Page 71 of Risking it All

“Both, Echo. Fucking both.”

“I don’t believe you.”

They began a stare-off that felt like they were shouting at each other in their minds.

Somehow, this conversation had spiraled out of a confrontation between me and Dad and into a full-on fight between Dad and Mom. Part of me wanted to retreat, part of me wished I had never said a thing, but then another part of me wanted to end this. If Dad wanted to be angry, then let him, and let’s burn this entire house to the ground all at once instead of allowing incendiary grenades to cause small fires that would continuously burn. “The whole point of telling you any of this, besides confirming that I knew you’d react badly, was because this guy and I—we did something we shouldn’t have done. And I want to be honest about it. I want to be honest about him. He deserves that. Seth deserves that.”

Both of them whipped their heads in my direction, and now even Mom had a scowl. “What does any of this have to do with Seth?”

“The guy I’m seeing came by one night after everyone went to bed to make sure I was okay because we went to visit the place where I had been carjacked and I had this massive panic attack and he was worried about me and I invited him in to watch a movie with me,” and we made out but they didn’t need to know that, “and we fell asleep and then Seth found us and now Seth’s mad at me because I snuck a boy in without your permission and Seth may also be mad because the guy I’m dating lives in a bad neighborhood so people believe he’s associated with this gang, but he’s not associated with the gang, but the gang does try to recruit him but he doesn’t want to be recruited, so he wants to move, but he can’t move because he doesn’t have any money, but the point is, he’s not part of a gang.”

Mom blinked three times, Dad’s entire body went as rigid as a statue, and I swear time stopped and sound no longer existed. Silence. Dead silence.

Because my resolve was fading fast, I put the now wrinkled and strangled sketch pad on the table. In my rising dread and horror of what I was about to say, I may or may not have actually slammed it on the table, causing both of my parents to jerk. Sweat formed in my every crevice, hives the size of softballs formed on my arms, and I became cotton-mouthed. Knowing if I didn’t act fast, I’d never accomplish my task, I spit out the words, “He had a tattoo. I need you to draw it for me. I don’t know how. I wish you could see it and draw it, but you can’t see it, but I see it, and I need you to draw it for me, okay?”

“Hebeing your boyfriend?” Mom asked slowly.

I swiftly shook my head as the room spun. “No. February. He had a tattoo. You need to draw it. I think I’m going to throw up now.” I scurried for the trashcan and vomited.

Chapter thirty-three

Relic

Without electricity, our apartment was as dark as a tomb. The only windows in our unit belonged to the living room, and even those let in little to no natural light. Taking advantage of the long summer days and my truce with Marsh, I brought Camila over to Marsh’s house after work so she could play in their yard.

Back when we were kids, Marsh’s mom had bought one of those metal, prefabricated swing sets. We used to play on that thing for hours. Of course, only the rusted frame remained now, but Marsh and I used chains and a wooden board to make a swing for Camila. By the grace of whatever god reigned above, the old metal slide was still intact. To keep Camila from getting third degree burns, we made the chute into a waterslide, running a hose to the top of it and placing a plastic kiddie pool at the bottom to catch her.

Marsh and I sat in camp chairs as we watched her laugh and squeal as she went up and down the slide.

“Did you give Macie the yearbook?” Marsh asked.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

And nothing. “It’ll take her awhile to open it. This shit she’s gone through is hard.” I considered telling him about the tattoo, but then he’d ask for specifics, and I had nothing to give. I had faith, though, that Macie would work through this and give me those specifics soon. She was strong and courageous, and I had no doubt she’d tunnel through that wall in her mind.

“Someone finds out I’m helping you, it’s the equivalent of writing my own death note.”

“We’ll be long gone before that happens,” I promised. “We’re going to leave all this shit behind.”

The electronic music of an ice cream truck sounded, and Camila froze as this pure look of hope overtook her expression. “Can I have ice cream?”

Marked up ice cream I could buy at the store cheaper? “No.”

Marsh stood. “I’ll buy you ice cream.”

Camila cheered and my head dropped. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t, but I like buying people’s friendship.” Marsh sent me a sly grin, and I shook my head at him. I stood, Camila raced over to Marsh, took his hand, and dragged him to the front yard, paranoid that, if they didn’t move fast enough, the truck would pass her by.

Nearing the truck, Marsh swung Camila up on his hip, not caring how her swimsuit soaked his shirt. The two of them shared a very intense debate regarding the best treat. I hung back and let them have their moment. Marsh loved Camila as much as I did. He had helped me raise her from the moment Dad brought her home from the hospital. He had changed her diapers, fed her, burped her, and had been vomited on by her more than once.

Marsh was my family, my brother, a second father to Camila, and I had to do everything in my power to get all of us out of the city alive.

“What’s going on?” Dad called out from a rolled down window as he pulled into Marsh’s driveway.

My mind stuttered because my father was behind the wheel of a car. A nice car at that. A Mercedes—newer model—and not even one scratch existed on the black paint. “Does Eric know you’ve expanded his business model into jacking cars? He may not be thrilled about that.”

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