It’s after nine at night when I’m finally released. After a process that included a meeting with my lawyer and a series of signatures, I’m walking out of the jail’s release wing and into a dark parking lot. A familiar black pickup truck is parked and idling.
I should be overjoyed to see Jonah’s truck, but disappointment smothers the good feelings.
Holding on to the hope that I’d walk out and see Layla’s Bronco was a mistake. And daydreaming that she and Axelle would run to me so that I could crush them in my arms wasn’t smart.
With a firm shake of my head to rid it of the hopeful hallucinations, my empty chest echoes with what could’ve been. I mourn the loss of the dream.
“How’s life on the inside?” Jonah asks through the open truck window.
I shrug, swing open the door, and climb in. “Sucks.” But something tells me it’s a whole hell of a lot better than the shit I’m going to face on the outside.
He throws the truck in drive and maneuvers it out of the small lot. Silence fills the cab as if he’s waiting for me to ask the question and allowing me to take my time to do so.
I clear my throat, hoping to hide the emotion that’s riding so close to the surface. “How are they?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t know. Last I heard? Not too good.”
My gaze slides to the scenery flying past my window. “Fuck. They must hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you, dude. If she did, she would’ve told the cops all that happened that night. She defended you. Down to the last second.”
Fuck. Why does hearing that make me feel worse? I should be happy that she covered for me. It’s what I’ve always wanted, right? I’ve been carrying resentment around for almost half my life because my mom didn’t protect my music and me.
Sitting in jail these last few days, alone with nothing but my thoughts, I contemplated all the reasons why Layla kept my attack on her a secret. She had nothing to gain by protecting me, and accepting that gift from a woman who’s been programmed to cover up her pain makes me want to throw my ass back in jail.
I rub my temples. My gut churns at the combination of conflicting feelings.
“She stopped answering her phone,” Jonah says. “Won’t answer the door. Killian said he can’t get in touch with Axelle, either. Only thing I’ve heard is that Gibbs gave her a few days off so she could get her shit straightened out.” He exhales a deliberate breath. “That’s another story.”
Consumed by the situation with Layla, I haven’t given much thought to Gibbs or how I’m going to take Doctor Motherfucker down. “Let’s hear it.”
“Your story’s national news. Gibbs is rollin’ like a pig in shit with all the attention the UFL’s pulling in. And now that Doc Z ran, he’s—”
My stomach drops. “Ran? Ran where?”
“Gone, man. Fucking ghost. Day after that shit went down. Office cleaned out, apartment he was renting vacated. Poof.”
A tingle creeps along my skin. The only chance to clear my name is gone. Poof? I rake my fingers against my scalp. “Jonah, you know I’d never do steroids, right? That fucking * shot me up, or put it in those pills I was taking. Fuck, man, the fact that the asshole ran proves it.”
His eyes stay forward, his jaw ticking.
“Don’t tell me you think I did it.” I can take my fucked-up dad not believing me. Layla’s mistrust is expected, considering what I’ve done to her. But after everything Jonah and I have been through, if he doesn’t believe me, I’m totally fucked.
“It’s a hard sell, dude,” he mumbles.
Burning rage flares in my gut. “I don’t fucking believe this shit.” I punch his dashboard hard. A crack slices through the plastic.
“Damn, dude. Chill out. I believe you. I’m just saying it’s going to be hard to prove.” He eyes the damage to his dash. “You know what that shit’s gonna cost me? Raven’s going to make that” —he points to the crack— “an excuse to redo my entire interior.” He groans and slams his hand against the steering wheel. “Shit. I swear if I get hot pink seats, I’m going to beat your ass.”
I stare at him for a few silent seconds before I roar with laughter. What he said was funny as shit. And so true. I’d have broken the thing weeks ago just to watch it all go down. But the relief of knowing that he believes me is what makes me feel lighter.
“Glad you find it funny, asshole.” He glares through the windshield while I catch my breath.
We pull up to my place, and I sit in the passenger seat, dreading getting out. How can I walk through my condo when everything about it reminds me of her? Of what I had. The only room that she hasn’t touched is the guest room. I make a note to spend all my time there. Until I move. I make another mental note to put my pad on the market first thing in the morning.
“Oh, Braeden asked that you give him a call. Said your cell goes straight to voicemail.”
“Yeah, I need to charge it. Thanks for the bail out and for bringing me home.” I push open the door.
“You’d do it for me.”
“I’m looking forward to the day when there’s no need to save each other’s asses.”