dark. I’d lost my boyfriend and probably even my role in the band. Cold, I drew King’s jacket that retained his body heat around me.
“You’re welcome.” He moved closer.
“It means a lot to me, you doing this.” My nostrils and eyes stinging, I dropped my gaze, training it on his Cannibal Corpse T-shirt as if the macabre design somehow contained the answers to the universe.
“Lace, maybe it will help if we talk—”
“You going to be okay without your jacket?” I asked, interrupting him. My voice cracked under all the strain. “It’s pretty cold out here.”
After only a slight hesitation, he said, “Sí, soy bueno.” Yes, I’m fine. “It’s not that far to walk.”
“Six blocks,” I said, and he shrugged.
“Better get going then. Mind if I put my arm around you?”
Meeting his gaze, I said, “I don’t mind.”
“To keep you safe and both of us warm.” Gathering me close, he gave me a long look and shook his head sadly. “Oh, la pobrecita.” Poor little girl.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Not me. You. You’re crying.”
“I’m not.” I crushed the polyester of his track jacket in my grip.
He gave me a skeptical look. “If you say so.”
“I do.” My cheeks were dry; it was only my eyes that were swimming.
“Okay,” he said.
His arm lay heavy on my shoulders, but it was comforting to be held. He was comforting to have beside me. King was an imposing figure, and the few Footit’s patrons remaining in the parking lot gave us both a wide berth.
As we turned right at the end of the parking lot, then crossed the street at the crosswalk, I began to feel slightly less emotional and a lot less concerned about my surroundings. Strolling along the deserted Ave at this time of night, Southside was almost peaceful. No gunshots. No dogs barking. No sirens . . . at least not at the moment.
King filled the silence, peppering me with questions about music. He thought it was highly amusing that I liked Britney Spears and Metallica.
“Dude,” I said in a teasing tone. “Good music is good music.” I lifted a brow. “Though the key to a person’s heart is supposed to be their set list. So, what’s the deal with you and Cannibal Corpse?”
“It’s loud. It expresses how I feel. Drowns out the other shit. Helps me forget the pain for a while.”
“I can relate to that for sure.” I touched his arm, and he gave me a tight smile. I knew his brother’s death was the pain he alluded to. King might joke a lot, but he was far from over that loss.
“Your dress is pretty,” he said offhandedly, as if just now noticing it.
“Thank you.” I noted the abrupt change in subject and guessed the reason for it was to avoid any further conversation about his brother. I let him have that play without acting like I noticed, just like he’d given me a pass about the non-crying. “I made it myself.”
“No way.” His eyes widened.
“I like fashion.” I shrugged. “I might not be able to control much . . .” Like where I came from. Who my mother was. What people thought of me. “But I can control how I look. That’s something, right?”
“That something’s pretty cool.”
“Don’t be too impressed.” I gave him a small smile. “I only ripped apart and reassembled two old dresses from the consignment shop.” They’d been in poor condition, but parts of them had been salvageable. Like me, or like I hoped I was.
I bit my lip, recalling how averse hope was toward me. That wasn’t good. I had a test tomorrow. I needed all the hope and good vibes I could get.
King’s head suddenly snapped up. “Walk a little faster,” he said tersely, his hold around my shoulders tightening.
“What is it?” I asked, my heartbeats quickening along with our increased pace. “What’s wrong?”
“A patrol car just went past us and slowed down. Shit. It did a U-turn. It’s probably nothing. Don’t . . .”
Before he could finish, the patrol car that had screeched to a stop beside us, practically blinding me with its strobing lights. I threw my arm up, shielding my eyes.
“Down on the ground,” a man barked, the order blasting at ear-splitting volume from speakers. “Both of you, put your hands over your heads.”
“It’ll be okay,” King said, taking a step away from me. “Do whatever they say.”
He lowered himself to his knees on the concrete. Shaking, I followed his example and was almost immediately frisked from behind. A moment later, cuffs