“Oh…” Jordan gives me a sad look. “You don’t have to hide that, Riley. You aren’t the first girl I’ve met with a parent in jail.”
“No, he’s not just in jail.” I bury my head in my arms so I don’t have to see his face as I say the rest. “He’s on death row for m-murdering three women. He’s going to be executed soon—too soon.”
Seconds pass, a minute—and Jordan is completely silent. I groan.
“If you need to leave now, I don’t want to watch you do it, okay?” I whisper into my arms, but loud enough that I’m sure he hears me. My head and heart throb as I finish. “So just go.”
Another minute passes in silence and I finally raise my eyes. Jordan sits beside me, a deep frown on his face. His eyes are closed as he rubs his hand against his temple.
“I said you could go.” My voice is small and I hate it.
“I don’t want to go,” he responds immediately, before opening his eyes and looking straight at me. “What’s your last name, Riley?”
It’s a weird question, but knowing I already lied to him, maybe he wants to check my story. It looks like my family is full of liars. I can hardly blame him. “It’s Beckett.”
“Beckett, okay.” Jordan takes a slow, deep breath. Then he asks the last thing I expect. “How can I help?”
I shake my head in confusion. “Help?”
“Yes. I hate seeing you like this.” He places one hand on mine for a moment. “No matter what your father did, you aren’t responsible. How can I help you?”
I sit up straight and jerk back my hand. “Who says he did it?”
A slight shadow crosses Jordan’s face. “So he told you he’s innocent, then? You believe he is?”
My shoulders slump instantly, because the truth is I have no idea anymore. My head is starting to clear a bit, I feel nauseous, and I’m starting to wish I hadn’t thrown that bottle of rum. Then I’m softly crying and murmuring things that I know I shouldn’t be telling anyone, but I can’t hold the weight of them alone anymore. “He always said he was innocent. For eleven years he’s said that, but today he told me he’s been lying. He said he wants me and my mom to move on. He wants us to l-let him go.”
“Shh. It’s okay.” Jordan scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me gently against him. After a few seconds, he asks, “Which do you think is the truth?”
I shake my head and it sets my vision swinging. “I really don’t know anymore. I hate that so much. How can I live not knowing who he is?”
He doesn’t respond; he just holds me and lets me cry against his shoulder. He doesn’t hate me because of my father, he doesn’t think I’m weak like my mother does. He just whispers that I’m going to be okay, and that’s exactly what I need right now.
After I stop crying, I don’t move away even though I know I should. His chest is hard and strong beneath my head, and his fingers are warm over my shoulders as he steadies me. He smells like soap and something musky that makes me want to close my eyes and relax. My thoughts are out of my control and seem to go straight to my mouth without any kind of filter. “You smell so good. Did you just shower?”
He laughs in surprise and his breath is warm against the top of my head. “Yes. My dad made me play in a neighborhood football game tonight. I had to shower right after.”
“Are neighborhood games always this late at night?” I try to sit up straight, but can’t quite do it and end up leaning my head back against his shoulder because it’s feeling even heavier than before.
“No, it ended a few hours ago, but they start around dusk. It’s better to start late on really hot days.”
“Your dad made you play?” I try to scratch my nose, but end up nearly poking myself in the eye. “He’s not a fan of you quitting, huh?”
“No. Which is one of many reasons I was so glad to hear from you.” Jordan grunts, and his grimace makes him look much older. I sit back and look at him again. “The house is uncomfortable after we have chats like that.”
“Many reasons?” I ask. My cheeks feel hot, but then I frown. Jordan is swaying and it’s making me dizzy. I almost ask him to stop before I realize that it isn’t him that’s moving. It’s me.
“Maybe it’s time for you to go home?” Jordan reaches a hand out to steady me and pulls me up to my feet. Taking my elbow in his hand, he begins guiding me toward the parking lot. “Did you bring anything with you to the park besides your friend in the bottle?”
“No. It was just us.” Walking seems to make everything worse, and I’m feeling a little sick. “And I’m not sure he’s my friend.”
“Probably not.” He chuckles.
We’re almost to the parking lot when I jerk quickly to my left, ripping my elbow from his hand and stumbling away. I put suitable distance between us just in time to throw up my not-friend all over the grass.