“You do. You get the choice. And I want you to make the right one.”
His brow pulls down, as if he’s trying to listen to a foreign tongue.
“Because it doesn’t have to be like this, Cameron. You don’t have to be that guy who just drifts. The one who ends up serving time in a shitty jail and comes out to kids who don’t know him and a girl who can’t stand the sight of you.” I bite my lip, trying not to get too emotional. “We all have to make decisions. What road to take, which route to choose. Make the right one.”
His eyes meet mine. “I don’t know what to do.” It sounds like a plea.
I soften. “Let me speak with the sergeant. Tell him you want to talk. We’ll see what he can offer?” Taking a deep breath, I reach out to touch his shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
I’m not stupid. I know it’s not a breakthrough. It might not be anything at all, but I let a little bit of hope bloom in my heart. Maybe, in the end, he will still end up like his jailbird cousin Mickey, or his slacker, absentee dad, but I truly hope he doesn’t.
* * *
It takes another hour for the on-call social worker to pick Cameron up. By this point we are both drained—emotionally as well as physically—and he barely rolls his eyes when he sees it’s Ryan Clark. The unfortunate-looking guy has the nickname ‘superboy’ because he looks about twelve and is anything but a superhero. Still, Cameron goes quietly with Ryan, only stopping to flash me a cheeky wink before he follows him out of the door.
Then there was one.
It’s past ten by the time I emerge from the police station and out into the cool evening air. I’m immediately shrouded by a misting of rain. It hangs in the atmosphere and coats my hair, tiny beads clinging to my eyelashes. When I blink, I can feel the cool wetness against my cheek.
The road outside is bathed with an amber glow, the streetlamps illuminating the city as far as the eye can see. It’s never truly dark here in London, not even in the dead of night. Streets and alleys which were once contaminated by thick, cloying smog are now polluted by light.
At first I don’t notice him. It’s not until Niall steps out of his car and walks toward me, his fingers running through his hair like a nervous comb, that I finally realise he’s here. When he comes to a stop in front of me I feel my heart clench for a second. In the half-light he looks more glorious than ever. I stare up at him, his eyes dark in spite of the lamps, and it all comes crashing down on me. The stress of the police station, the misery of knowing Cameron could self-destruct; my fears about Simon’s reaction.
The fact Niall’s here, waiting for me, when I feel so exhausted.
I do a stupid thing. I start to cry.
Even as the first tear falls, I am embarrassed. A stolen sob escapes my lips. I feel exposed, as if he can see beneath my skin right to the real me.
I don’t even know when it happens. One minute I’m staring up at him, his face blurred through a curtain of tears, the next minute I’m in his arms, my chest tight against his. He buries his face in my hair. It muffles his words, but not enough for them to disappear.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
His jacket is open, and when I wrap my arms around his waist, my hands slip underneath. They rest on his back, just above his waistband. The warmth of his body radiates through his thin shirt. As he holds me I take in deep gulps of the fresh night air, the misty rain coating my lips as I breathe.
There’s a part of me that wants to stand here forever. I don’t have to think about how angry Simon is going to be, and how scared I am to turn on my phone and see dozens of missed calls. Even better, for a moment I can forget all about Cameron Gibbs and his mixture of fear and bullishness that both infuriates me and tears me apart. Right now, with Niall, I can just be. It’s a luxury I want to hold on to.
But it isn’t mine to have.
“What happened?” He cups his hand around the back of my head, fingers tangling in my damp hair. It feels good. Too good. I take a step back and his arm falls back to his side.
“They gave him a reprimand.” I push my wet fringe from my eyes. God only knows how bad I look; pale face, running mascara, red eyes.
“That’s good, right? Just a warning?”
I shake my head. “It still goes on his record, that’s what they said.” That hurts more than anything. Cameron’s record was clean, unblemished. What’s done cannot be undone.
“But nothing else? No court appearance?”
“No.” That’s something positive, at least. “And hopefully he’s learned a lesson.” Catching Niall’s eyes, I frown. “What are you doing here, anyway? Are the rest of the kids okay?”
“They’re fine. I bought them all dinner; they were happy as sandboys.” He runs his hand through his hair, and the rain keeps it swept back off his face. It glistens under the light of the streetlamps. “They all asked when we can go again.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How about never?”
“My thoughts exactly.” He laughs. It only lasts for a moment before he turns serious again. “I owe you a big apology.”