“This place is crawling with druggies. You never know what they’ll do.”
“All the more reason I need to find Lacy and Shannon,” I say.
“We should let the cops do this.”
I grit my teeth and take a breath. “Did you even look for them?”
Jayden shakes his head. “It’s been raining. The cops said they’d handle it.”
“Lacy is your goddamn sister and you never bothered to look? Your self-absorbed attitude never ceases to amaze me.”
“You’re one to talk.” He steps forward and shoves me. I slip on the muddy grass, but I catch myself before falling. I clench my fists, more than willing to kick this kid’s ass. Miles wouldn’t like that, though, and I pull myself from the edge with a quick breath.
Jayden continues, “You can’t lecture me about caring when you don’t give a shit about Lacy! Or Miles, for that matter!”
Goddammit. Everyone wants a piece of me tonight. Every. Single. Fucking. Person. Either they’re here to arrest me, torture me, kill me—berate me—it doesn’t matter what, they think they’ve got something to drill into my skin.
I grab Jayden by the collar of his T-shirt and yank him close. “What the fuck is your problem?” I growl. “Get it out right now.”
He leans away, all his posturing gone. I wait, because this is the only moment I’ll give him, and I’m eventually rewarded with his ragged inhale of chill air.
“I don’t trust you.”
Wow. Profound. Was I really expecting anything different?
“You’re everything from our old life,” Jayden continues through short breaths, slow to get his confidence but quick to raise his voice. “In rehab they told us we had to separate ourselves from bad influences, or else we’d never get clean. You’re like our father and our brother, Lawrence. Taking advantage of Miles. Using him. Only caring about what happens to you.”
“I don’t give a shit about what happens to me,” I say, my volume matching his. “I thought I made myself clear, but obviously you’re dense enough not to have picked up on it. I only care about Miles. But—and it’s a big but—he cares about you and your sister, which means every time you fuck up, I’ll be there to drag your ass back. And if your sister is missing, I’m gonna drag her ass back too. Understand?”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? You think I’m out here, arguing in the rain, because it’s good for me? You think my master plan to screw you is to live in a tiny suburban house, sharing quarters with children, training to get a midrange-paying job? Fuck, kid—you must have a pretty damn low opinion of me. I’m not your shitty father and brother. I could do a lot worse if my goal was to fuck you all over and cut out at the last possible moment.”
“Yeah, well….” He flusters a bit but frowns and continues regardless. “You’re gettin’ into fights, draggin’ Miles around. I just….”
I shake him once, and he wipes away the water to get a better look at me. “I don’t control your brother,” I say. “He does what he wants, sometimes against my wishes. But as long as I’m still kickin’, I’ll take the bullet for him. Got it? He deserves that much.”
“You’d…?”
“What the fuck do you care, anyway?”
Jayden doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t even have the words to articulate what he’s feeling. I remember him hating Miles for attempting to change him, for attempting to get him out of a gang. Perhaps Jayden has come to the realization—although maybe subconsciously—that Miles really is looking out for him, and he should do the same in return.
He’s not a clever kid, but at least it looks like he might be trying to turn himself around.
“Get back to the house,” I tell him as I release his shirt. “If something happened to you too, Miles would be upset.”
Jayden wipes himself off and laughs. “Wow, you really are Miles’s bitch, aren’t you?”
Jesus Christ. The Pope himself would be tempted to kick this kid’s ass. I swear he has the situational awareness of a cucumber. Just when I thought I might not hate his guts….
Jayden narrows his eyes, and in a voice low enough that it’s almost lost to the rain, he asks, “Do you love him?”
“Get out of here!” I bark. “You’re wasting my time!”
He jumps away and shuffles off. Once or twice he looks over his shoulder at me, but I ignore him. Kid needs to mind his own damn business.
I trudge forward into the park. There’s a small piece of me that wants to spot someone milling about under a tree, someone with a puffy jacket capable of carrying plenty of supplies. I could ask if they have any prescription drugs for sale—OxyContin was popular not too long ago, and everyone knows it dulls pain like sleep dulls consciousness—but I don’t want to deal with the chance of getting mugged. Plus, with the cops scooping people up and never bringing them back, I bet it’s harder to find someone right now. I continue on.
The play equipment, soaked and dirty, already has multiple occupants. Three men and a woman have a makeshift tent set up under the grating. I wander up to them, and they give me questioning and apprehensive glances. I laugh to myself. I guess I look odd, everything considered.
“Have you four seen two kids lately?” I ask.
They shake their heads. I nod and walk by, unconcerned with pleasantries.
The picnic tables don’t yield anything better. Nor do bikes paths or tennis courts. I stop at the swings to lean against the metal posts. It’s only now that I realize how very drained I am. Anxiety isn’t a long-lasting fuel source. And the more I look, the more convinced I am they aren’t here. Where else is there to look? The tiny shrubs soaked in dog piss? No kid, especially two eleven-year-old girls, would want to subject themselves to that for any length of time. And Shannon was pretty
