“Seriously, Hal?” She couldn’t contain the frustration in her voice or the way her eyes rolled.
“It’s Detective Haskins.”
“It was Hal’s Your Pal when you were running for student body president.”
“We’re not kids anymore.”
“Yeah, but you’re still best buds with Junior, aren’t you? Does he have to call you Detective Haskins?” She set both her arms on the table, showing him the murky bruises cuffing her wrists.
He averted his gaze.
“Why won’t you document my injuries? You want to charge Lathan for assaulting Junior, but what about charging Junior for assaulting me?” God, it felt strange to say those words aloud. Sacrilegious almost. Which was stupid. “What about Brittany? Have you talked to her? Junior did something to her.” She’d found out Brittany was alive after they’d gotten to the station. “And what about my car? He stole it from me. He claimed to be repo-ing it, but the bank never issued the order. I bet if you drove behind his shop, you’d find it.”
“Sheriff Malone isn’t going to put up with you spreading rumors about Junior.” Hal’s voice softened a bit. “How could you do this to your mother? This is going to kill her. For what? A tattooed freak you just met. Are you really going to choose him over your suffering mother?”
Chose him over my suffering mother?
Hell yeah.
What had Mom done for her? Given her to Junior. That was unforgiveable.
Lathan cared for her. Believed her. Protected her.
“No one is going to buy this.” Hal gestured to the statement she’d written out hours ago. “When we find evidence that proves you’re lying, you’ll be looking at jail time. You know what jail is like? Ever had lice?”
She tuned him out as he went on about the epidemic of lice the female inmates spread among one another.
Nothing he could say was going to change her story. She would not let Lathan be punished for helping her. Deep down, in the gut of her guts, she knew something very bad would happen to him if he stayed here.
Hal’s phone chirped. He read the screen, scowled, and then flipped the report closed. “You can go.”
“Where’s Lathan?”
“Go. Before I change my mind.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the closed door.
“I’m not leaving without him. Where is he?”
“Where is she?” Lathan’s voice boomed somewhere outside the door. “I’m not leaving without her.”
Her soul smiled. She was as important to him as he was to her. She practically ran for the door.
Lathan barreled down the hallway toward her. His gaze ranged over her, cataloging her from tippy top to toes. He reached for her, an invitation for her to bury her face against him and let him be strong for her. Evanee stared at his chest, at the spot over his heart where she would rest her head, and couldn’t resist. She was inside his arms and never wanted to leave.
That was the only place the world made sense, where she made sense.
“You’re coming home with me.” Even though he’d made a statement, she heard the tiniest hint of question.
She nodded, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “I am.” She wouldn’t have been able to go back to Morty’s. Not only was the door destroyed, but bad memories lived in that room and they’d attack her the moment she walked in.
Twenty minutes later, Gill parked them in Lathan’s driveway. The defend-Lathan adrenaline that she’d been galloping on had bucked her off five minutes ago, but there was one thing she needed to do before she could allow herself the oblivion of sleep. Wash Junior’s touch off her skin.
Inside, she went straight to the bathroom.
Alone. For the first time in hours. But she wasn’t really alone. Junior was in her head. His words a recording stuck on repeat, playing over and over and over. Had been since the moment he’d spoken them. The only difference was their volume. At the police station, their volume had been low, but now that she was alone, his words thundered through her mind.
Your mom owed a debt, not of money, but of life, to my dad. She repaid him by marrying him and giving you to me. You were a wedding present. A wedding present.
“A wedding present.” Speaking the vile words, tasting the rot of them in her mouth, suddenly made them real. “Stop. Just stop. Stop thinking. Just stop. Stop. Stop.”
The thoughts wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t retreat, and wouldn’t relent.
She stripped off her clothes, turned the hot water knob as far it would go, and moved under the spray. Molten lava poured over her, cauterizing Junior off her skin, but nothing could boil his words from her brain.
She repaid him by marrying him and giving you to me.
Mom gave her to Junior. Gave. Willingly. Voluntarily. As if Evanee had been no more than a stick of chewing gum. Her mom had known. Had condoned.
Everyone had known. Mom, Rob, Junior. What about Thomas? Did he know? Had her baby brother known and done nothing?
She shoved that thought deep down into a cold, dark place—the compost bin where she stored all the bad memories, keeping them dark and cool and waiting for them to break down into essential elements. Elements that would eventually fertilize and heal her.
A sound escaped from that place, rumbling up and out through her body. Hiding behind the sound was a lifetime of pain. Her knees buckled, and she folded to the slate floor. Beneath the scalding shower spray, she hugged herself and rocked. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. She wanted to be angry, but couldn’t. She wanted to die, but couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that either. She wanted to feel something—anything—other than the obliterating agony that threatened to eviscerate her, to rip her wide open, dumping parts of her all over the floor.
“Honey?” Gentleness and concern were braided into Lathan’s voice.
The steady thrum of water was interrupted. Lathan moved under the spray—clothes and all. He wrapped a towel around her, covering her nakedness, her vulnerability.