“Might have,” I stress.
She doesn’t look any less buoyed, dropping onto my chest with a big grin. “That’s amazing, Reyn!”
I run my hand down her back. “I need to get home, though. Take a shower. Ice my nose. Find some rice.”
“You’re hungry,” she guesses as I rise, tugging on my shorts.
I give her a look. “For my phone. The video, remember?”
Her face falls. “Reyn, I don’t need to see it. It doesn’t matter, because I believe you.”
I roll my eyes, because as nice as that is to hear... “Look, for once I have some proof that I’m not a fuck-up, and you’re going to watch it.”
The sounds of her protest are lost behind me as I get my damp suit from the bathroom, grimacing as I pull it on. It’s still bloody, only now it’s wrinkled and smells like sweat and old water.
“Talk to Em today, okay?”
She wrinkles her nose distastefully but says, “I will.”
“I’ll call you later,” I say, throwing on my jacket and heading to the window. I push open the frame and sling a leg out, giving her one last look. She’s adorable wrapped up in her blankets, cheeks still flushed from us being together. Seriously, I’d give just about anything to crawl back into bed with her, but the last thing we need is for someone to walk in on us, or for my dad to notice me missing—if he hasn’t already.
I shut the window and look up at the sky, it’s pinkish purple, the sun rising over the lake. I get to the edge and turn, placing my hands on the rooftop. The fall is easy and I land with a quiet thud.
“Don’t move,” someone barks. “Put your hands up, boy.”
The voice rattles me, surprises me, yet at the same time doesn’t. Fuckin’ Jerry. Right on schedule.
“Which is it?” I ask with a snort. “Put my hands up or don’t move. I can’t do both.”
“Goddamn smart-ass mouth,” he sneers, and a moment later his hand flattens against my back, slamming me against the house. My face hits the siding, banging against my lip, reopening the cut. Blood pours hot and bitter against my tongue. He barks some fast orders into his walkie-talkie before breathing down my neck. “I knew I’d catch you. I knew if I kept watching, you’d finally trip up.” His hands are on me, frisking down my sides. As if he has the right to pat me down.
“Get your hands off me, Jerry.” I glance toward the house. Dad’s car is in the driveway. “I want to talk to my Dad.”
“Sure, once the cops get here, you can talk to him all you want. Down at the Sheriff’s station.”
He digs in the front pocket of my pants and pulls out my roll of picks. Shit.
Then h
e goes for my jacket pocket and I twist sharply away. “Get your hands off of me,” I seethe. “You have no right to search me. None. You’re a security guard, not a fucking cop.”
He lunges forward once again and I turn away, but not before he grabs my pocket. Vandy’s pills fall to the ground like confetti, dozens of white circles dotting the ground.
Fucking Jerry crouches down to pluck one up, looking like he’s about to cream his pants with glee.
“Jerry? What’s all this ruckus out here?” a woman’s voice calls. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Mr and Mrs. Hall emerge from behind the browning hydrangea bush, both disheveled from sleep. Mrs. Halls’ eyes flick between us, the scene registering on her face. Mr. Halls’ eyes dart to the second floor. I’m bloody and standing beneath their daughter’s bedroom window, dropping pills all over the ground. I look away, unable to bear their accusatory expressions.
“Reyn,” Mr. Hall says, “what’s going on here?”
Before I can even attempt to get out of this shitshow, Jerry jumps in. “What’s going on here, Mr. and Mrs. Hall, is that I caught this delinquent crawling out of your upstairs window. In his pocket, I confiscated a set of lock-picking paraphernalia, and—as you can plainly see—he’s also in possession of a large quantity of drugs—from the looks of it, prescription painkillers.” He plants his hand into the middle of my back, forcing me against the house again. “Where did you get the drugs, boy? Steal those, too?”
“Steal?” Mrs. Hall asks, her face suddenly cast in the flashing lights of the police cruiser screeching to a halt on the street in front of our houses. Her eyes hold mine and I think for a moment she’s going to put two-plus-two together and connect that the drugs came from Vandy. The flicker of awareness vanishes as quickly as it came. “I had no idea you were struggling like this, Reynolds.”
I swallow back any urge to defend myself. Instead, I say nothing as two deputies approach the scene. Everything that happens next is like sand, slipping through my fingers. Cuffed. Sat on the curb. Asked questions.
I’m not an idiot. I keep my mouth shut. I don’t even nod or shake my head, I just look straight forward.
“This one’s been in trouble before,” Jerry’s saying to one of the deputies. “It was only a matter of time before he reoffended. I’ve been keeping my eye on him. It’s my job,” he boasts, “to keep this community safe.”