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“I forget,” I answer, still staring at Trey.
I hear the cop breathing hard, turning angry. I don’t want to be difficult,
but Dickwad can’t know who I am. I don’t want Misha Lare on the radar in
this town. Not yet.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he orders.
I do as I’m told, and he moves around to put handcuffs on me.
“Wait, no!” Ryen argues.
But I look at her, softening my expression. “It’s fine. Don’t say
anything.”
Don’t tell them who I am.
“Alright, I’m taking this one in,” the officer tells the other cop who’s
busy on his walkie talkie. “Clear this out, and call Mr. and Mrs. Burrowes.”
The other officer nods and gets back on his radio.
The cop leads me out of the house, and I look at Ryen. There’s a million
things I want to say.
I’m done here. I’m going home.
I’ll be anything you want, even gone if that’s what you need.
I love you.
But I just shoot my eyes up to Ten and tell him, “Make sure she gets
home safe.”
An hour later I’m sitting in the police station, no longer handcuffed. I lean
back in one of the chairs against the wall, my legs stretched out and crossed
at the ankle, and my arms folded over my chest. A female cop is talking on
the phone behind the counter, and I tap my finger under my arm, playing
the tune we were working on at Sticks tonight in my head.