so worried about Reyn that I hadn’t considered it before—the toll this would take on his dad. I know their relationship is awkward and strained, but that look isn’t the reaction of a cold, uncaring father.
I worry my lip between my teeth. “What’s going to happen?”
Warren rubs a hand over his face. “Nothing tonight.” My parents stand when he does, so I follow suit. “His arraignment’s tomorrow, so until then, he has to sit tight.”
“Tomorrow,” I repeat, nodding. I add in an energized burst, “I can send you the name of the lawyer! She’s really good, I think. Becca Adams?”
Warren freezes. “Adams? Christ, guess it’s time to borrow against the house.” He looks briefly embarrassed by this remark, but I’m quick to assure him.
“Don’t worry, this is, like… pro bono or whatever it’s called.” I explain, “Reyn and I go to school with some of her kids,” and I’m babbling and drawing this out, because I know the second this man is out the door, everything is going to crumble.
He looks pleasantly surprised at this. “Well, Reynolds and I appreciate you… calling in favors.” He seems to sense my anxiety, the way my eyes keep creeping to my parents. “Tell you what,” he adds, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t I get your number and I can text you when I have an update.”
Despite the coming storm, every cell in my body warms in a flood of relief. “Would you?” I watch as he punches in my number, giving me a grateful smile of his own before walking to the door.
I try to draw it out further, but it’s no use. Before I know it, Reyn’s dad is closing the door behind him and my parents are turning to me, waiting.
I’ve been running from this for a long time—too long. Even just yesterday, I would have done anything to avoid this. I can blame Emory and my parents all I want for being so isolated the last three years, but it wouldn’t be entirely honest. It’s been the secrets—the addiction—that truly pushed me into that dark, lonely place.
I lift my head when I look at them, refusing to go back there. “Let’s talk.”
Coming clean for Reyn’s sake was an easy decision to make.
Now, it’s time to come clean for my own.
38
Reyn
I don’t bother trying to sleep.
The holding cell is over-warm, bright, and too quiet, even with the two other guys in here with me. There aren’t bunks anyway, just two long, low benches. Against the wall opposite me is a sink and a urinal. There’s a drain in the middle of the grungy floor and the whole place smells like old piss and armpit funk. One of the guys is older, maybe mid-thirties, and I’ve been calling him Big Ben in my head. The other guy looks around my age, surly and quiet. He’s absolutely covered in paint.
There are two payphones on the wall, but I’ve already called my dad. No point calling anyone else, even if I did have their numbers memorized. Which, I don’t.
Instead of sleeping, I try to make myself still. This used to be something I was good at—passing long lengths of useless time being still as a statue, avoiding any trouble. Now I keep getting there, into that frozen headspace, and then finding some part of me slowly fidgeting out of it.
I look down at my bouncing knee, forcefully stilling it for the hundredth time.
Big Ben keeps walking to the reinforced glass that neighbors the heavy door and banging on it, angrily pounding his fist. No bars here, just cinder block walls, glass, and that steel door. The sound breaks my concentration, penetrating my brain fog and making my knee bounce in agitation.
“Do you mind?” Paint Guy sneers. He’s laying along one of the benches, arm thrown over his eyes.
Big Ben keeps banging. He was already here when I arrived, but Paint Guy was brought in five hours ago, twitchy and radiating energy. Drugs, for sure. Whatever he was on has clearly worn off.
“I’ve been here sixteen hours!” Bang bang bang. “This is unconstitutional!” Bang bang bang.
Paint Guy and I ignore this. We get regular updates like these from Big Ben. That’s why I call him Big Ben—because he informs us of every hour that passes. Like clockwork.
I finally snap, “They have twenty-four hours to arraign you!”
This doesn’t slow him down. “Hey! You can’t hold me without a charge!”
Paint Guy’s arm falls away from his face and he gives me a look. It’s full of