“Dan, stop,” his wife begs.
“Why should I? Who are they to Davis anyway?”
“They’re his teachers,” she whispers.
“Does the school know they’ve got these perv—”
“If you call these gentlemen one more slanderous word …” Sergeant Boyd’s words die along with his threat. We met with him when we brought Davis in, and he’s one intimidating guy. He looks like an angry Dwayne Johnson. Boyd steps up beside Reed and me. “Are you Daniel Sullivan?”
Suddenly, the dickwad changes his tune. “I am. This is all one big misunderstanding, and—”
“Is that so? Because while you were too busy yelling at these men who brought your son in, you didn’t notice me leave the premises or stand a few feet away from you when you said you, and I quote, ‘Taught your son to be a man.’ Would you care to explain how?”
“Where’s my son?”
“Inside being interviewed.”
“You can’t do that,” Mr. Sullivan says. “He’s fifteen. You need a parent or guardian with him.”
“I can assure you, sir, that when a complaint is made against said parent or guardian, the only person we need in the room with us is someone from the Department of Children’s Services.”
“This is getting out of hand,” Davis’s mum says. “He was angry. He didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, because he seems so remorseful and accepting of gay people right now,” Reed says and gestures to himself.
Sergeant Boyd turns to us. “You two are free to go whenever you want. I think this is going to be a long night.”
Reed looks at me, but I shake my head. “All the same, we promised Davis we’d stay for him in case he needed us,” he says.
“Wish the community had more teachers like you.” The sergeant turns to Mr. Sullivan. “Daniel Sullivan, you are being charged with assault and will be issued a domestic violence order. You’ll be put in a holding cell until morning when you’ll face a judge in family court. DOCS will decide if Davis is safe enough to be in the home tonight or will need to be given emergency accommodation if they believe there is still a threat.”
“There’s no threat,” Davis’s mum says, and I let out a relieved breath. Part of me was waiting for her to start with the slurs. “Not from me. I …” Her gaze flicks to her husband’s, but she looks away as she says, “I already knew Davis was gay.”
Thank God for small mercies.
“You knew?” Mr. Sullivan roars, and his wife flinches.
Sergeant Boyd reaches for his handcuffs. “Mr. Sullivan, don’t make me use these.”
Davis’s asshole father puts his hands up in mock surrender and steps back. One minute he’s yelling, and the next he’s calm, and I begin to wonder if this is really the first time he’s laid a hand on his son. His erratic behaviour reminds me of Anders’ ex.
As the sergeant leads Davis’s parents into the police station and they disappear, I almost wish for them to come back. Reed stares at me, as if assessing me or trying to figure me out. He’s trying to see the ugly inside and realise why I’m on the verge of a breakdown right now.
“You still hungry?” he asks. “We’re going to be here a while, so I can go for a walk and bring something back for us.”
The thought of swallowing food makes my gut churn, but it’ll be a distraction. It’ll be good to get a break from Reed for a few minutes to catch my breath and compose myself. “Yeah. I don’t want to leave, but I could eat.”
The reprieve is short-lived when Reed returns way too soon, and the food he brings tastes like cardboard as it goes down my throat. It doesn’t sit well in my stomach either.
Waiting another hour for Davis doesn’t help.
“You don’t look well,” Reed says.
An automatic playful fuck you is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. “I’m fine.”
“I can handle it from here. Maybe you should go home.”
My hand fists on my bouncing leg. “I’m not going anywhere.” I’m definitely not going home. God knows what Anders’ reaction will be if he sees me like this.
“Do you want me to call Anders to come pick you up?” He grabs his phone of out his pocket, but before he can hit dial on my number, which is in my pocket, I snatch it out of his hand.
“Calling Anders is the last thing you should do right now.”
“Why?”
“He has triggers, okay? This? This will be a major setback for him.”
“What about for you?” Reed’s hand goes to my thigh again, and this time when my leg stops bouncing, he doesn’t remove it.
With one reassuring touch, I’m no longer covered in blood and guilt. I stare at his hand and wish I could cover it with mine, but I can’t, and that makes me hate myself a little more. Reed notices my eyes glued to his hand, and he retreats.