Page 70 of The Best of Us

“Now that I’ve told you my side of the story,” I bit out, the pain of remembering I could’ve lost him sinking deep into my bones all over again, “I’d say it’s your turn to tell me yours.”

Chapter20

Constantine

“Lennon and Jamie’slast name, what is it?” I asked when he’d kept quiet, slowly eroding what was left of my patience.You almost died. I almost lost you.Those words kept spiraling in my head, and I’d snap if I didn’t hit stop on my thoughts and right damn quick.

He rested his palms on the counter and released a deep breath. A lock of his dark hair fell across his face, and he didn’t bother to brush it away.

You need a haircut.I shook my head at that thought, and while waiting for him to breach the quiet and answer me, I took out my phone. I needed to relay everything he said to Izzy in case it helped with her research into Jamie’s crew.

“Kelly. That’s their last name.”

My brows shot up, not because he’d finally been honest, but at the familiarity of that name.“Any relation to Dylan Kelly?”

He finally made eye contact, and he nodded. “That’s Lennon’s uncle on her mother’s side. He’s who she’s been living with in New York.” He added, probably assuming I’d ask, “They kept their mom’s last name.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.“And where does Jamie live?”

“He’s been staying with Dylan, too.”

“Any idea why they went to a hotel instead of back home after the rave?”

“I talked to Lennon on the phone an hour ago. She told me Jamie and Daniel felt it’d be best to lie low after what went down. Jamie asked Dylan to get them a suite at a hotel.”

“Dylan with them, too?” I texted my sister, then looked up at him, checking his eyes for a lie.

“No, and I’m telling you the truth,” he defended, correctly reading me.

“Fine.” I swallowed. “Keep talking. Start from the beginning. Where’d you meet Lennon in the first place?” I asked while reading Izzy’s response to the messages I’d sent.

Izzy: The plot thickens.

Me: Tell me about it.

Izzy: Not sure if this family connection to Dylan is a good or bad thing yet. (I need to dig some more.)

“I met Lennon online before we moved here,” Colin relented, pulling my focus back to him.

“Online?” I wasn’t following. “You’re a kid. What are you doing meeting girls online?”

“Nota kid. And everyone meets online these days, not just old farts like you.”

He could’ve used worse words, so I let his insult slide. “Which app? How?”

“Why?”

“So I know which company to take over and shut down.” Not a bluff. “I’d like to know what app facilitated bringing my son into a life of crime.”

I could always invade his privacy and check for the app since I’d cloned his phone, but I was trying to behave. And, oh, he had no idea how much I was trying.

“Say that again,” he said after a quiet moment, his words snatching my attention to the fact that he was staring at me, mouth agape.

I replayed what on earth I’d said that merited repeating. It slammed into me later than it should have. “My son.” I probably breathed those two words into existence, doubtful any sound came with them.

I turned away from him, needing a few seconds to catch my breath and cope. I couldn’t let him see any signs of weakness from me. Not when the repercussions were so severe.

“Lennon and I have been dating for eight months. Our anniversary was the other day.” Nice deflection on the app. “We met because . . .”

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