Truth Be Told (Blackbridge Security 4)

“Brooke, please. Would you like to come in?” Mom offers, but Ignacio doesn’t make a move to enter the house.

His eyes find mine, asking for permission, and when I don’t give it to him, he redirects his energy back to Mom.

“Maybe another day,” he says before glancing back up at me. “This conversation isn’t over.”

With a quick nod of his head, he walks away, climbs in his truck, and makes a U-turn in the middle of the street to head in the direction Alex went.

I don’t know that letting him go after our son is the best thing, but I know Alex wouldn’t listen to me right now if I truly was the last person on earth. Hopefully, Ignacio doesn’t make this situation even worse than it already is.

“What?” I ask Mom as I step back inside and close the door. “No I told you so?”

“Give me time, dear,” she teases. “I’m just waking up.”

Even the smile on her face replacing the grimace of pain normally there doesn’t have the power to lighten my mood.

“This is really bad.”

“You knew it would be.”

That’s true. I knew if he ever came back, Alex would be livid, but when I told the lies, my son was happy and healthy. He had my dad and everything he could’ve needed. He smiled every day, his laugh familiar and at the ready at all times. The truth then probably wouldn’t have had as much of an impact as it did today when he’s in trouble at school and struggling with things he refuses to speak to me about.

I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to apologize for what I’ve done.

What I do know is that things are going to get much worse before they get better.

Chapter 9

Ignacio

I know finding Alex by driving up and down the streets in the neighborhood is a long shot. The chance is greater that he went to a friend’s house or is hiding out in one of the plentiful abandoned properties around here, but I can’t not look for him.

I spend the next twenty minutes driving around, up and down streets so slowly, if I were in a nicer area, several calls about a suspicious man would’ve already been called into 911. The people around here don’t care. Unless I’m bothering them directly, then they don’t pay much attention. It’s how so many crimes go unsolved. People have too many of their own problems. Worrying about others just isn’t a priority.

Somehow, though, luck seems to be on my side because I find the angry boy leaning up against the large window of a shabby convenience store. The scowl on his young face is so familiar it’s like I’m looking at myself in the mirror. How did I miss the resemblance when he knocked into me at school? It just solidifies that people see what they want to see, unable to read into much of anything unless they’re specifically looking for it.

Parking my truck within my line of sight, I turn off the engine and climb out, making sure my truck beeps in confirmation that it’s locked. Getting broken into around here wouldn’t be surprising, and although I have great insurance, just the hassle of having to deal with something like that makes me more cautious.

I don’t speak to him when he notices me as I approach, and he doesn’t cuss me out and dart away either. As far as I see, that’s some form of progress already.

I may have been a wild, pissed-off teen once before, but I never tried to reason with one. If memory serves correctly, there is no reasoning with an emotional young person with out-of-control hormones. Puberty for me was brutal, and I imagine it is for Alex as well.

Several older-looking boys exit the store, stopping for a moment to talk with Alex. Something I did more times than I can count happens right before my eyes. They chat, give bro slaps on each others’ back as they lean in close to each other. The knowledge that my twelve-year-old son could be dealing drugs hits me in the chest like an anvil. It’s not unheard of around here for kids so young to be tangled up in something so criminal because this area breeds shit like that, but knowing my son could be in the middle of something so harmful and devious is an eye-opening thing to observe in person.

It makes me wonder as I close the distance between us if things would be different if I was around from the beginning. I know Tinley does her best. The information Wren sent proved that she’s just as determined now as she was when we were younger. She’s always kept a job, sometimes working more than one to make ends meet after her dad passed. I know she’s taking care of her sick mother all the while trying to get control of a child that already thinks he’s too old to be parented.