Page 114 of Elusion

He shakes his head. “Sorry, kid.”

Connor holds the blankets tight against his chest and presses his nose into the material. I want a little coconut time myself but prefer to experience the real deal.

“We’d better get going.”

“I’ll drive Pete’s truck back later,” Tony says. “If I can ever find the keys.”

“On the seat,” I reply, distracted.

A streetlight reflects off something in the grass in the middle of the yard. I lean down and retrieve a different set of keys—Callie’s.

“That must be what she threw before Graham pulled her back inside.” Connor swipes them from my hand. He examines them before looking up, confused. “Why would she do that?”

I rough up his hair on my way to the Jeep. “Because she wouldn’t leave you dangling off a cliff, Connor.”

Neither of us would.

Even though every part of me wants to haul ass to the hospital, I know Callie will hold me accountable for Connor not eating. A questionable roadside diner with abnormally high grease content suffices. Torn pleather booth seats, a weird stickiness covering the checkered table. Seems legit.

I also figure I should unearth a little more information on why I almost sacrificed myself to the train gods. If I can get Connor to talk. He’s twirling a fork between his fingers and staring at the table to avoid eye contact. He hasn’t touched his chocolate milkshake by the time his burger arrives.

“Fork.” I hold out my hand.

He relinquishes the utensil and sighs. “You want me to talk about what happened.”

“Only seems fair, considering.”

His crease appears between his eyebrows, and he sinks against the back of the booth. “Graham showed up at practice, acting like father of the year. Telling the coach how he’d been telling me to dedicate more time to practice. Complete bullshit.” A saltshaker gains his attention, and he unscrews the top. “I was so pissed off and distracted that I missed a layup. One fucking layup. Forget the hundreds I’ve made because he saw me miss one.”

“That’s why he burned your gear?”

“Not exactly.” He switches to the pepper, fingers twisting the lid. “When I got home, he started in on me like he always does. I’m worthless. His money would have been better spent on an abortion.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I shake my head in disbelief. Each time I think this man can’t possibly disgust me more, surprise. “Sorry, continue.”

“I couldn’t take it anymore, and we started yelling at each other. He stomped off and came back with a garbage bag and grabbed my gym bag off the floor.” Connor sniffs, rubbing his face with his sweatshirt sleeve. “When I got outside, he put it in a pile along with stuff he’d taken from my room. I tried to grab things, but he must have already put lighter fluid on it because he threw the match, and I had to jump back. Then he just left while I sat there, watching it all burn.”

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” I say.

He swipes a finger under his eye. “I went to a friend’s and got a little buzzed. I thought Cal would be home when I got back, but she wasn’t. I went into my room and … he’d gotten everything—my jerseys, balls, the new shoes Cal had bought me.” He shrugs, setting the shakers back. “I decided to return the favor.”

“Is that when Callie came home?”

“She found me after I busted open my hand.”

A nervous shift occurs, both of us knowing where the story goes from here. Not something I want to hear again or for him to relive. I try to imagine how Graham justifies any of his actions, but I can’t. No decent human being could. Only we’re not talking about someone who exists in a realm anywhere decent adjacent. We’re discussing an angry, selfish piece of trash, who somehow retains the right to destroy his children every other weekend slash every other week during the summer. Are people that easily fooled, or do they just not care enough to see what’s really going on?

“Did you go inside after Trey got there?” I ask, skipping ahead.

He shakes his head. “He put us in the back of his cruiser, so I couldn’t get out. But I saw him bring Graham out in handcuffs. He passed him off to another cop and ran back in for Cal.” His face crumples when he says her name, on the verge of tears. “If I ever thought for one second he would—” He looks up at the waitress approaching.

“How we doin’ over here?” she asks, beaming at us.

I nod, my politeness on the fritz.

She nudges Connor’s shoulder. “Not liking the burger, sweetie?”

Other than his red eyes, he gives no indication of his life falling into disarray. He shakes his head and delivers a boyish grin. “Everything’s fine. I’m just about to dig in.”

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