Page 90 of Twisted Truths
“What’s this about?” The disbelief is clear in Nash’s tone.
“Just answer the question, mate.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Tanner Crawley is in a coma. So, can you answer the question, Nash? Please tell me you’ve been with Levi or Paige, or someone has seen you in the past twenty-four hours.”
My stomach bottoms out when Nash answers. “I’ve been here. Alone.”
The police officer truly sounds apologetic when he sighs and says, “You understand why I’ve got to take you in for questioning, yeah? I don’t want to do this, but it’s protocol, especially after the scene you caused at the gym.”
I don’t know what he’s referring to, but I can’t let him arrest Nash for something he didn’t do.
“Wait!” I shout, stepping into the hallway. “He didn’t do it. I can vouch for him. He’s been here with me the whole time.”
The look on the police officer’s face would be comical if he wasn’t halfway through the act of arresting Nash. His eyes widen and his head swivels from Nash to me and back again.
Nash’s expression is completely unreadable, causing my chest to tighten because I don’t know if he’s mad I didn’t stay hidden, or relieved I’m standing up for him.
“Who are you?” the officer asks.
Nash steps between us, and I shrink back, suddenly terrified I made matters worse.
“Leave her out of this,” he mutters to Shane. “Look, I’m not sorry the arsehole is in a coma, but I didn’t do it. I haven’t seen him since the run in at the gym. I took Levi’s advice and stayed away.”
“Crawley’s parents won’t let this go,” the other man warns. “His old man plays golf with the chief.”
“You heard her,” Nash says with a shrug. “I have an alibi. I’m sure you have a list a mile long of people with beef against Crawley. Why don’t you go hassle them?”
“I’m not the enemy here,” Shane says in an exasperated tone.
“I know,” Nash says calmly. “But I can’t help you.”
Shane casts a curious glance in my direction before nodding and stepping back from the door. “Don’t go anywhere. We might have more questions.”
“I’m not going anywhere until the bastards who killed my family are caught.” He closes the door in the police officer’s face and his body sags against the wood.
I want to go to him, but I’m frozen to the spot. “Do you think it was the Circle?”
He exhales a heavy breath. “Who else would it be?”
My teeth worry my bottom lip. “Do you think they’ll come for us next?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, opening his arms. I rush into them, burying my head in his chest and breathing in his strong, masculine scent of citrus and amber. “But I won’t let them hurt you. You’re safe with me.”
“Have you heard from Gabriel?” I ask, my voice muffled in his shirt.
“Not yet,” he says with a sigh.
My stomach twists as a thought occurs to me. “You don’t think he came back early and took matters into his own hands?”
Nash tenses for a moment before relaxing. “Even if he did, Crawley deserves everything coming to him.” He kisses the top of my head. “Come on. We have thirteen years’ worth of stuff to pack up. Let’s get it done, so the second we get Franklinback, we can leave.”
I thought packingup Zara’s room was hard, but it had nothing compared to packing up Rylan’s. The reminder of the innocence that has been lost is overwhelming. His room reminds me of Brayden’s when he was younger. There are sketches tacked to the wall—Pokémon, superheroes, mythical creatures. Nash’s little brother was a talented artist.
There are Pokémon figurines littered throughout the room, lining his desk, his windowsill, his bookshelves. A large clear Tupperware container sits on his desk, filled to the brim with NBA player cards, and beside it, a scrapbook.
Nash opens it and flips through. Clearing his throat, he slams the scrapbook shut again, dropping his head.
