“What is he like?”
“He’s… Quiet? I don’t know, he’s serious. And he takes the time to think before he speaks. And he seems to really love his little brother. Seems like a good role model—all things considered.”
I think it might be because of things considered, but I don’t tell her that part. And I don’t tell her how protective he is. At least not yet.
“How many times have you been to see him?”
“A few. Okay, maybe more than a few. And before you ask—No, Dad didn’t know, and I’m really sorry I kept it from the two of you for so long.”
“Do you think he cares for you?”
“Maybe? We haven’t talked about it. It’s… It’s hard to get to know someone in fifteen-minute increments. He’s nice to me. Although I’m the only person coming to visit him, so maybe he feels like he has to be.”
I half expect her raised eyebrows at my last sentence. And I know she’ll ask about his…
“What is his family like?”
“His little brother looks a lot like him. Drew says he’s a good kid. Really smart, plays soccer. He’s only eight, and their mom works a lot so I think he really worries about not being there for him.”
“And his father?”
“His father? Well, that’s the thing…”
She sits and she listens, and her face shows a sign of something close to horror because really, how can she not listen to the things the man has done without that being a reaction? Especially when she’s a parent herself.
I ignore the look on my father’s face when I reference medical records I shouldn’t be in possession of, and go on without blinking an eye because he needs to hear this, too, damn it. Also, it kind of feels like before, when I was standing in the McCormacks’ living room—once I get started, I can’t seem to stop. I need to get it all out of me.
God, I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately.
I’ve lived my life devoid of the whole teenage angst thing for so long I’m not sure I can handle all of this. I’m not built for it.
“Do you think he did it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don’t think it went down the way everyone thinks it did, but it still happened.”
“And how do you feel about that?” she asked.
Honestly? I feel like I built up this idea of him in my head based off the fact he did it. And it was an idea that consisted of ugliness, disrespect, and outright hatred at times. And it made me hate him, and whatever fate or deity saw it fit to put us together.
Then that idea got flipped and turned around and twisted into something completely different and it’s mostly just made me hate myself. Before all of this, I’d never really given much thought to the kind of person I was. Now I’m seeing maybe I should have paid closer attention. Because the ‘how could someone like me possibly belong with someone like him’ mentality? Well… I’m starting to think someone like him is maybe a bit too brave and a bit too courageous, and probably even a bit too noble for someone like me to deserve.
Overly honest answer aside, I tell her it makes me feel like he was probably in the right. If what I’ve seen recorded on pages and pages of medical records is true, then he definitely was. He definitely is.
“Libby, sweetie, where do you see this going from here?”
“Mom, right now I can’t even think of anything past trying my best to help him out of a predicament no one else seems to want to bother with. And that’s mostly because I feel like an ass for being so—for being so wrong about him in the first place.”
I keep my face as blank as possible and try to sound firm on those words. I can’t stop myself from remembering the feel of my hand in his though.
Chapter Fourteen
“What do you mean it’s not there?”
Beth bites her lip and shrugs as she turns to Ryan. He sat down beside her at Frenchie’s a few minutes ago and hooked a foot around the leg of her chair to bring her closer as soon as he sat down. It was obnoxiously cute. After a few seconds of staring at her with a soft look in his eyes, he takes his cue and turns to face me.
“It’s not there. It’s been deleted.”
“So, what… Like, the afternoon of the accident is just gone?”
“Not only the afternoon. The entire day. I really did try everything.” He pauses and swipes a finger under the lens of his glasses, rubbing at his eye. The skin underneath is dark and puffy and a complete testament to the fact he’s telling the truth. “The entire day is gone, which means most likely whoever got their hands on the feed either a, didn’t know how to edit it, or b, thought it would look more suspicious if there were only a few hours missing. Maybe both. I looked into it more and found out a couple of random days throughout that month had also been deleted.”
“Who would even know how to do that?”
Ryan gives me a blank look, and I immediately backtrack.
“Okay, okay. Obviously you know how to do that, but c’mon. I seriously doubt there are that many people around here able to do what you do.” I give him a look that says ‘yes, I am bolstering your ego right now. I am aware.’ “The real question is who else would want to?”
We all go quiet.
My froyo looks more like a weird, multicolored soup than anything else, but I keep stirring. I prop my chin in my hand and stare out the window. Maybe it’s because I’ve been so on edge all morning—ever since Beth sent me a text, saying Ryan had found something that turned out to be literally nothing, but I’m pretty sure the SUV parked a few spaces away from my car has been idling there for a while without anyone getting out of it. It’s nothing super weird. I pull over and find a place to park lots while driving. Phone calls and directions, and other things can take my complete concentration, but…
Ugh. Now I’m paranoid.
I pluck the last piece of mochi out of the container and pop it into my mouth when Beth lets out a gasp. She slams her hand on the table—because why not? it’s Beth—and I nearly bite my tongue when I wince.
“Forget who would want to. If Officer Jordan was unconscious when the feed was pulled, who else would know to pull it?” We lock eyes across the table and she looks nervous, her eyes round and urgent. “Someone else had to know what was on that tape would reflect poorly on him. They had to.”
