DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE Forever Golden: Chapter 8
BLUE
Nope, don’t call. The phones are shady and, besides, he’s probably having ‘the talk’ with his father this very moment. The talk I begged him not to have.
So, to keep from dialing, I stare at my sister. She’s channel-surfing while twirling the end of her now jet-black ponytail. I’m guessing the natural blonde we inherited, courtesy of mom, is never good enough. First pink, now this.
The new look she’s sporting is the result of having spent the hours between school ending and me getting home from practice at Jules’s house. That girl loves playing dress-up on us Rileys, but a warning before dying my sister’s hair would’ve been nice.
I can’t help but wonder if Scar knows there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. My world’s revolved around her for so long, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even notice anymore. Even so, I’m good with not getting recognition for doing this one thing right in life.
Loving her.
“What, creep?” Scar shouts with a laugh when she catches me staring.
“Just trying to figure out when you got to be so gorgeous.”
She smiles big with the compliment. “Mmm… in a few days, the answer to that question will be fifteen years ago.”
I nudge her smart ass with my foot, and she flops against the arm of the couch, giggling.
“That’s right! You do have a birthday coming up!”
Her expression goes blank and for half a second she believes I actually forgot. “Ha-ha.”
I leap to her end of the couch and squeeze her as hard as I can, right before covering her entire face with kisses.
“Okay, enough! Get… off me!” she yells, shoving me hard.
It doesn’t work. Having her fight back only fuels the attack.
“I will literally pay you to get off me right now,” she pleads.
“Ten bucks.”
“Five,” she counters.
“Deal.”
I back off and she wipes her face where I kissed her last.
“You’re so annoying.”
“Well, since I’m annoying, guess that means I don’t have to buy you a gift. Cool. See ya!”
She grabs my arm when I try to stand.
“Okay, wait! Let’s not get crazy.” She cozies up to me now, forcing my arm around her shoulder while batting her big, blue eyes. “Now, what’s this you say about gifts?”
“Gift. Singular,” I correct her. “And it has to be something small.”
She’s thoughtful for a moment.
“A new phone case?”
I do a bit of mental math, making sure I’ll have enough left over after groceries.
“Mmm… I think I can swing that.”
“Cool,” she beams. “I’ll take black.”
Of course, you will. Since that’s the hair and accessory color of the month.
“What about a party?” I ask.
Ok, so, the word ‘party’ might be a bit ambitious. This would be more like a gathering of friends who’ve eaten before stopping by and aren’t expecting anything more than a movie and a couple balloons strung to the porch.
Scar shoots me a look. “A party would require me to have friends.”
Her reaction feels like a knife twisting in my gut. Why? Because her pain always feels like my failure.
“You have friends, but if you aren’t particularly interested in inviting them, it can be just the two of us.”
“That’s lame,” she says with a sigh, drawing a laugh out of me.
“Okay… ouch.”
“Don’t be sensitive, you know what I mean. We can hang out anytime,” she clarifies. “What about… maybe inviting the triplets? And Jules, too, of course.”
The suggestion earns her my sternest side-eye, due to the pure lack of subtlety on her part.
“Next time, mention Jules first. At least then it’ll be a little less obvious this is all about the boys,” I tease.
“It’s not like that,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Sure, it isn’t, but I’ll see what I can do. Won’t that make Shane uncomfortable coming around, though?”
It’s no secret he gets a bit edgy when the triplets are in the vicinity. Now, something I said has earned me a look from Scar.
“Ever think that might be why I suggested it?” she answers with a sneaky grin. “Kid’s been weird lately. “
“Weird in what way?”
She shrugs and gives the question some thought. “Mmm… ‘distant’ is the word that comes to mind. I mean, we still talk and hang out, but he’s always kind of distracted. Usually by his phone,” she adds.
I know what this sounds like, but don’t have the heart to say what I’m thinking out loud. The idea of telling my sister she might not be the only one Shane’s interested in is the exact opposite of what I want to say right now. Sure, she definitely has his attention, but some boys can be fickle. They can be so into you, yet so into about ten other girls at the same time.
“Why don’t you just talk to him, Scar? Tell him how he’s made you feel lately and just… see where the conversation goes.”
She gives that look again.
“You want me to have a deep, meaningful conversation with a fifteen-year-old boy? Yeah, that’ll go well.”
The girl probably isn’t wrong.
“Well, maybe Shane’s different. You two have been friends since forever. The worst that can happen is he says nothing’s wrong, and that this is all in your head, then you guys go on like normal, right?”
Her shoulders lift beneath the faded black tee she wears.
“Maybe, but still invite the boys. It’s worth getting Shane worked up,” she concludes.
Of course, that gets the poor guy worked up. Possibly because you eye-bang all three of them every time they step into the room. But what do I know?
I keep the thought to myself, but a laugh slips out.
She pauses to check her phone, and this seems like as good a time as any to spring the news on her about Christmas. You know, while she’s in a relatively good mood.
