After a while, I lose my cool and snap, “What was that?”
All three of them jolt at the sound of my voice.
“What was what?” The detective feigns being clueless.
I aim a finger at the folder. “That letter in there … It looked like it was from my sister.”
“What’s in that file is confidential,” is all he says.
I turn to Lila and Ethan for help, but they only look at me with pity. Then Lila gently pats my knee and directs her attention back to the paper, leaving me stirring in frustration.
Why would they have a note from her? Is it old? New? Did she have something to do with this? Are they using her to help solve the case, too? Or is there more to it?
Ethan clasps Lila’s hand when her eyes start water. “Honey, relax. Everything’s going to be okay.” He looks at me. “We’ll get through this together.”
I know right then that the police are going to make me try to remember, that I don’t really have a choice in this, even though they say I do. Besides, if I don’t go through with it, I’m willingly making a choice not to help solve my brother’s murder.
My throat thickens and my lungs constrict.
Force the memories up.
Then what?
What will happen?
To you?
To the person they all knew?
To the person you are right now?
He’ll be gone,
as the chains wrap around.
Bind you in.
Make your head spin.
You’ll lose your mind.
Lose control of your life
Again.
I only speak again when we’re back at home.
I unstrap my seatbelt and say, “I saw that letter, and I want to know what it says. Is my sister helping the police, too?”
Lila and Ethan trade a concerned look, and then Lila rotates in her seat.
“Ayden, there’s some stuff we don’t feel like you’re ready to learn just yet,” she explains to me.
I don’t want to get angry, but I feel the emotion scorching under my skin.
Before I can react, though, Mrs. Scott comes barreling around the fence and over to the car. After a lot of hushed talking between her, Lila, and Ethan, they take me into the kitchen and inform me that Lyric told them about the guy staring at our house. They make me give them my description of the guy so they can pass the information along to the police. Then they inform me that, for safety purposes, I’m going to take Lyric with me to a self-defense class this afternoon.
Even though I’m upset, I don’t argue. The class will be a good thing. Lyric knowing how to protect herself will be a good thing, especially with guys like William walking around.
Honestly, I can’t wait to pick Lyric up from school. I feel so frustrated and know she will settle me down. Even in the midst of my darkness, through a storm of pain, Lyric brings me calm.
Chapter 6
Ayden
The present…
Lyric spreads her sunshine across my gloom the moment we reunite. Even when I tell her about the police visit, omitting the letter about my sister for the moment, I feel more at ease. The comfort remains during the entire drive to the self-defense class, but then the reminder of why we’re there to begin with creeps up on me.
“Wait, I’m not dressed for something like this,” Lyric says after I park the car near the back of a small brick building located about fifteen miles south of our quaint neighborhood secluded in the burbs.
I shut off the engine and slide the keys out of the ignition. “You look perfect to me.”
“I’m sure I do, but as for being able to move around, which I’m sure is required in this class, these,” she flips her fingers against her jeans, “aren’t going to cut it.”
“Yeah, your mom figured you’d probably need a change of clothes.” I reach over the console to the backseat and grab a bag. “She sent you this.”
Lyric takes the bag from me and unzips it. “Where did she even get these?” She holds up a pair of black yoga pants and a purple tank top made of some kind of stretchy fabric.
I tap the tag still stuck to the fabric. “She must have just bought them.”
“Wow, they must have been preparing for this.” She tears the tag off, drops it into the bag, and tosses the empty bag onto the backseat. When she turns around, she starts undoing the zipper of her jeans.
“What are you doing?” My panicked gaze darts between her jeans and her face.
“Getting changed.” She unfastens the zipper, lifts her hips, and then tugs down on her pants.
“Right here in the car?” With a lot of effort, I manage to keep my eyes on her face, even though my instincts beg to look downward.
She shrugs, shimmying her hips out of her jeans. “It’s just underwear, no biggie. I’m even wearing my boy-cut panties that cover up more than my swimsuit.”
Her pants are so far down I can see those black boy-cut panties along with her upper thighs. Her skin looks so soft, so touchable. My hands quiver just thinking about brushing my fingers over her legs.
She suddenly halts her torturously slow strip tease. “Wait, am I crossing one of those boundaries again? I never know sometimes.”
To Lyric, changing in front of her best friend is probably on the same level as wearing a swimsuit, completely innocent. But her swimsuit doesn’t have lace at the bottom and a tiny pink bow on the front.
God, I just want to touch her.
My breathing accelerates with my thoughts as I desperately try not to panic.
Lyric must sense my anxiety because she begins pulling her jeans back up.