“Him or the person he pinned all of this on,” I said. I wasn’t giving it much thought. I was too afraid to hope that they’d gotten the right man and all of this could be over.
But I wasn’t going to let the wrong person go down for this.
I’d been avoiding cops out of fear of what Hunter could do to my reputation, but if that didn’t matter—if I really was going to make big changes in my life—then I decided I didn’t care. He could show anyone he wanted.
It was time to take my power back and stop beingsuch a cowardly dipshit. God, it was a fucking wonder Vanya put up with me all this time.
Hugo let me rest as he drove. The police headquarters were a bit of a drive from the hospital—south of the Charles River—and while traffic wasn’t the worst after morning rush hour, it was enough time for me to fall into a half doze, hiding from nightmares that were most definitely going to grip me once I had some proper rest.
“Hey.”
I swallowed thickly as I fought my way toward consciousness.
“Micah, we’re here.”
Who…oh, right. Hugo. I fought off a yawn as I sat up, scrubbed sand from my lashes, then grabbed my cane from the floor. The car was at a stop, so I assumed we were in a parking space, and I tried not to lose myself to the fireworks of anxiety bursting beneath my skin.
Hugo came around to meet me, and then I took his arm and followed his low voice as he described where we were and where we were going.
“The detective said to ask for him at the desk,” I said as we walked in through the doors.
From the echo of my shoes and my cane tip, I could tell the building was tall and mostly empty, though I could hear low voices of people talking, and somewhere in a tiled hallway, I could hear footsteps.
“There’s an information desk,” Hugo said. “And some benches we can sit on to wait.”
My voice shook as I asked for the detective, and Ifelt like an ass for struggling to remember his name. “Uh…it was. Baker. No. Detective…fuck. No, sorry,” I said when the woman behind the counter let out a small laugh. “Bruce?”
“Detective Barnes?” she offered.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah. My name is Micah Adams. And I’m not a suspect.”
“I didn’t think you were.” There was more laughter in her voice. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Hugo led me to a bench that felt like it was all posts and wires instead of an actual seat, but it was comfortable enough. My legs wouldn’t stop shaking, so I bounced them in an effort to keep from rocking or shaking my head.
When I was anxious, it was easy to fall into old habits, but I knew those little blindisms made sighted people feel weird. And while normally I didn’t give a shit about the delicate feelings of ableist weirdos, I didn’t want more attention than I was already getting.
“Want to hold my hand?” Hugo asked.
I stuck mine out, and his palm was warm, his fingers strong as they gripped me. It brought me back to the train ride with him—the quiet journey to Montreal, where someone finally got me for the first time in so, so long.
I needed to be a better friend.
“You’re just fine,” Hugo said, and I flushed. I hadn’t realized I was talking out loud.
That was more Jonah’s thing, but it was a bad habit I think we both had from when we were kids.
“Listen. I know I’ve been shitty, and I want to?—”
I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence. “Mr. Adams?”
It was the voice from the phone, only a little deeper than it had been in my phone speaker. I jumped to my feet and almost tripped over my own toes in an effort to turn and face him.
Clearing my throat loudly, I stuck my hand out. “Detective Barnes.”
It took him a moment to grip my hand, but he did it in a kind way. “Thank you for coming down. I promise this won’t take too long.” I heard Hugo start to stand, but Barnes made a soft noise of protest. “For now, I’m afraid Mr. Adams needs to come with me alone. Unless you’re his attorney?”
“Does he need one?” Hugo demanded.
