Page 11 of Owl’s Cherished Mate

How had I missed that?

I needed to do better at this whole guardian thing.

Way better.

“Everything okay?” Mila asked from behind the counter when I entered the kitchen. She’d stopped prepping and was watching me.

“Yeah. Just a family thing,” I said.

She gave me that look she got when she knew someone wasn’t being straight with her. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing major,” I insisted. “But I might need to head out a few minutes early.”

“Go.” She nodded toward the exit. “I’ve got the rest of this covered.”

“Are you sure? I can finish wiping the tables.”

She shook her head. “Go handle what you need to handle. If you need tomorrow off, just call me.”

“Thank you.”

I grabbed my stuff from the back and clocked out. The entire drive home, I white-knuckled the steering wheel. When I stepped inside the house, Lawson was sprawled out on the couch. Backpack by the door like always, shoes kicked off, scrolling through his phone. Same routine. Same performance. Except now I knew it was exactly that—a performance.

“Hey,” he said without looking up.

“Where were you today?”

Something flickered across his face. “School.”

“Try again.”

His thumb stopped scrolling. He looked at me, and I watched him calculate whether to keep lying or switch tactics. “What are you talking about?”

“The school called, Lawson. You haven’t been there since last Friday.”

The mask dropped. His jaw tensed, and his eyes went hard. He set his phone facedown on the cushion and sat up straighter. “So?”

“So? Where the hell have you been for three days?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters!” My voice came out shrill. I was shaking—not from anger, but from the fear underneath it that I couldn’t keep down anymore. “You’ve been lying to me. Every morning, you’ve walked out that door and lied to my face. Where have you been?”

He stood up. At fourteen, he was already taller than me, and when he squared his shoulders, he looked older than he was. Harder.

“I’ve been with Cade and Darren,” he said, like it was nothing. Like he was telling me he’d been at the park.

“Doing what?”

“Hanging out. Helping with stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just stuff!” He threw his hands up. “Why do you always have to turn everything into an interrogation? I’m not a criminal.”