Lost Boy - Ker Dukey Page 0,29

pushes out from the table and stands, and I lean away. “Do you have someone you can stay with?” My aunt flashes through my mind, making me cringe. She will drive me bat shit crazy fawning over me like I’m a wounded butterfly.

“I can figure something out,” I mumble through tight lips.

“Thank you for coming in. I’m going to find whoever is doing this. I promise I’m going to keep you safe.” He reaches across the space between us, placing a hand on my shoulder, making the skin beneath it burn.

Swiping his hand off, I grind out, “Like you did my mother?” He flinches at the low blow meant to wound him. “I don’t need your promises, Detective.”

When he walks me through the corridor, my feet falter and my mouth pops open. Green Eyes. The breath flees my lungs as he passes me, his eyes boring into me, the back of his hand brushing mine. No words are exchanged as an officer invites him inside a room.

“Do you know him?” I ask Detective Hernandez, my gaze riveted.

“No. Do you?” he counters, an inquisitive gleam in his eyes.

“No.” It’s not a lie. I don’t actually know him. But I want to.

Ten

Stephan’s car almost skids to a stop in front of me as I pace outside the station. Jumping out, he races toward me.

“Are you okay?” He checks me over like he expects to find an injury.

“I’ll be fine.” I shake my head, pushing my hands into my pockets. “I’m just waiting for Charlotte. Do you mind waiting?”

Concern creases his brow. “Of course not. What the hell happened?”

Taking a step toward a bench to avoid his eyes, I say, “I don’t really want to talk about it tonight.”

“You want to wait in the car? It’s freezing,” he offers, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed how cold it had gotten. I feel numb.

“Sure.” Just as I step off the curb, the reception doors open, and Charlotte walks through. I run to her, folding her in my arms. Tears cascade down her cheeks as she sobs. Her embrace pinches the skin on my back, but I don’t let go. “I’m so sorry, Char.”

“You didn’t know what was going to happen.” She sniffles, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her top as she pulls away.

“I should have just let you call the police. That guy would still be alive.”

“Lee,” she says, her voice broken.

“What?”

“His name was Lee.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, tears glistening. “The guy they say fell,” she elaborates. Lee. I add his name to the ones etched in my brain.

“Should we get out of here?” Stephan asks, looking at some questionable people hanging around, no doubt waiting for their friends to get out of jail.

“Where are we going to go?” Charlotte asks, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“I don’t suppose you have a spare room?” I raise a brow in Stephan’s direction, only half-joking.

“I can put you guys up in a hotel for a few nights. I know the manager,” he offers with a concerned impatience.

“Really?” I breathe, relieved I don’t have to rely on my aunt.

“Sure. Come on,” he grunts, already moving toward his car.

The hotel is more a motel, dingy and small, and there’s a musky smell. Probably why he could get us the room. Charlotte doesn’t pay it any attention. Shucking off her boots and jacket, she climbs beneath the duvet.

I shoot a quick thank you text to Stephan for all his help, then slip my phone onto the bedside table, knowing the battery will be dead before he can reply.

I keep my shoes on and lay on top of the duvet, thinking about everything that’s happened. Charlotte's eyes shine with tears. “The detective asked me about him,” she croaks. “About Jack.” She swipes at her disheveled hair cobwebbing her face.

Adrenaline rushes through my veins. My head throbs, my pulse rushing all the blood too fast. “Don’t, Char.” Polo, polo, polo.

“Who was he to you, Liz?”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Please don’t.”

“Just tell me,” she pushes.

“Jack was my best friend,” I blurt out. It feels so good to say those words out loud. The weight on my chest becomes slightly lighter.

“You know about Jack,” I lie, trying to get her to drop it. She hears my nightmares.

Sighing, she rolls onto her back, fixating on a black smudge on the ceiling. “I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me.”

Clutching the duvet in my fist to protect my palms, I let the memories wash through me. Maybe I owe her