Page 33 of Playing With Forever

“Morning, Josie.”

Something was wrong. Not only was Phil standing ramrod straight, but his eyes were guarded, and his tone was off.

“Come in.” I waved to the chair in front of my desk. “I apologize for not calling you back last night. By the time I was free, it was too late to phone.”

In other words, Evan hadn’t left until after eleven, and that was when I’d checked my missed call.

“I’m actually glad you didn’t,” he started as he sat. “I shouldn’t have called in the first place, something like this should be said in person.”

Yes, something was very, very wrong.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, Josie. Sam Havarth was killed last night.”

Killed?

Sweet, loving, look-out-for-his-younger-siblings Sam Havarth was dead.

My heart sank to my stomach.

“What? How?” I whispered.

“He went to pick up Tyler from a friend’s house. There was a drive-by⁠—”

“A drive-by?” I rudely interrupted, but I couldn’t wrap my head around a young man dying in such a way.

“Not so great neighborhood. Word is there’s been an ongoing problem with occupants of the house and a local gang.”

My hands came up to rub my temples. I could feel the pressure building that would lead to a headache—not the stress kind, but the kind that was borne from heartbreak for a seventeen-year-old young man losing his life.

“Drugs?”

“According to Phoenix Kent, yes. Tyler was at a known drug house when Sam went to pick him up.”

“Does Phoenix have any leads? Did they catch the shooter?” I asked while making a mental list of who I needed to get in touch with.

First was Loraine Gonzales, our grief counselor. Next would be Sam’s mother, Diane. After that, I needed to speak with the staff and volunteers. Sam had stopped coming to the center last year when he started an afterschool job, but before that, he was a regular at the center along with Tyler and their little sister, Bella. Sam was well-known and well-liked. He was a good kid who helped his mom in a variety of ways, one of those being that he worked to contribute to his family financially.

“Not yet.”

“This is…devastating,” I sighed, my understatement, while fighting the tears that were threatening to fall.

“I called Loraine, she’ll be here this afternoon.”

Of course, Phil had already thought of that.

“Thank you. Have you spoken to Diane?”

He shook his head. “No. I thought you’d want to reach out personally, and in a time like this, Diane doesn’t need to be fielding multiple calls.”

Unfortunately, Phil had a good understanding of what families who had lost loved ones went through. Before he came to work with me at the Hope Center, he’d been a police officer in Atlanta. That was part of the reason why, after the fire, he’d taken it upon himself to act as security and recruit other volunteers to help watch the center with greater scrutiny. The other part of that was Phil was a lot like Evan—protective and good to his core. Only Phil was childless, younger, and had never been married.

“I’ve never done this,” I admitted. “Would you mind coming with me when I speak to Diane? I want her to know she has our support, as do Tyler and Bella, but I don’t want to be intrusive.”

I didn’t miss Phil’s expression turning from concern to stony and unyielding.

“You don’t think I should go to her?” I inquired.