to him and I think he sees it, my need for his best friend, for my best friend's brother, for the person that held me when I found my father.
Chase is the only reason I got through that nine months ago.
I squeeze my eyes closed, and draw a sharp breath at the same moment Wynston clears his throat, and I snap to look at him. He smiles sadly at me, then reaches and taps Harlen on the back as he moves out the door and down the long hall. Harlen holds me a touch tighter and we follow behind the chief until we reach the big glass doors at the entry of Devil’s Peak Hospital.
A sudden paroxysm of fear releases through my bloodstream when I see the cameras and reporters stationed around the opening and I feel myself wanting to retreat, though I keep my head down, nestle myself as close as I can to Harlen, dropping my eyes to my feet.
All tones of voices, some high, some low, swim around me, a flurry of urgency as questions are shot like bullets toward me.
“How does it feel to have survived ‘the second killer of Devil’s Peak?’”
I keep my chin screwed down, focused on the studs on my sandals as Wynston and Harlen thread me through the urgent crowd.
And in this moment, I realize that my trauma,my loss, is on display for everyone; and there is nothing I can do about it.
I try to swallow, but I can’t. I uncap the bottle of juice I have clasped in the palm of my hand and push the opening to my lips when a hand, hard and determined, latches to my arm.
The same one decomposing, rotting from a gunshot wound.
I clench my teeth, twist and without thinking, I toss the juice into the face of the male reporter that still hasn’t removed his filthy grip.
“Don’t ever…ever…” I whimper, struggling to speak around the cry that cuts its way through the small gap between my top center teeth. I lick the tear that trembles on my top lip.
Chief Wynston shoves a hand against the man’s chest, and everyone must realize just how serious this really is because they part for us and Harlen guides me toward Rusty’s truck with little to no effort at all.
When we are both inside, he cranks the engine and I’m too shaken to find my seatbelt when the chief taps the top of our hood in finality and Harlen noses out from the curb.
“Let Me Be Sad” by I Prevail battles with the air whooshing through the open windows of the lulling truck.
I raise my cheek from the seatbelt it was resting on, curling my arms around the back of my neck and reaching for the elasticat the base of my fishtail braid. Dragging it away, I loop it around my wrist and make good on loosening each strand until the mass of white-blonde hair sits in waves over my shoulders, cascading the length of my chest and torso.
“Your arm alright?” Harlen asks, turning to look at me for a moment before casting his eyes back to the road. One wrist is draped over the steering wheel, the other riding the shifter.
I swallow. “And if I said no?”
Harlen adjusts the stick roughly, the veins in his sun-kissed forearms push against his skin from the movement.
“Then, I’ll turn this truck around and?—”
I squeeze my eyes closed and lie through my teeth, “It’s fine.”
The car slows when Harlen takes a left turn.
“When did you become such a shit liar?” he asks, chin jerking in my direction, white T-shirt stretching across his chest.
“When I lost my best friends…” I make a point to over exaggerate thes, twisting a loose thread around my pointer finger at the base of my denim shorts.
When he doesn’t reply, I flick my eyes upward, finding his blue ones already on me.
I wet my lips, I tell him, “He said he would…”
Harlen’s throat dips, his jaw tightens, and I feel my cheeks heat as the car comes to a stop, and he cuts the engine at the front of Nan’s.
He exhales; a resemblance of strain. “He wasn’t feeling well—last night was…a lo?—”
And I scoff almost instantly, cutting him off, unclipping the seatbelt and throwing it away. “Yeah, and when did you become such a shit liar?” I throw his words back at him, popping open the door, kicking it and getting to my feet, slamming it shut. The reverb from the thud doesn’t settle before Harlen is throwing open his own.
“It’s the truth, Laik.” His voice is louder than mine, and he slams the metal behind him, matching my force.
