Page 48 of Fall onto me

“Listen,” I whisper, “tell them what they want to know, whatever it is, and get the fuck out of here. Cut your losses here and start over somewhere new.”

“They’ll find me.” Tears stream down his face. An ache of guilt simmers inside me, working its way deep into my bones and further blackening my soul.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again before placing my hand on his chest.

Santiago lets out a stretch of sobs, a broken man finally snapping. “I’m a dead man either way,” he tells himself. “A dead man walking.”

I lean my forehead against the metal bedrail. “What do they want from us?”

The man stays silent as the cops swarm into the cell, and they pin me to the ground. Both of us, with our cheeks pinned onto the cold concrete floor. With a broken spirit, he whispers, “Everything.”

14

SKYLER POV

Idon’t want to gather around a table without him.

The thought of cooking all day, when I can barely eat, sounds miserable. But just like life, there are some things you have to push through for.

Today, my reason is Sophie.

I want her to have a good day, and after we eat, I’m going to take her to Mrs. Rita’s so I can go and see Foster. Visitation ends at six today, and if I pull out the turkey now, at noon, then I’ll have plenty of time to go to the jail.

I pull open the oven door, allowing a plume of black smoke to seep out and smother everything in a thick fog of black. Sophie giggles behind me, and it’s contagious. I carefully pull out the scorched turkey with a set of potholders and flop it into the sink.

I shut the oven off and slam the door before turning around to find her. “Go open the back door.” I laugh, batting the air in front of me with my hands.

Once the humor wears off, I throw my head back. I’m screwing this up so bad. “I’m sorry, Soph.” I tap the charred bird with a spatula.

“It’s okay. I hate turkey,” she admits.

This brightens my mood. “Really?”

“I know Foster’s in jail,” she says quietly in between a bite of an apple she grabbed from the fruit bowl.

“Why do you say that?”

She pulls the milkshake toward her, hesitating with a long sip of it. “I hear you crying from his room.” She frowns. “I heard you and Micah.”

Me and Barnes thought we were being clever talking on the balcony last night. I didn’t think she was up. “We were kidding,” I lie.

That conversation with him was so hard; he warned me that Foster was trying to close himself behind those bars and never come out. ‘He won’t fight it,’ he had said. That nearly broke me in two, but me and Barnes both agreed that we can’t allow this, and while Foster doesn’t want me to visit him, I can’t not.

She frowns up at me. “I’ll tell Grandma if you don’t take me to see him.” Right then, I see little Soph acting much older than she is.

“Sophie!” I lightly scold. “We don’t blackmail each other.”

“I know.” Tears well in her eyes, knocking her back down to being a kid again. “But I want to see him. He’s all alone on Thanksgiving.”

I twirl a fry in ketchup, not liking what she’s wanting to do. “You can’t. No kids allowed.”

She places her palms flat on the table. “We don’t lie to each other,” she tells me, with all of the confidence a nine-year-old can carry. “I Googled it; we can go. On holidays, visitation lasts until six.”

“That’s why you wanted Jack’s.”

Feeling triumphant, she grabs her milkshake and leans back in the chair. She looks too much like her brother right now, bypassing authority and reason. “Yup.”

“And you know your brother will kill me if I take you?”

---