Beside

31 - lawless

"Why does everything have to change, Jellybean?"

"I don't know. I wish it didn't."

"I don't like it. I didn't get to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry, Fox."

"Do you think it's okay to cry?"

"Yeah, sometimes. It helps."

"But I don't want to cry."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I don't feel like playing today."

"Okay, Fox. Maybe tomorrow."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

F O X

I'm one more hit to the head away from needing a cane, but today, I have to talk to Faro.

My eye's throbbing, right down to my jaw, each pulse of blood like a goddamn hammer. Everything's off-kilter—my left side aches worse than my pride, and my right is stiff as a board as I sit on this stupid-ass white couch.

But then I hear a knock on the door. Finally.

I push off the couch and open it. Whitney's bundled in a mountain of flowy flowery sweaters. I mean, fuck, she's layered to the point she looks like she'd float right out of the apartment if the wind blew hard enough.

Whitney steps in, eyes darting toward Chris's door.

"She's fine," I mutter. "Temp's down."

"Fox, are you okay?"

"I'll live." I grab my keys. "You know where everything is. Thanks for coming."

I trust Whitney, so I leave.

The sun's at that high noon. Baking, cooking, sizzling. I turn down 5th and Warren, my pulse hammering in all the swollen spots as I walk.

We had a plan going in with The Hunter, but it was an ugly, brutal clusterfuck.

I shove my hands in my pockets, head low as I walk past a group of college guys who glance my way, eyes lingering on my face. They don't see a future surgeon, that's for damn sure.

Soon, I'm standing across the street from the Goldwen Police Department. The building's clean, square, and bright in the daylight, the respectable heart of a respectable city.

If I didn't care so much, I'd turn back. Facing Faro like this feels wrong. Not because he'll see the bruises—we're both used to those. It's whatever I won't be able to hide in my eyes like he can.

I cross the street, the precinct steps looming closer.

Inside, the air's way too fucking air-conditioned. It's a freezer. Faded posters of missing persons cling to the bulletin board near the door.

A pair of officers give me curious glances, eyes darting to my face, then grimacing like a rat's wandered in off the street.

There's a German Shepherd parked by the door, black fur gleaming under the fluorescents, alert. A K9 officer. His vest reads ALFRED. Big guy. Good boy. I grin as he stares at me, tilting his head.

Hell, I miss Charlie. Cam and Noah took him for a hike this morning, camping somewhere in the mountains for a few days before Noah's big speech coming up.