Finn stares at the floor, his jaw tight and his fists clenched.
“Rose asked me for help,” I tell them, “and I turned her away. I owe her to find out what happened to her.”
“That’s not on you,” Finn says.
“Well it feels like it. The guilt is killing me. I want to do something other than wait for the police to get their heads out of their asses.”
“This is stupid. Even if this guy doesn’t come out,” Ezra says, eyes zeroed in on my chest, “you’re basically opening the door to a hundred other predators.”
“I can handle it.” I look at Ozzy pleadingly. “I want to do this.”
He frowns but holds my eye. “Okay, but you let me set up the account and we have to have access to it the whole time. Nothing off screen.”
“I’m out,” Finn says, shaking his head. He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I already had one girlfriend that liked to play stupid games. I’m not sitting by while you do it, too.”
“Finn—" I call.
Ezra grabs my arm. “If you want to do this, we’ll back you up.”
I look at him and Ozzy. “I do.”
“Then let him go. He’ll be okay.”
I hear the door slam upstairs, not completely sure that’s true.
32
Ezra
It’s late when I send the text.
Ezra: Meet me on the corner. Wear something warm.
It’s entirely possible she’s already asleep, but a moment later my phone lights up.
KK: On my way.
Two weeks ago, this never would have happened. I never would have brought my bike over here to pick this girl up, she never would have come if I had. Sneaking out is the kind of risk other girls take, a
world which she’d been excluded from, yet here we are. I’m calling her out of her warm bed in the middle of the night to meet the baddest boy of them all.
I’d started to figure there’s something more to the good girl we’d all grown up with, and increasingly I’m itching to find out.
Especially after that scene in my basement today. Jesus Christ.
From my vantage point, I see her step through the front door and shove her hands into her hoodie pockets. She’s not going to be warm enough, but that just means she’ll have to snuggle up tight.
At the edge of her driveway she spots me where I wait, astride my bike.
“Hey,” she says, walking up to me. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
I grab a helmet hanging from the back and hold it out to her. “Thought tonight may be a good one for a ride.”
To my surprise she doesn’t hesitate, taking the helmet and lowering it over her head. I reach out and adjust it, grazing her neck, making sure it’s on tight. She climbs behind me, less worried about touching me this time, and I don’t have to force her to put her arms around my waist, she just does it, sliding her hands along my stomach, underneath my jacket.
I take a deep breath and look back. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”