“By you? Always.”
I smirk and lean back, sparking my lighter and taking a deep drag from the joint as the cherry glows red-orange.
His gaze drops to my lips as I finish inhaling, and he watches me press them together for a long beat before I form a soft O with my mouth, releasing the smoke. There’s a hungry look on his face, and I can’t tell if it’s because he wants the joint or something else.
Trying to banish the images that spring to my mind at that thought, I offer him the small rolled cigarette as Dax settles in next to his brother.
“You know you’re gonna have to find another place to go once winter really hits though, right?” Dax adds, taking the joint when Chase passes it. “I don’t know what it’s like in Arizona, but it gets fucking cold here. Plus, the maintenance crews only snowblow the sidewalks and parking lot. They never touch the athletic fields, much less under the bleachers.”
I groan. “Can’t I just build an igloo out here or something?”
A smile tilts his lips, and his green eyes glint as he leans forward to offer me back the joint. “Sure. That’ll work.”
Our fingertips brush as I take it, and like always, I’m conscious of every little touch. Maybe he is too, because it takes us a lot longer to make the hand-off than it should, as if we’re both lingering in the moment.
“So what made you want to hide out here today?” Chase asks, his voice lower than before, less teasing.
I glance over at him. “I’m not hidi—”
Before I can even finish my sentence, his eyebrows shoot up, calling bullshit on me without words.
My cheeks puff out as I release a breath. “Fine. I’m hiding.”
“From what?”
I take a long drag from the joint before answering. It’s almost gone, so I’m careful when I hand it over to Chase, our fingertips brushing softly too.
“I don’t know. People. Everything.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I hesitate, glancing back and forth between the two boys, the two almost-mirror-images. I’m not sure quite when it happened, but somewhere along the line, this cramped spot under the bleachers became our little confessional. It’s more than just my haven, it’s a place where all three of us let our guards down.
Lincoln and River know I sneak out here, but the ones who always come for me, who always meet me here, are Dax and Chase.
I kind of like it.
It’s ours.
“Yeah.” Dax nods, and even though his voice is teasing, there’s sympathy in his eyes. “People and everything are the worst.”
“Anyone whose asses we need to kick?” Chase throws in, and he’s not teasing at all. I’m pretty sure if I named a name, he and Dax would disappear in a heartbeat, and whoever’s name I’d uttered would be really fucking sorry.
“No.” I shake my head, sucking in a lungful of cold air. It’s chilly enough that our breath puffs out of our mouths like smoke, even though Dax just finished off the joint. “I just hate this. I hate it so fucking much. Everyone in that building thinks my mom is a murderer. Even the ones who don’t hate me for it still think she did it.”
Dax glances back toward the school, his hands tightening into fists, like maybe he’ll go on a rampage even without me naming names. I try to gather my unraveling emotions back around me, but it’s getting harder and harder to do that these days.
“I know… I know you bought us time. If whoever killed Iris thinks no one’s looking for him, he won’t come after us or try to stop us. But—” My jaw clenches. “How much time will we need? If my mom goes to trial—if she gets convicted—while I’m still looking for clues… I mean, Jesus, who am I, Sherlock fucking Holmes? What made me think I can do this?”
“You’re not gonna have to do it alone, Low,” Chase promises. “We’ll help. You know that, right?”
They’ve already been helping, combing through the long list we made last weekend and trying to find any connections between the men on that list and Iris.
“I know.” I thread my fingers through my hair, pressing at the sides of my head like it’ll help keep my thoughts contained. “I just can’t lose her. She’s my mom. She’s my… my best friend.”
Two hands reach out to rest on my knees, and this is becoming way too familiar—the feeling of these two boys comforting me.
We sit in silence for a few moments, and they let me pull myself together, blinking back tears and forcing my shoulders to relax. When I’m a little less close to freaking out, Chase cocks his head, squinting at me.
“How old is your mom, anyway?”