“Since you like hanging out with the triplets so much, what do you think about taking a mini vacay with them? It’d be for about a week over Christmas break.”
To my surprise, her head doesn’t explode the second those words leave my mouth.
“That’s super random, but sounds cool! Where are we going?”
No complaints about having to leave Shane? Things must really be strained between them.
“Well, from what I’m told, their grandfather has a ton of property down in Louisiana. Some town called Dupont Bayou.”
“Never heard of it, but sure! I’m down.”
I’m beyond shocked that just went so well. All without me telling her about the five cousins who sound like at least as much trouble as the triplets.
“Now, since you got all up in my business a little bit ago, it’s my turn,” she says, turning to face me while we sit. “You never answered my question earlier.”
Pretending not to have a clue what she means, I glance toward the TV just as the news is starting.
“Seriously?”
That word oozes frustration, but I have no intention on sharing the truth behind Pandora’s post with her.
“Whose truck was that you were in? Did it… have anything to do with Mom?”
Shit.
I didn’t even consider she’d think that. Her eyes are watering now, and while I was fully prepared to not answer any of her questions, hearing the sudden spike of emotion in her voice has me rethinking my stance.
“It wasn’t about Mom. It was just… it was something you don’t need to worry about.”
Yes, that sounds dismissive as hell, but the alternative is to scare the shit out of my sister, which I won’t do.
“What about your hand?” she asks next. “Why’s it all bandaged up? You get into a fight or something?”
“Nope,” is all I say this time.
“Ok, fine,” she huffs. “You don’t want to talk about the truck, you don’t want to talk about your hand, then at least explain how and why we suddenly have an alarm on the house. It wasn’t there yesterday.”
Why can’t she just be overly preoccupied by her social life and obsessed with her phone like most teens? She has so, so many questions.
I’m at a loss for how to explain the alarm, but I sure as hell feel safer having it. Coming home tonight to see that West had followed through with getting it installed was the first sigh of relief I’ve exhaled all day. Granted, I don’t have the access code yet, and I have no clue how to operate the thing, but once I do, I’ll rest easier.
Scar’s staring hardcore right now, but I’m choosing to bypass this string of questions in favor of facing the TV again.
“Fine,” she huffs. “Maybe if I turn this off, you’ll focus and tell me what’s happening.”
She reaches for the remote with a frustrated sigh, but the familiar face at the center of the screen has my hand flying to hers—a tall, dark-skinned man with more gray in his beard than the last time we were face-to-face, but that’s definitely him.
“Hang on a sec.”
“You’re stalling and—”
“Shh! Please, I need to hear this,” I say, cutting her off.
When I snatch the remote and turn up the volume, she growls to herself. Or, hell, maybe she’s growling at me.
“Isn’t that Mike’s old partner, Louis?”
“Yes, now be quiet,” I say in a rush.
Scar’s not happy about being shushed, but she’s not talking anymore, and that’s the important part.
“Now, Detective Roby, it’s our understanding that you’re the first, and possibly the only member of the department to propose that the disappearances of these missing southside girls might be related. Is that correct?” The reporter’s question prompts Detective Roby to nod.
“I am the one who initiated the new task force,” he explains, “but there’s been tremendous effort from a handful of my peers, who are both vigilant and exceptional in their given fields.”
“I understand this, Detective Roby, but is it true that you received a lot of pushback? Our sources tell us that many who do oppose the formation of the new task force base their opinion on the fact that there simply isn’t enough evidence to support there being a connection. What’s your response to anyone who shares this view?”
I’m fixated on Detective Roby as he thinks before responding to the reporter’s question. Seeing him transports me back in time. Back to when he and Mike were partners and the Robys were like family to us. But then Mike’s occasional drinking turned into full-blown dependency, which led to him being let go from the force. Once that happened, Louis, his wife, and their daughter, Dez, sort of forgot we existed. Now, from the looks of it, a promotion has pulled Louis from behind the wheel of a patrol car and placed him behind a desk.
My memory of him is somewhat hazy now, but I remember him being one of the good guys. Even Ricky can attest to that, seeing as how he’s only received lectures from Roby on several occasions when he should’ve been in handcuffs. Louis was even instrumental in getting Hunter a slightly lighter sentence than he deserved.
Detective Roby meets the reporter’s gaze again, and the room is completely quiet as Scar and I listen.
“Well, my response to anyone who believes we’re making a mountain out of a molehill would be to challenge them to pretend—just for one second—that it’s their daughter, or their granddaughter, or their niece out there, gone without a trace. Then, I’d want them to honestly ask themselves… do they still feel this task force is unnecessary?”
The reporter’s brow rises, and she faces the camera again. “Very well-said, Detective. We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us.”
Detective Roby nods and when his gaze locks with the camera, I feel like he’s looking directly at me.
Like, maybe my seeing this tonight is fate.
Like, maybe he is someone we can trust, someone who can help us.