Page 50 of The Fight

Opening it, I reach down and lace my fingers through his. “We’re okay, okay?”

“We’re okay,” he mimics.

Stepping outside, I’m blinded by the spotlights of the cop cars staggered in front of the shed. I raise my free arm to shield my eyes, but Shay does nothing. He just stands beside me, holding my hand.

“Let us see your hands!” they scream through the speakers of their cars as they screech to a halt.

Like I’m told, I drop Shay’s hand and raise mine. “He’s inside! He took me!” I yell out, but it isn’t loud enough to be heard over the chatter on their radios.

Within seconds of raising my hands, they rush us. One officer wraps me in a blanket and ushers me to the side while two others go to Shay. He isn’t even putting up a fight, but they slam him to the ground and jerk his arms behind his back.

“He saved me! He wasn’t the one who took me!” I scream, trying to break away from the cop at my side, but it’s pointless.

He pulls me forward as my eyes stay locked on Shay. When we make it to the front of one of the cars, Henry and my mom sprint up. Immediately, my mom’s hands are on me, running over my face and along my arms.

“Oh my God. You’re okay. You’re okay!” she cries, but I can’t seem to care.

I glance at Henry, then follow his eyes as they travel to the scene behind me—to Shay.

“Henry, please!” I beg, but he’s already moving before the last word leaves my lips.

He jogs up to where they’re getting Shay on his feet. Just like my mom, Henry’s face contorts into sadness as he looks down at his son.

“Shay, you speak to no one, you hear me? Don’t say a word. I am going to fix this. I promise I am going to fix this,” he blurts out as the cops begin to walk Shay to one of the waiting cars.

Even though I still feel I don’t know Henry all that well, something in his voice makes me believe him. Maybe it’s the look on his face, or maybe it was the desperation in my plea, but whatever it was, I know hewillfix this. He has to.

When the cop beside me finally walks away, I throw the blanket from my shoulders and run to where they’re loading Shay into the car. Consequences or charges be damned, I can’t let him leave me—not like this.

Shoving through the shoulders of the cops, I lean down and press my lips to his hard. I grab his face in my hands and squeeze it, hoping that by some stroke of fate, if I hold him tight enough, he won’t go. But I know that’s not the case.

He kisses me back, pulling against the handcuffs behind him to try and touch me, but it’s pointless. We’re so close but still separated.

“I—” I start, biting out words around his mouth, but he beats me to the punch.

“I love you, Blair. I fucking love you.”

I nod and shudder with a new wave of tears taking over my body. “I love you too.”

I’m yanked back, and the door is promptly closed. Just like that, Shay is gone, but this time, I have no idea when I’ll see him again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SHAY

The cold air hits me the second I step off the concrete steps of the holding area. I’ve barely been able to sleep the last few days, my mind replaying everything that happened. Blair, the fight, Blake, the blood. I didn’t think I’d be leaving here this soon, but somehow, I am.

The heavy door behind me clanks shut as I walk out slowly. A part of me doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to face the world outside. Not yet, anyway. But the other part of me pushes forward—the part that was so focused on getting Blair back and safe.

Reaching the front desk of the jail, the officer behind the counter looks up at me. It’s like he isn’t even surprised to see me standing there. He slides a small envelope toward me, and I know it’s my belongings. What little I had on me when they brought me in.

“Your stuff. Everything checks out,” he states flatly.

I take it and weigh it in my hands. Keys, wallet, and that’s it. I tuck it in my back pocket, then press forward.

The door buzzes loudly, and the heavy metal barrier slides open. I step forward, glancing back briefly as the door clatters shut behind me. My heart is racing, and my thoughts are all overthe place, but one thing is crystal clear. I’m walking out of here because of my dad. He kept his promise.

The legal talk started almost immediately after I got here. When I was brought in, they hit me with murder charges. I’d done it in the heat of the moment, though. A split-second decision fueled by an anger I couldn’t control, but the law rarely cares about that. My dad, though, pulled the strings, talked to the right people, and painted the picture exactly as it played out—he made them listen, regardless of how brutally I had beaten Blake.

---