Page 56 of Only If You're Lucky
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say at last, my nose nudged into her curls. Part of me means it, I really do, the idea of Lucy needing me enough to put herself out there like this sending a surge of something warm through my chest—but the other part of me can’t deny what I saw through that window.
I think about these last seven months, the way Lucy has slowly singled Levi out in almost every interaction. From the moment his eyes landed on her at Penny Lanes—the moment I heard her throaty whisper as she leaned into him on the floor, asked him that question that’s been ringing through my mind ever since—I had been afraid of this. Afraid of Levi swooping in and claiming another thing that was meant to be mine.
Afraid of Lucy leaving me like Eliza did for a boy who doesn’t deserve her.
I open my eyes, detach myself from Lucy’s grip, and notice that Levi is still standing there, observing us curiously from the porch. He seems to be turning something over in his mind, dissecting it slowly, and I watch as he runs his hand along his jaw, wipes what’s left of Lucy from his lips, before he turns around and disappears into the house, closing the door behind him.
CHAPTER 43
AFTER
We’ve been outside for over an hour, waiting patiently as the police make their way through the house. We’re sitting in the backyard with our legs pretzeled on the ground when Detective Frank finally emerges, a swarm of officers behind him carrying plastic bags of evidence to their cars.
“You’re free to go in,” he says at last, stopping a few feet in front of us. Sloane holds her hand above her eyes, shielding the sun as she stares in his direction, while Nicole keeps playing with a pile of gravel in her palm. The pads of her fingers are chalky as she tosses the little white rocks back onto the driveway, one by one, like skipping stones at the beach.
“What is that?” he asks suddenly, something in the distance catching his attention. I watch as his eyes dart away from us and around the yard, his nose upturned.
“The boys,” I say, already knowing what he’s referring to. “They keep meat in the shed.”
“Meat?”
“They’re making jerky.”
Sloane and I watch as he walks closer, a single stubby finger pushing the door open with a creak. I can feel his grimace from here as that familiar smack of metallic hits our nostrils; watch as he takes in the long, lean strips of deer, rust-red and limp, drying from rows of metal racks. Tufts of pelt heaped in the corners and bloated flies buzzing around the room.
“Is that safe?” he asks. “For… consumption?”
I shrug, twisting back around.
“I don’t know,” I say. “They seem to know what they’re doing.”
Detective Frank looks back at me, at Sloane, then finally at Nicole, still busying herself with those rocks.
“You know, this whole situation seems like it has the potential to get awfully… volatile,” he says at last. “Trouble waiting to happen.”
“And whatsituationis that?” Sloane asks.
“Your living situation. Four girls living here right next to all those boys living just over there. They’re your landlords?” We nod. “And how’s that work, exactly?”
“They own the house, we pay them to live here,” I say. “Pretty straightforward.”
“You signed a lease?”
We’re quiet, knowing the boys are probably breaking some kind of city rule by letting us live here. I doubt they have a rental license; we never signed anything or scanned our IDs. Like Lucy had told me that night on the roof, the house probably isn’t even up to code, structurally sound, safe for daily living. We just hand over an envelope of cash every month, under the table, and they fix the things that need to be fixed when they feel like it.
“There’s a power imbalance here that I don’t like,” he says when we don’t respond. “It’s probably a good thing you’re moving soon.”
“Did you find anything?” I ask, jerking my head toward the house, an attempt at changing the subject. They found her phone, I’m sure, among other things.
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
I watch as Detective Frank pokes his head into the shed again before closing the door and walking back toward us.
“We’re worried about her,” Sloane says. “We really think she got spooked and ran.”
“And why would she do that?” he asks. “Why would she run if she has nothing to hide?”
“Because that’s what Lucy does,” I interject, folding my arms. “She ran away from home after high school. It doesn’t mean she did anything wrong.”
