Page 6 of Owl’s Cherished Mate

What kind of librarian makes jokes about traumatizing books by cursing?

Apparently, the kind with warm eyes and a voice I could still hear in my head even though I’d left twenty minutes ago.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and pushed thoughts of him away. I didn’t have time for this. I didn’t have time for anything that wasn’t Lawson, work, or school.

Speaking of Lawson.

I picked up my phone at the next stop sign and opened the tracking app. The little blue dot that represented his phone blinked at me from across town.

He wasn’t home anymore.

The dot sat on the east side of town, on a street I recognized now. I’d looked up the address last time, when the dot first showed Lawson there at eleven o’clock on a school night. A quick search had connected it to a rental property, and a few more minutes of digging had confirmed what I already suspected.

It was Darren’s place.

“What are you even doing there, