Page 148 of A Little Broken

I catch her fiddling with her gold ring and reach for her hands, pulling us to a stop on the sidewalk. Is she nervous? Shaken, maybe? I guess I don’t blame her. Sometimes I forget that being invited to a police station for questioning isn’t a common activity for most people.

Bringing her fingers to my lips, I kiss them softly, and ask, “Was this your first run-in with law enforcement?”

Her laugh eases the tightness in my chest. “Yes, but I’m okay,” she answers.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she repeats. Her gaze bounces around my face as I press another kiss to her fingertips, causing what’s left of her worry wrinkles to soften. “Although I kind of like having all your attention like this.”

“You always have all of my attention.”

Her eyes crinkle with amusement, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she asks, “Is this your first time picking up a friend from the cops?”

“Not even close,” I reply.

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “You want the light version or the heavy version?”

“There’s a heavy version?”

She has no idea.

“My best friend growing up, Roman’s older brother, actually, he’s in prison for pushing drugs,” I explain. “Although, after saying it out loud, I guess it doesn’t count since I didn’t technically bail him out, but you get the gist.”

Her brows furrow. “What?”

I let her hands go and scratch my temple. “Probably should’ve started with the light version, huh?”

“Pax, that’s…” She bites her bottom lip. “Thatisheavy. How is he? How are you? Do you still see him? How much time is he doing? Does Roman hate you for it? Did you know what he was up to behind your back? Were you in on it and just didn’t get caught or?—”

“Whoa, there,” I interrupt. “At least give me a second to answer your twenty questions, yeah?”

She closes her mouth and drags her fingers across them, pretending to zip her lips and throw away the key.

With a soft chuckle, I lead her closer to my bike, diving right in to the nitty gritty of my fucked-up childhood. “Let me give you the CliffsNotes version. Yes, I knew what he was doing, and no I wasn’t around when he was arrested, but yes, I still talk to him and see him whenever I’m in town.” I pause, replaying her onslaught of questions in an attempt to address all of them. “All things considered, he’s doing good. Took his sentence on the chin and should be out in the next year or so, and no, Roman doesn’t hate me, even though it does make me kind of feel like shit about the whole thing. Uh, I think that’s it?” I glance at Tatum again. “Any other questions?”

“What’s his name?” she prods.

“Rafe.”

She gives me a slow nod. “And how are you?”

My brows dip. “Me?”

“Yeah. It can’t be easy. Seeing your friend locked up.”

Scratching my jaw, I consider her question. No one’s ever asked me this. No one’s ever thought to. I’m not the one behind bars, so why does it matter? Why would anyone care? Add in the whole rockstar bit, and I’m pretty sure most people would say I don’t have shit to complain about. And maybe I don’t. Even so,the fact she’s thinking of me, of how I feel, how I’m handling shit, it means more than she knows.

Gripping her hand, I continue guiding her toward my parked bike a few feet away, answering, “I’m all right.”

She tugs me to a halt. “Pax.”

“Seriously,” I return. “I mean, yeah. It fucked with my head, and I wish I would’ve pushed him harder to drop all the illegal shit, but he was young and stupid, and I was young and stupid, and we can’t change the past, so why dwell on it?”

Her lips bunch before her head dips in a slow nod, but she doesn’t say anything else. And the quiet? It messes with my head, especially after giving her a glimpse of my past.

“So…you wanna hear about a few of my lighter run-ins with the cops?” I ask, attempting to change the subject and lighten the fucking black cloud hovering over us after my little walk down memory lane.

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