29
Clinton
The strip of tape made a bombastic sound as I pulled it across the cardboard boxes. I’d done everything I could. Sold everything I could without throwing red flags up to my father. And now the time had come. Cecilia and I had two weeks to get our asses out of this place before the new owners were due to move in. And I still had yet to figure out where the hell I was headed. I hadn’t even talked with my stepmom about it. Were we sticking together? Was she leaving to do her own thing? Did I need to take Michael up on the offer from his parents?
Stay focused. Just keep packing.
As I dug through my room, I set aside a few more things I didn’t mind selling. A genuine leather belt I hadn’t touched once. Shined leather shoes that still smelled new. An entire tuxedo tailored to me I never planned on wearing again.
Well, after prom.
Shit, I have to ask Rae to prom.
My phone rang in my back pocket and I tossed my tuxedo onto the bed, which had been stripped of its sheets. If I really was being forced out of this house, I’d take with me anything and everything that could even possibly be mine. Towels. The decorative bathroom set. The sheets on my bed. Hell, I was still in the process of trying to arrange a storage facility so I could take my bedroom set, too. The mattress. The bedside tables. All of it. I’d gotten so much money from selling off the small things in this house that I had no need to sell that shit. Which meant I could start my new life off with some furniture of my own.
Though, part of me wanted to torch every bit of it and start from scratch. Erase the painful memories that came with the pieces of this bedroom set.
I pulled my phone out and saw an unknown number calling, so I ignored it. I got back to taping up boxes I already had packed. Then that number called back again. No voice message. No text. Nothing. It was our area code, though.
Just pick it up, Clint.
“Hello?”
The woman cleared her throat. “Is this Mr. Clinton Clarke?”
I paused. “Who’s asking?”
“My name is Rena Nichols. I’m a lawyer in the area.”
I furrowed my brow. “What can I do for you, Miss Nichols?”
“I’d like to speak with you, in person, about the charges against the three kids that ran you off the road last month. Do you have some time to come in?”
“On a Saturday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to call me that.”
“What do you prefer to be called?”
“Clint is just fine.”
She paused. “All right, Mr. Clint. Yes, as soon as you can get in here, I’d like to speak with you. Preferably with an adult present.”
I snickered. “I’m eighteen. I can come by myself.”
“I know. But it might behoove you to have an adult here. To help you absorb what I have to say.”
“Has something happened? How did you get my number?”
A knock came at my door. “Clinton? Everything okay?”
I turned around and looked at Cecilia. I pressed the phone to my shoulder as I tried gathering my thoughts. She walked over to me, her eyes filled with concern. And just as she went to reach for my phone, I drew in a sharp breath.
“There’s a lawyer on the phone for me. Says she’s got information on the charges against the boys that ran me off that bridge.”
Cecilia nodded. “You want me to speak with her?”