Page 95 of Every Hidden Truth

“My son. My strong boy.” He pecked my head, and I melted into a blubbering mess. He cupped my face, his thick thumbs wiping at my tears. “You just keep your chin up, and you tell them everything that happened.”

I nodded as his support bolstered my pathetic courage. “I will.”

“I mean it.” His sudden severity jarred me from my misery, and I swallowed my next bout of weeping. “You tell them everything, every detail, because we’re going after that boy, and I’m not stopping until we get that son of a bitch.”

My dad wasn’t one to curse, but his intensity comforted me. “Okay.”

“You know I love you, right?”

Sniffling, I almost missed the vulnerable question. I tightened my arms around his waist as I nodded. “Of course I do, Dad. I love you too.”

Dad accompanied me to the principal’s office, and a detective joined us soon after.

Detective Arthur Rogers asked if he could record our conversation. I agreed, hoping it meant I only had to repeat this story once. I grasped Dad’s hand and told the cop everything.

Rehashing every detail, I explained what happened the night in October when Boyt had cornered me in the bathroom while he was high. I told him about Boyt jumping me backstage and forcing me to my knees.

As I handed over my phone, I shared my suspicion about Unknown and the text messages sent to me over the past fewweeks. With a perfunctory apology, he confiscated my phone, slipping it into an evidence bag.

Per Dad’s request, I spared no detail, including Boyt’s subtle threat to Ben and the fight in the gym corridor in December. Hopefully, I wasn’t incriminating my boyfriend, but Detective Rogers never gave anything away. He listened, straight-faced, asking for clarification every once in a while.

By the time I finished, it was like a plug had been pulled inside me, and everything that made me Silas had slowly spiraled down into the gutter. The numbness was a welcome relief, and I dried my tears and straightened my shoulders, wrapping the unfeeling blanket around myself like a shroud.

The detective asked more questions and gave instructions I tried to remember but immediately forgot. After half a lifetime, we were told we could go.

Prepared to take me home, Dad blustered when I refused. I couldn’t go back there, not right now. The picture had been taken there. Returning to the scene of the crime was unthinkable.

He fought me but eventually surrendered, allowing me to climb into the back of Aunt June’s SUV. We left Mabel in the school parking lot as Uncle Henry drove Ben’s car, my dad following behind in his own vehicle.

Ben and I shared the backseat, sitting on opposite sides of the car. Halfway to his house, Ben’s hand crept across the seats separating us. When he couldn’t reach any farther without scooting closer, his hand stopped and waited.

I stared down at it, fighting with myself. But eventually, I swallowed the anger and bitterness and laid my hand over his. He flipped his hand over and twined our fingers tightly, releasing a heavy sigh of relief.

Our hands lay linked in the middle of the backseat, the only parts of our bodies to touch. Mere inches separated us, but wemight as well have been miles apart. A tentative truce connected us, but it was fragile at best.

As I stared out the window, watching the trees and snow banks blur together, I gripped Ben’s hand tighter, terrified of what would happen when I had to let go.

27

Drowning Man

When we arrived atBen’s house, Dad and Uncle Henry busied themselves with phone calls to lawyers. I didn’t want to hear another word about the whole situation, so I wordlessly took Ben’s hand and dragged him down the stairs to his bedroom.

At the base of the stairs, I dropped Ben’s hand and took refuge in his room. I heaved a mental sigh of relief at the lack of windows—no windows was now an essential necessity for every bedroom.

Wordlessly, I unbuckled my jeans and dropped them to the floor. After kicking them off my socked feet, I crawled into Ben’s bed. I snuggled under the Irish Spring-scented blankets, burying myself beneath the thick material, and hid there. Part of me wanted Ben to join me in my makeshift blanket fort, but a piece of me secretly wished he would leave me alone.

He seemed just as unsure, and after I lay alone for several long minutes, the blankets shifted as the mattress depressed behind me.

“Do you—um, I mean—is it okay…” He stumbled over his words, his tone filled with heart-crushing insecurity. “Do you mind if I join you?”

I shook my head as I burrowed ever deeper into his chlorine-scented sheets. His warmth quickly permeated the space behind me as he lay down at my back. He left enough space between us to ensure we didn’t actually touch. Impossibly, the lack of contact stung.

I didn’t want him, yet I was bereft without him. I was a contradictory mess.

At long last, he scooted closer, still not touching but closing the distance somewhat. His breath tickled the back of my neck as the mattress absorbed his body heat and used it to thaw my frozen limbs.

After another immeasurable amount of time, his fingers tentatively traced my spine. It was a hesitant touch, timid and unsure. When I didn’t rebuff his advances, he scooched closer and cautiously, carefully slipped an arm around my waist. Spooning me, he released a long, relieved breath.

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