Page 82 of The Way Back Home

“Three guesses and the first two don’t count,” he mutters, shaking his head, but it looks like even that hurts. “I stayed with my aunt for all of a day, and then my dad came to collect me.”

“Why? I thought he told you not to come back.”

“He needed someone to sell his drugs for him.” Josiah swallows, his gaze cast down at our feet. I clasp my hand over my mouth and glance at August. “The bastard’s too fucking lazy to do it himself.”

“I’m so sorry.” Before I’m even finished saying the words a police cruiser pulls into the drive, and I see red. “Go on inside, Josiah.”

“Olivia,” August warns. Josiah glances between us and steps inside, no doubt being accosted by an overly excited Bettina while August stares down at me with a knowing expression.

“What?” I demand, folding my arms across my chest.

“You can’t beat up the sheriff. You know that, right?”

“She should never have taken him away from us.”

“I agree, but she had to. You know Josiah’s daddy would have just shown up here if she hadn’t.”

“Yeah, but we would have been here to protect him,” I hiss, and then frown with the worried look he gives me. I know it’s not fair of me to take my anger out on him. No. The person I should be angry at pulls to a stop in front of the house and opens her car door.

I glare at her through the windshield.

“Is he here?”

“No,” I snap, racing down the stairs before August can stop me. “You do not get to set foot in this house, and you are not coming anywhere near that boy. This is all your fault. You said you would keep him safe. He’s lucky to be alive right now.”

“Miss Anders, calm—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. That boy showed up on this doorstep at three a.m. with a beat up face and broken bones. He walked three miles to our door, because he knew you wouldn’t protect him, and we would.”

“I know, I shouldn’t have taken him, but it’s the law. He’s still a minor, and if my brother wants him back, there’s nothing either one of us can do about it unless it’s court mandated.”

“Your brother should be locked up. If you were doing your job properly, he would be, and that boy wouldn’t be sitting on our couch with a fractured arm, broken ribs, and a bruised eye socket.”

All the fight seems to go out of her body. She looks to August, and then back at me. “Is he okay?”

“Physically, he’ll heal, but you can’t even begin to imagine what this has done to him mentally.”

She swallows hard. “I know you won’t let me in to see him.”

“You’re damn right I won’t,” I snap.

She lets out a loud exhalation. “Just tell him I’m here if he needs me.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” I stare her down. It’s the first time I’ve seen any remorse in her eyes, and for a brief moment, I feel a pang of regret. Then I remember her nephew’s face as he collapsed into me last night and the blood that soiled my clothing, a stain I couldn’t remove no matter how hard I tried to scrub it out, and any shred of pity that I had for this woman vanishes.

She climbs into the cruiser and starts the engine, then backs down the drive and turns onto the main road. I let out a ragged breath. My hands shake, and my heart hammers out an uneven staccato rhythm. I glance at August, who’s watching me with an awed expression. Awe and something else I can’t put my finger on. Respect, maybe?

“You done good, princess,” he murmurs, and slides his hand into my hair. It’s the first time he’s touched me since Josiah was taken away. My heart kicks into overdrive. He moves a fraction of an inch closer, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but his lips find my forehead and my stomach sinks as he presses a chaste kiss to my hair. “You done good.”

All the air leaves me in a rush as I melt into his touch, the adrenaline of facing off with the sheriff burnt away by my longing and need for this man. A man I clearly can’t have because I’m here, waving a damn white flag in front of his face, holding my heart out with desperate hope, begging him to take it from me, but he doesn’t. His refusal to acknowledge me—acknowledge us—cuts so deep that there isn’t a doctor in the world clever enough to suture me back together.

He walks away, and I deflate and wrap my arms around myself as the heat wave finally breaks and the first drops of rain spatter against the front porch. The heat wave is over, but the flames scorched everything in their path, and the devastation will smother us in smoke and ash.

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