asshole’s sharing a urinal with the other felons-of-the-month.

The officer resembles a twenty-year-old

Johnny Depp, and he smells clean—soap with a hint of coffee. He’s not the one who tried to talk to me last night. Just the guy that arrested me. He settles into the seat across from me and the guard leaves.

“I’m Officer Monroe.”

I glare at the table.

Officer Monroe reaches over, unlocks the

cuffs, and slides them to his side of the table.

“Why don’t you tell me what really happened last night?”

Just one drag. Oh God, it’d be better than a deep kiss from a really hot guy. But I’m not kissing a hot guy and I don’t have a cigarette because I’m currently being questioned in purgatory.

“Your mom’s boyfriend, Trent—we know

he’s bad news, but he’s smart. We’ve never gotten enough to put him away. Maybe you can HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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help us and yourself. Help us put him in jail, then he’ll be away from you and your mom.”

I agree—he’s Satan. Other than the fact that he’s a washed up has-been of a football player who traded tackling men on the field for

beating the shit out of women, though, I have nothing to tell them beyond rumors I’ve heard on the street. The cops who walk the south-side beat are well aware of our bedtime stories regarding The Asshole Known as Trent. The tantalizing tidbit that he hits me and Mom could get us a flimsy piece of paper with the words Emergency Protection Order on the

header, but domestic violence offenders rarely sit inside jail cells for long, plus Trent burns EPOs and puppies for fun.

Even before my mother got involved with

Trent, the police were after him, but he’s the walking, talking real-life version of an oil spill—impossible to pick up once he’s been released. Helping the police will only bring the ooze and his sickening wrath quicker to our doorstep.

“He lives in the same apartment complex as your mom, right? Wouldn’t it be nice to live with her again and not have to worry about HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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him?”

Having no idea how he knows I don’t live

with my mom, I fight hard not to glance at him. Refusing to indicate he’s right.

“We didn’t even know he was dating your

mom. He, uh, sees other women.”

I keep from rolling my eyes. There’s a

shock.

“Elisabeth,” he says after my nonresponse.

“Beth.” I hate my given name. “My name is Beth.”

“Beth, your one phone call has been

standing in the lobby since five a.m.”

Isaiah! My eyes flash to Officer Monroe’s.

The walls I built to protect myself crumble and fatigue sets in as the iciness I’ve clung to all night melts. Fear and hurt rush to take its place.

I want Isaiah. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.

I blink, realizing the stinging sensation is tears. Wiping at my face, I try to find my strength—my resolve, but I only find a heavy emptiness. “When can I go home?”

Someone knocks. Officer Monroe cracks the door open and exchanges a few heated

whispers before nodding. Seconds later, my HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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aunt, an older and cleaner version of my

mother, walks in. “Beth?”

Officer Monroe leaves, closing the door

behind him.

Shirley comes straight to me. I stand and let her hug me. She smells like home: stale

cigarettes and lavender fabric softener. I bury my face in my aunt’s shoulder, wishing for nothing more than to lie in the bed in her basement for a week.

A cigarette is a close second.

“Where’s Isaiah?” Though I’m grateful for my aunt, my heart was set on seeing my best friend.

“Outside. He called me the moment he heard from you.” Shirley squeezes me before

breaking our embrace. “What a mess.”

“I know. Have you seen Mom?”

She nods, then leans in and whispers in my ear, “Your mom told me what really

happened.”

The muscles around my mouth tighten and I try to stop my lower lip from trembling. “What do I do?”

Shirley runs her hands up and down my

arms. “Stick with your story. They brought HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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Trent and your mom in for questioning. With you not talking, they couldn’t find anything to arrest them on. Your mom’s twitchy though. If you talk, they’ll send her to jail for breaking probation and the destruction of property. She’s scared of going to jail.”

So am I, but Mom can’t hack jail. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Her arms drop to her sides and she places the table between us. It’s only a few steps, but it creates a gap resembling a canyon. I turned seventeen last month. Before tonight, I felt like an adult: old and big. I don’t feel so big anymore. Right now I feel small and very, very alone. “Shirley?”

“Your uncle and I don’t have money for a

lawyer. Isaiah and Noah, even that girl Noah brings around, they offered what they had, but your uncle and I got scared once the cops told us you took a bat to Trent. Then I had an idea.”

My heart sinks as if someone yanked a

trapdoor right below it. “What did you do?”

“I know you don’t want anything to do with your dad’s side, but his brother, Scott—he’s a good man. Left that baseball team and became a businessman. He has a lawyer. A fancy one.”

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“Scott?” My mouth gapes.

“How…what…” My breathing becomes

shallow as I try to make sense of the insanity falling out of my aunt’s lips. “Impossible. He left.”

“He did,” she says slowly. “But he moved

back to his hometown last month and he called me to find you. He wanted you to go live with him and his wife, but we blew him off. Your mom talked to him when he got persistent and she told him you ran away.”

My lip curls at the thought of him anywhere near me. “Good choice. So why involve Scott now? We don’t need him. We can figure this out without him or his fancy lawyer.”

“They said you were going to hit Trent with a bat,” Shirley repeats as she wrings her hands together. “That’s serious and I thought we needed help.”

“No. Tell me you didn’t.” I’m in hell. Or pretty damn close.

“We would have respected your wishes

about him, but then this happened and…I

called him. Listen to me, he has a great life now. Lots of money and he wants you.”

I start to laugh. Only it’s not funny. It’s not HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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even close to funny. It’s the saddest damn thing I’ve ever heard. I collapse into the seat and rest my head in my hands. “No, he

doesn’t.”

“He got the charges dropped.” Not a hint of happiness can be found in her voice.

I keep my face hidden, unable to look at her to see whatever truth she’s been building toward. “What did you do?” I ask again.

Shirley kneels beside me and pitches her

voice low. “When I called him, your uncle Scott went to your mom’s apartment. He saw things he shouldn’t have seen. Things that can hurt your mom.”

I sway to the side as if I’ve been hit by a wave and the rushing sound of being sucked into the ocean whirls in my ears. My world is crashing around me. He went into my old

room. Mom told me never to go in there after I left to live with Shirley. I never have. There are things even I don’t want to know.

“He didn’t tell the police,” she says.

Shocked by her revelation, I peek at her

through my fingers. “Really?”

Shirley’s lips turn down and she scrunches her forehead. “Your mom had no choice. He HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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walked into the station with his lawyer and made the demand—she either turned over

custody of you to him, or he would tell the cops what he saw.”

My aunt stares at me, her eyes bleak. “She signed over custody. He’s your legal guardian now.”

HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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Ryan

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