Page 114 of Finish Line

She shakes her head, sinking to the floor. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” She glances over at where Carter plays.

I settle on the couch next to Shelby. “You look well.”

“Thanks.” She tilts her head. “Now, why are you here, Luke?”

“That’s my fault,” Shelby says.

Taking control of the conversation, Shelby fills Lea in about Roger, not going into detail.

“I’m sorry, Lea. He somehow found you. He sent a photo of you to your parents. On the back was a warning for Luke. If Luke didn’t stay away from me, he would send you back to him in pieces.” Shelby blinks back tears, and I reach for her hand.

“He sounds like a nasty bastard. I’m glad you escaped,” Lea says.

Unable to stand it any longer, I ask, “Why didn’t you come home?”

Carter toddles over and holds up a car for her.

She smiles back down at him, taking the toy before she places it on the carpet and rolls it back over to where she set him up to play.

Carter squeals and takes off after it.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Lea offers. “Carter only drinks water, so I don’t have much, but I can make coffee.”

“Stop stalling,” I say, frustrated.

Shelby squeezes my hand, reminding me to remain calm.

“I’m not stalling,” she says. “Okay, maybe I am. I need a second.”

“I’ll take some water.” Shelby interrupts what I’m about to say, narrowing her eyes at me before tipping her head toward my sister.

I sigh. “Water, please.”

She walks into the small kitchen and releases the tension in her shoulders when she turns her back.

“Bull and I moved a lot when I first left home.” She opens the fridge. “We’d find a place, then something happened, and we’d have to move.”

She hands us our water bottles and sits back on the floor. “We didn’t have jobs with how much we were on the move, so we’d panhandle or pickpocket to make money. Sometimes, Bull broke into a house and sold what he stole. About a year after I left, Bull was caught for breaking and entering and sent to jail. I was sent to juvie.”

“Why didn’t they call Mom and Dad?” I ask, confused.

“I had a good fake ID. I was Lea Trammell, not Lea Mason, and released before my fingerprints said otherwise.” She picks at imaginary lint from the rug.

Luke knits his brows.

“Kids who go into the system are required to be fingerprinted,” I tell him. “Part is a safety precaution if the kid goes missing, and part is for cases like Lea’s.”

She gestures at Lea. “Foster kids and kids placed in the state’s care have a high chance of turning to crime. And young kids don’t carry or have IDs. So, when a kid who is in the system is picked up for a crime, they lie about who they are. Fingerprinting an arrested juvenile may be the only way of identifying them.”

Lea nods. “I was fifteen when released, but my ID said I was eighteen. So, they weren’t required to hold me until a guardian came to pick me up. They opened the doors, and out I walked. I didn’t have a home. I spent a few nights on the street, then found a place where runaway teens went. I changed my name again but kept myself at my true age this time.”

Carter comes back over, this time walking toward me and holding up his car.

“That’s his favorite one.” Lea smiles. “He’s showing it to you.”

I reach out and take the car from him. “Thank you.”

He crawls up my leg and sits on my lap.

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