I look at Jeremy one last time.
He is bloody. Bent. Still breathing.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
But his smile is gone now, and fear has finally found somewhere to sit on his face.
Good.
I get into the back of the cruiser.
The door shuts.
Metal and glass between me and the world.
I hate the smallness of it immediately.
Twila stands outside talking to Oaks and Wildcat. Jeremy is helped up by someone from the building, playing wounded citizen now. The county cameras stare down from the beige wall, and I know exactly what they caught.
Derby, patched King, beating concerned father Jeremy Vale outside family services.
Hell of a story.
Jeremy will love telling it.
My knuckles throb.
Blood dries between my fingers.
I flex them once, slow.
Still not enough.
My phone is in my pocket, buzzing against my thigh. Probably Legend. Probably Whiskey. Maybe Amelia when she hears.
I close my eyes.
The image that comes ain’t Jeremy’s bloody mouth.
It’s Amelia in my kitchen saying,If you go to jail, he wins.
Then August asking if I fake like him too.
No, kid. That part ain’t fake.
Twila gets behind the wheel. Her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“You happy now?” she asks.
I look out the window at Jeremy Vale wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
“No.”
The cruiser pulls away from the curb.
My hands are cuffed behind me.