When I finally regain my senses—realize what I need to do—I race into the hallway. I barely get a foot out the door when Emory grabs me.
“Don’t do it, V,” he says, holding me in his arms.
“They were mine,” I gasp, struggling against his hold. “He didn’t do anything wrong! A felony? He was just…”
He was helping me.
He was saving me.
He hisses, “It’s possession, Vandy! They’re not going to give a shit why he had it on him. Just having it is enough!”
“That’s not fai
r!” I cry, jerking away.
He blocks the door, nostrils flaring. “We need to be smart about this. Think. The cops aren’t going to let him go, no matter what you tell them. We’re past that, got it?”
I press my palms to my cheeks, stunned. “I can’t just sit here while they take him to jail!” I’ve messed up a lot of things in my life, but this?
This takes the cake.
Emory waves at the window. “He doesn’t need you going out there, spouting off about shit, and probably incriminating him further in the process. Reyn’s not stupid! He knows how this works. He can plead his case in front of a judge. That’s his best bet.”
“This can’t be happening.” I pace around my room, but Emory is right. I need to think. I need to be smart about this. I need to take a deep breath and look at this objectively. I turn to Emory and tell him something else I need. “Go get your phone and call Hamilton.”
Emory looks at me like I’m an idiot. “What the fuck is Hamilton going to do? Glare the cops to death?”
“Hamilton,” I calmly explain, “is a Devil, just like Reyn, and he’s going to give me Gwen’s number.”
The call with Gwen Adams is weird and awkward, but she doesn’t hang up on me, so at least there’s that.
“Your mom,” I’m saying, “she does that kind of stuff, right?” Mrs. Adams has a reputation in the community for being both a badass lawyer and a soft heart for charity cases.
“Yes,” Gwen slowly says. “But this isn’t usually how it works. Usually there’d be a public defender, and then—” She pauses abruptly, voice changing. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. This guy is a friend, right?”
“Boyfriend.” I haven’t had many occasions to actually use that word, and it comes out stilted, unfamiliar on my tongue. My eyes lurch to Emory, who’s flopped back on my bed, grumpily prodding his bruised jaw. Upon hearing the word, his head jerks up, eyes narrowing. I narrow mine right back, and when I say, “He’s my boyfriend,” there’s nothing stilted about it.
“Huh.” There’s a stretch of silence. “Isn’t this the guy who… uh, you know. With the accident?”
My jaw tightens. “Isn’t Hamilton the guy who tormented you all throughout school?”
Silence, and then, “Fair enough.”
“Look, I’m sorry, there are just… circumstances.”
“No,” she replies. “I get it, I do. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
I tell Gwen about the pills. The addiction. Reyn taking them from me. Getting caught. It’s not a nice story and I don’t like telling it—especially when Em is there on my bed, watching me—but if it can help Reyn, then I don’t care. I don’t care what Gwen thinks about me, and I don’t care if Emory disapproves. Gwen hums along, making quizzical and consoling sounds in all the right places. I can hear rapid typing in the background, and I won’t lie. It’s sort of pissing me off. It’s like she’s not even paying attention to me.
Then she says, “Mom’s telling you to keep your mouth shut. Don’t admit to anything. Don’t say anything to anyone.”
My breath escapes in a shocked exhale. “That’s it? I can’t help him, at all?”
“I didn’t say that,” Gwen answers. “This is just damage control. Part one. Keep your mouth closed.”
I prop my forehead on my palm, staring unseeingly down at my desk. My eyes fill with tears, blurring my vision. “Is there a part two?”
“Yep.” There’s a few more clicking noises before Gwen adds, “Part two is where my mom kicks ass and takes names.”