Page 105 of Stolen Dreams

The officer stationed at the bowling alley hasn’t left her post. Several times, I’ve heard the crackle of her radio but couldn’t make out what was said. Her expression, however, has me on edge.

People come and go from the bowling alley with smiles on their faces. I hate how completely oblivious or indifferent they are to the horror existing in town. It only adds to my frustration, my anger, my hurt.

Mom offered to come keep me company. I declined. Dad said he’d speak with the Seven and help in whatever way possible. That eased some of my nausea.

The higher the crescent moon rises in the sky, the longer I sit on this bench and wait for an update, the more my insides grow hollow.

Deep in my soul, I am convinced Tucker’s disappearance isn’t my fault. I mentally repeat as much a dozen times a minute. But my heart isn’t fully on board. Guilt continues to gnaw at the beating organ. And that remorse has my mind in a perpetual Ping-Pong match of culpable and innocent.

I’m tired of sitting on this damn bench. I need to leave. To scour the town for Tucker. To dosomething.

What I need is a car. And someone to spill my frustrations to.

Unlocking my phone, I scroll through my contacts and tapcallon the one person who’d run through fire to rescue me. The call connects after the second ring.

“Saw the AMBER alert a little bit ago. What’s going on?” I’ve never heard Clarissa so serious or distressed. “Talk to me.” I love how she skips the pleasantries. How she gets right to the point.

The backs of my eyes sting as I open my mouth to tell her everything. But the words catch in my throat.

“Kaya?” My name comes out edgy yet affectionate.

An ounce of concern is all it takes for me to fall apart. The sting behind my eyes strengthens a beat before the first tear spills down my cheek. I cover my mouth with a hand as a whimper slips between my lips. “Will you come sit with me?” I ask, voice borderline unintelligible.

“On my way.” Muffled sounds echo through the phone line. “Are you home?”

I swipe my cheek. “No, the bowling alley.”

The line goes quiet a moment.

Please don’t ask. Not now.

“Have you eaten?”

My stomach grumbles in response, but the last thing I want is food. “No. Maybe later.”

“You sure?”

I sniffle. “Yes.”

“Kay. Be there in ten.”

“Thanks, Rissa.”

Clarissa obviously defies all traffic laws because she pulls into the parking lot seven minutes later. As she rushes across the lot, warmth expands in the center of my chest. Worry mars her expression, but she also looks ready to take down anyone in her path.

“I’m here.” Her purse falls to the ground in front of the bench as she sits and wraps me in the fiercest hug. “I’ve got you.”

I ignore the world around us and fall into her. Go boneless and let her hold me steady. Cry until my eyes puff up and my throat turns hoarse. Tremble in her arms until her warmth seeps into my bones and stamps out some of the cold.

Over and over, she rubs between my shoulder blades. Strokes the length of my hair and tucks the occasional wayward strand behind my ear. Hugs me harder to her chest and gently rocks us. She doesn’t push me to talk. Once this emotional release ends, she knows I’ll spill everything. Well, as much as I’m willing to share on a public bench.

When it feels as though I can’t cry another tear, I ease out of her hold. She reaches for her purse, fishes out a travel pack of tissues and hands me one.

“Thanks.” I sniffle and blot around my eyes.

She plucks a few more tissues from the pack and sets them on my lap. “Always.” And I know she means more than always having tissues. The single word means she will always be there for me, no matter the hour or day or circumstances.

So I dive in headfirst and tell her everything. I start at the beginning and don’t leave a single detail out. Some of it, she already knows, but it bears repeating.

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