Welcome back to Seacrest, Are you ready for more?
Volume 2 of the Heartbreak High series.
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Lucas is back in business, picking up to shattered pieces of his life as a new year dawn's on Seacrest bringing about new challenges, new romance and even...
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I pause outside the door, my hand hovering just above the polished wood. A familiar weight settles in my chest, making it harder to breathe, but I try anyway, letting out a slow, shaky breath. I can do this.
It's just another conversation, like the dozens I've had before. But it doesn't help. With one last sigh, I knock, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. My knuckles barely graze the door when I hear the officer's voice drift through, cold and detached.
"Come in," he says, his tone carrying none of the warmth I'm desperate for right now.
I turn the handle and step inside, already feeling the tension tighten in my chest. The room is stark and impersonal, a contrast to the comforting spaces I'm used to. The walls are bare, the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the table in the center of the room feels like an island I'm stranded on.
"Have a seat, Tyler," the officer says, his eyes narrowing as they track my every move.
I sit down, my body stiff, sinking into the hard, uncomfortable chair. I let out another sigh, longer this time, like maybe I can exhale all the tension knotted up inside me. My fingers start running over the fabric of my jeans, tracing the worn seam over and over again, the rough texture grounding me in some small way. Meanwhile, my foot taps out a restless rhythm on the floor, a steady beat that matches the anxious thrum in my chest. I keep my gaze low, focusing on the movement of my hand like it'll keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control.
The officer studies me for a moment, his eyes never leaving my face. I can feel him watching me, reading me in ways that make me feel exposed, like he can see straight through the cracks I'm trying so hard to keep together.
"We tried calling your father," he begins, his voice low, almost too casual. "He hasn't picked up. Is there a reason why?"
The question hangs in the air, and I feel a cold knot form in my stomach. "He's busy," I say, my voice coming out flat. It's a weak excuse, and we both know it. My fingers start tapping faster, and my foot keeps up with the same anxious beat.
The officer raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Busy, huh? Doing what exactly?"
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Work," I lied, but even as the word leaves my mouth, I know it sounds wrong, off.
"Work," the officer repeats, his tone skeptical. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Should we wait for him or would you like to get straight into it and tell us what happened at the party."
I freeze, the breath catching in my throat. My hand stops for just a second before I force it back into motion, running over the seam of my jeans again. The room feels smaller now, the walls closing in, the officer's eyes boring into me.
"I-" I start, but the words crumble before I can get them out, dissolving into the silence between us.
The officer leans forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "Tyler," he says, his voice taking on a harder edge, "we need to know what happened. We can help you, but only if you tell us the truth."
I finally look up, meeting his eyes for the first time. There's no understanding there, just a relentless need for answers. The truth is too tangled up inside me, too raw to let out. So I sit there, the silence growing heavier with every second, the words still stuck in my throat, refusing to come.
