Chapter 24: Not for You

I didn't sleep on Sunday night.

I lay beside Lorcan on my own bed, careful of my chest, and looked at the ceiling.

On one side of the scale was the picture I had wanted for three weeks.

Dillon in a gray room, writing his name under a lie he thought was his own, while I watched.

On the other side was Bree, in a navy suit, walking out of the detective's office with her hands clean.

"I can't have both," I said into the dark.

"No," Lorcan said.

"If I give them the binder and the phone, he doesn't go down alone. It shows she wrote it. His plea gets smaller."

"Yes."

"I wanted him to go down alone."

"I know you did."

"I still do." I turned my head. "Is that terrible?"

"It's honest."

"Tell me what you'd do."

"It's your call," he said. "I'll drive you either way."

At eight forty-five on Monday morning, Lorcan parked in front of the police station and walked me to the glass doors with Biscuit on his leash.

Dillon was already in the lobby.

He stood by the bench with his mother and a duffel bag, looking at the floor.

A quarter of an hour later the door opened and Bree came in.

She wore a navy suit and flat shoes, and she carried a coffee in each hand.

She stopped when she saw me.

For the length of one breath her face did nothing at all.

Then it lit.

"Vic," she said. "You came. Oh, I'm so glad. I brought Dillon a latte."

She held it out to him.

He didn't take it.

"I'd like you to know I think this is brave," she said, to me and to the room. "Whatever he did, he's willing to face it. I'll be right beside him."

Three officers at the front desk had looked up.

A woman with a toddler on her hip watched from the plastic chairs.

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