Something in the Way (Something in the Way #1)

He’d tell Charles Kaplan. Lake’s dad would obliterate me, no doubt, but what about her? He was her world. If he thought she’d snuck off with me in the middle of the night, how would that change their relationship?

“You’re right, he might escort us back, probably will,” I said, checking the rearview mirror. The officer had parked behind us. “But we’ll get in worse trouble if he finds you.”

“He won’t. I can be quiet.”

The black-and-white driver’s side door opened. We were out of time. “I’ll handle it,” I promised her. What else could I do? “Just stay still. Don’t make a sound.” I wiped my upper lip on my sleeve. “I’ll handle it.”

He took his sweet time walking up to the window, checking my plates, looking over the truck. I turned off the heater and stereo. Crickets chirped. I’d been pulled over before. The window was already down, so I put my hands on the wheel where he could see them. My palms sweat around the leather. Thank fuck we’d been interrupted, not that I would’ve taken it any further. Would I have?

Boots shuffled in the dirt. A uniformed man not much older than me appeared at the window. He aimed his flashlight into the truck, barely skimming the back. “Evening,” he said. “Car trouble?”

“Yes, sir. It won’t start.”

“Why’d you turn it off in the first place?” He looked around. “Not going to find much help in the middle of nowhere.”

“I almost hit a coyote, pulled off, and the car just died on me.”

“I see.” He squinted at me. Or past me. I couldn’t tell. If he were to lean in, really get inside the window, I doubted he’d miss Lake’s blonde hair. “License and registration.”

I considered arguing. He had no reason to suspect me of anything. It might’ve made things worse, though, and he was just doing his job. I pulled out my wallet and gave him my ID before leaning over to the glove compartment. “I’m sorry, Officer. It’s a friend’s truck.” Fortunately, the paperwork was right where I needed it to be. “He was drinking, so I offered to do a beer run.”

He read my license. “What about you, Mr. Sutter? Been drinking?”

“No, sir. That’s why they sent me to get alcohol. I’m just on my way back.”

“Oh, yeah? Where you headed?”

“Next exit. Young Cubs camp.”

“You a counselor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pretty sure you guys aren’t supposed to be drinking, but . . . I would be if I were in your shoes. All those damn kids.” He nodded at me. “Where’s the alcohol then?”

Fuck. It was in the backseat. I blanched, a deer in cop lights. I had to come up with something. If I didn’t, he’d have reason to doubt me and who knows where I’d end up. Probably at the station, a deer in the spotlight . . . of an interrogation room. I stuck an arm over the back of the seat. My hand brush against something soft. Lake. She pressed a bottle into my hand, and I handed it to him. He stuck his notepad under his arm and tried the top. “It’s sealed, so there’s no problem.”

“Great,” I said, trying not to sound too relieved as he gave it back.

The tension in my chest eased as the officer backed away from the window. “Step out of the vehicle, Mr. Sutter.”

At first, I thought he was dismissing me. I almost answered him with “thanks.” When his words registered, though, I was suddenly frozen to the spot. “Sorry?” I asked.

“Out of the vehicle.”

My hand felt heavy as I put it on the handle and pulled. The door stuck, so I had to ram my shoulder into it. The officer moved back as it popped open.

I wanted to ask why. I’d just had a little car trouble—there was no reason to make this into a thing. But I didn’t. I was guilty. Not of what he thought, but I’d done a bad thing tonight. If I argued, he might get suspicious and look for more than what he had, which was nothing.

“What’s this about?” I asked, stepping into the dirt. I sounded guilty even to my own ears.

The officer pointed to a spot in front of me. “Go ahead and walk in a straight line for me.”





21





Lake





Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

If I let out even a peep, the officer would find me in the back of the truck, take us back to camp, tell Gary and my dad, maybe even arrest Manning—and it’d all be my fault. I’d made Manning bring me along, go for a ride, get in the water.

My heartbeat filled my ears. I didn’t know what was happening. Couldn’t see anything, contorted in the small, dark space. The last I’d heard, Manning had asked why the cop wanted him out of the car.

Maybe everyone was right, and I was just a kid who didn’t consider consequences. I always did the right thing, but tonight? Tonight, I’d sat on the edge of my bed, playing our night at the pool in my head. The good parts, like Manning opening up about his sister and then telling me the story of Altair and Vega. And then what I should’ve done differently when I’d stupidly tried to kiss him. I hadn’t touched him, hadn’t gotten physical enough. Tiffany did that, and I needed to also.

Tonight had been my last chance with Manning.

My last chance to touch him, to make him see me as something more than a girl.

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