Harlen sits with me in silence before his phone beeps. He works to shuffle it out of his front pocket, swiping it open.
My breath catches in my throat when I let my eyes trail to the device, seeing a pink love heart emoji and Laiken’s name splayed on the lit screen.
A shiver tangles across my limbs when I think about how many times I’ve sent her to voicemail over the past month.
I close my eyes, remind myself that it's for the best. And still, I find myself asking Harlen the question scraping behind my teeth.
“She alright?” I keep my eyes on Harlen for a moment longer before shifting them away, blindly scratching at my chin.
It’s the first time I’ve asked about her in four weeks. Harlen has passed along a few comments, but I had barely heard them around all the noise in my head.
Harlen turns to look at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him send his phone into darkness.
“She’s heading back to school today, man.”
A thrum of alarm pulses through me, across my arms, down my legs, numbing the base of my spine. A volt of protection, of concern, of fear.
“You reckon that’s a good idea?” I find myself asking like I have any control over what Laiken does, or doesn’t do. And once the words are out, I want to catch them and jam them back down. I had no goddamn right to ask questions like this anymore.
Harlen shrugs. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
I cough, shuffle on the concrete.
When I don’t reply he rubs more dirt in the wound. “Don’t you think Jade would want—” he starts, but I quickly cut him off.
“Don’t.” My word comes with a warning. Dragging my hands through my hair, I tug at the strands to alleviate even just the smallest amount of guilt.
I failed Jade.
I failed Laiken.
I shot my mother.
And I murdered my father.
I’m a fucking murderer.
I will not let Laiken look into my face, only to see the monster I’ve become.
I chew a cuticle off my thumb, feeling the disquiet in my chest deepen.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Harlen exhales, and I feel it like ice across my shoulders.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. It’s still a shit fight out there, everyone wanting their questions answered. I told her to call me if she needed me.”
I hang my head. I hated that Harlen would become the man I promised her that I would be. But there was something inside of my chest that was grateful for it too.
He’d be the only one I could trust in my place.
Harlen shuffles to his feet, then kicks lightly at my shin. “Let’s get out of here. Rusty’s taking the food he cooked to the clubhouse. I’m fucking starving.”
I wanted to tell him I wasn’t, that the last thing I wanted to do was eat, but instead, I rise to my feet.
I shove my notebook into the front of the guitar case and haul it onto my back, feeling my phone vibrate against my thigh.
I slide it out of my pocket only an inch to see another text message light up from Uncle Nick.