An unsettling feeling passes through me. I glance out the window again, my eyes catching on the SUV in the lot, and attempt to breathe normally.
****
I try my best not to react to the fact my father is one of the officers overseeing inmate visitation today. He ignores my wide-eyed, what-the hell-face when I pass by him into the room. A little warning would have been nice, but then again maybe this is payback for springing my confession to mom the other night without telling him beforehand.
Still. His presence is not exactly something I look forward to now that I know I’ll have it to contend with. I’m nervous enough about seeing Drew. About seeing him with a pane of glass in between us again. And it’s not like I need my father to be here. I’ve been doing well enough on my own up until now.
Add in the fact I spent the entire drive over here glancing at my rear view, and I’ve got a recipe for one nervous, strung-too-tight Libby. The SUV parked a few spaces away from mine had chosen to depart the lot outside of Frenchie’s at the exact same time as I did. Even though there are only approximately three turns between there and the Center, every time I saw their turn signal mimic my own, my palms grew a little sweatier against the steering wheel.
I was so worked up by the time I pulled up to the guard station, I didn’t even bother to check out the license plate when they passed by. I had this awful premonition of making eye contact with the driver and, I don’t know, watching as he or she performed some sort of movie villain-esque threat, complete with a finger across the throat.
When Drew sits down across from me, his movements stiff and his face still more or less one big bruise, it’s easier than I thought to forget about the mystery driver and my dad being somewhere in the room behind
me.
I sit up so quickly I nearly fall off my seat. I have one hand on the phone receiver and the other hovering somewhere in the air in front of me, wanting to reach through the window and, and … I don’t know. Maybe awkwardly shift until he grabs it in his like he did before?
“Hi,” I breathe out, and the word sounds like an exhale and an exclamation all wrapped in one. Because, God, I’m a dork. I guess there’s no real sense in hiding it now.
“Hey.”
His voice is as low and gruff as ever, and it’s nearly enough to send a shiver down my back. Instead I fidget in my seat, scooting forward to rest my elbow on the counter. After a few seconds of silence, a slow, wide grin spreads across his face and even though it looks painful, I find myself mirroring the expression.
“You look better,” I lie.
He actually laughs, one side of his mouth screwing up as he does. It’s almost enough for the dimple in his cheek to make an appearance.
“And you’re a really bad liar.”
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip to keep my grin from completely taking over my face. Feeling brave, I look him dead in the eye and lower my chin.
“That’s not true. I am a youth leader after all.”
He leans back in his seat, looking more comfortable than he has during any other visit, shaking his head and smirking. He studies my face and I can feel the pink creeping up the sides of my neck and my cheeks getting warmer. I have to look away, picking at a piece of invisible lint on my sleeve.
Oh God. We’re flirting. Or I am at least. I think I am. I’m flirting with my Soulmate. I don’t think I’ve ever flirted in my life. I’m probably not even doing it right.
“I can tell,” he finally says, clearing his throat. I look up and he arches an eyebrow. For a second, I think he’s read my mind. “With all of the talking about God we do and all.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure that’s going to send me straight to hell. Who lies about something like that?”
“Shit. If that sends you to hell, where do you think they’re going to put me?”
He laughs it off, but the sound is forced and his face goes all serious. And it’s not funny. Not in the least.
“If they try you as an adult, you could get a trial by jury,” I offer. I can practically hear his thoughts and want to add that yes, I did look it up. “That could actually work in your favor.”
He snorts. He actually snorts. It’d be cute, the way his nose crinkles up and creases form at the corners of his eyes, if it didn’t annoy me so much. This is serious business.
“Because I’m so charming, right?”
Maybe.
“No,” I say, and the word surprises me with how strong it comes out. If the smile wasn’t already completely gone from both my face and voice before, it is now. “Because you’re not the person you seem so determined to see yourself as.”
He does that thing with his back teeth—the whole clenched jaw thing. I watched the tensed muscle jump under the skin there.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
My spine feels like it’s been turned to steel as I sit up even straighter. He can clench his jaw all he wants. I’ll grit my teeth right back.
Even without proof, I’m almost positive whatever went down that day between him and his father, he wasn’t at fault. Even if he started the fight, argument, whatever the hell happened, he didn’t really. Officer Jordan started it a long time ago with Angela McCormack, and escalated it further, until Drew had no choice but to step in. Did he go about it in the right way? I have no idea, but I get the feeling he didn’t think he had any other option. And whatever happened that day? Jordan must have done something bad enough for someone to steal the security footage. For someone to try and cover it up.
“I have a pretty good idea.”
I can’t tell him outright I know about his little brother. Even after he shared with me how his father is not such a good guy and I’m sure he knows I can put the pieces together as well as the next person, admitting I know the specifics is like an admission of guilt. Admitting I went behind his back, and even if I wasn’t given another choice, it’s still a pretty shitty thing to do. Especially when his actions on the matter are as limited as they are.
It’s strange how quickly we can go from laughing to whatever this is. Fighting? Disagreeing? I don’t know.
I try to level him with a stare, but he stares right back. Who knows how long that goes on? Even his attempt at outright intimidation doesn’t give me the same feeling as his father’s blank-eyed stare did.
He breaks the eye contact eventually, looking up and over my right shoulder skeptically. I can almost feel my father’s presence somewhere behind me, burning into my back. I turn my head to try and catch his eye, to tell him to please back off so I can do this on my own, but he’s already moving in the opposite direction.
“You’re the only one who sees yourself that way, you know.” I lower my voice, try to make it softer. “As far as I can tell you’re the only one who blames you.”
The quiet that follows is so reminiscent of our first few visits there’s almost a strange sense of comfort in it. It’s only the sound of his breath and mine mingling on the line that connects us and an overwhelming sense of ‘what next’.
He seems content to sit here, so I do my best to distract myself from saying anything else. Even though I want to. Oh God, I could go and on about how and why he shouldn’t blame himself. About how sometimes circumstances call for us to step outside of ourselves and do things we never would have fathomed doing before. I might have zero experience with it, but I know it to be true. That he wouldn’t hold it against his younger brother if the roles had been reversed. But I can hear his argument now—the roles hadn’t been reversed and how even if everyone else can see fit to exonerate him, he still has to live with himself. And know the capability to do that—to do what he’s done—still lies within.
I can hear the argument even though I’m still not sure we can claim to even know one another that well yet. I can picture him saying how he doesn’t know me and I don’t know him, but if that’s true, if it’s really true, then why do I know it’s best to stay quiet right now? Why do I know the last thing he wants to hear at the moment is how absolution is not some unobtainable thing?
I think that I do know him. Somehow. Despite all of the space and circumstances separating us on a daily basis.
But I don’t say that either.
I mean, it would be strange to say any of it considering it’s really just a conversation inside my head, right? Poor guy would have absolutely no idea what I was talking about. Although he has been subjected to my cases of streams of consciousness word vomit before… Maybe he wouldn’t be so surprised after all.
Maybe because he knows me, too.
He clears his throat and it breaks the trance I, or maybe both of us, have been in. He does that thing again, where he runs his hand over the back of his neck and up through his hair from behind, and I wonder if I should have taken advantage of being able to run my fingers through those dark tresses when I had the chance. Because the look on his face, the closed-off, agitated, ‘I can’t believe you’re going to argue with me on the way I see my damn self’ look is back with a vengeance.
“Look, sorry, but I would rather talk about anything else right now. Literally anything that doesn’t have to do with me.” He sighs, the sound practiced and heavy. Then it’s like a light goes off in his head and a strange look creeps across his face. It’s almost like … like guilt? Or shame? Maybe a strange mixture of the two. He starts to talk, but it’s almost like he doesn’t want me to hear what he’s saying. Like it’s more for his benefit or he’s talking to himself and not to me at all. Everything’s all muttered and jumbled together, and he’s not even looking at me when he says it. “I can be an ass when it comes to a lot of things, but I’m usually not this bad, I swear. Maybe because it’s easier to act like I don’t care right now? I don’t know…”
&n
bsp; “What are you talking about?”
His cheeks turn the slightest bit pink and if he wasn’t coming close to making my brain explode with all of this back and forth nonsense, I’d be concentrating on how stinkin’ cute it makes him.
“What’s going on with you?”
Well, damn.
Maybe we don’t know each other very well after all.
Because it hits me as hard as it seems to have hit him. Other than me offering up the smallest bit of info on myself in exchange for him telling me more about what happened, we’ve never talked about me at all. He knows my last name, that I have no siblings, and my parents’ story.
Granted, I can’t really say there’s been much on my mind lately or going on in my life that hasn’t been about him. And this situation is so … big, I can hardly blame either of us for having other things on our minds.
“Um…” I sit and think for a second, grasping for anything that’s not ‘your father gives me the creeps’ or ‘I went to see your mom the other day—lots of fun’. I certainly can’t mention the missing security footage. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t exactly help his current mindset. I don’t want to give him anything more to worry about. God knows I’ll be worrying about it enough for the both of us. That leaves… “Prom?”
“Prom?” He repeats the word back to me like it’s the last thing he ever expected to hear me say. It probably is. It’s certainly not what I thought would come out of my mouth.
“Yeah, prom. That’s a thing that’s happening. It’s at the end of next month.”
“Are you going?”
“Well, yeah. I kind of have to.”
He huffs out a little laugh and leans forward.
“Let me guess, in the running for prom queen?”
Wow. I want to know what the kids at his high school are like. Maybe all of the guys there are giants like him? Maybe the tall girls are actually asked on dates? Not that people at mine avoid me like the plague or anything, but prom queen? Definitely not.
“Ha.” I scoff. Yes, I actually scoff—something I didn’t know I could do. “Hardly. I got roped into prom committee though. Pretty sure it makes attendance mandatory.”
What's a Soulmate? Page 16