He lifts his eyebrows.
“I’d had a few beers and Sam started kissing me. I didn’t like it and wanted her to leave me alone. I . . . um”—blacked out—“I don’t remember what happened after that.” I huff out a breath. That was harder than I thought.
The deputy’s judgment is evident in his glare. “According to people in the bar, after your altercation with Sam, you left with Shyann Jennings.”
I nod, not because I remember, but because that’s the story Shy told me.
“You and Shyann seem pretty serious.”
My eyes tighten and again, I nod. “I’m in love with her. For me, that’s as serious as it gets.”
“You know Shy and Sam were friends a long time ago. Sam’s now with Shyann’s ex.” He shrugs. “Jealousy’s a powerful motivator.”
“I didn’t beat up Sam.” I just can’t prove it.
He slaps his hands on the table. “Right. Okay, it’s late and I need to get home. I’m going to put you in a cell and we’ll figure this out in the morning.”
A cell.
My heart pounds as he guides me out of the questioning room and into one of six or seven holding cells. The barred door swings open to a padded bench and a single toilet. I freeze, my body rejecting my command to move. With a firm press from Gary, I step inside and my skin pricks with anxiety.
The door closes and I jump at the loud clank of metal on metal.
“Back up, stick your hands out, and I’ll remove those cuffs.”
I do as I’m told and the blood flow returns to my fingers.
“Lucas.” Gary tilts his head, studying me. “The thing with your mind, is it something you can’t control?”
“I can’t. When it hits, I’m helpless.”
He nods and avoids my eyes. “Get some sleep.”
The lights go off and I’m able to calm just a little at being alone in the dark. The smell of disinfectant and stale air swirls around me, and claustrophobia pricks at my skin. I lie down on the bench and throw my forearm over my eyes and imagine I’m in bed at the river house, and it helps to ease the panic.
No matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep myself out of trouble.
Witnesses say they saw me at Sam’s and I can’t deny it because my memory is a blank spot.
Whoever said they saw me at Sam’s has to be lying, but it’s my word—the word of an accused and acquitted felon—against eyewitnesses.
Once the news gets out that I’m split, not even my innocence will save me.
SHYANN
I push through the door to my dad’s house well after midnight to find him in a familiar spot in the kitchen. After Lucas was arrested, I hung back at the river house with Buddy, made sure he was fed and warm before I sat talking his fluffy little ears off. I pretended I was talking to the dog, but I was really talking to my mom. Asking her for guidance and praying she’d hook Lucas up with some divine intervention to get him free of this ridiculous charge.
My dad is leaning into the table on one elbow, his head in his hand and a short glass of amber liquid in front of him.
“Hey, Dad.” I toss the keys onto the kitchen counter and drop into the chair across from his.
“Shy, you okay?” He pushes back and slumps into his seat.
“No.”
“Mind telling me what’s going on between you and Lucas?”
I blink up at him and for the first time it doesn’t take all my reinforced walls and steely attitude to tell him exactly what’s on my heart. “I’m in love with him, Dad.”
“See that.” He picks up his glass and takes a mouthful down his throat. “Seems he feels the same, not that I blame him.”
My lip quivers and my chest throbs as his quiet compliment.
“You’re so much like her, ya know.”
I flinch and squelch the hope blooming in my chest. You’re nothing like your momma. His words ring through my ears and I shake my head. “Like who?”
He sighs and a soft chuckle falls from his lips. “You know your granddaddy wasn’t too happy about his daughter falling for a pale face. He made it damn near impossible for us to be together.”
I grin, remembering the stories my mom would tell about her and Dad having secret meeting places, how she spent time with a boy she grew up with on the reservation, paid him to act like her boyfriend so her dad would get off her back. “She told me.”
“The woman was stubborn as hell.” He rubs the back of his neck and drops his chin. “God, I miss her.”
My instinct is to say something to comfort him, words of strength that’ll hold him together, but I’m choked with sorrow. I miss her too.
“I know when you left for college I said you were nothing like her.” His eyes shine with a vulnerability I haven’t seen in him since the day we lost Momma. “I lied. You’re so much like her it scares me to death.”
“Dad . . .” My breath catches and a single tear slides down my cheek.
“I hated losing her. Then I lost you. Now you’re back, and”—he shakes his head—“I can’t lose you again.”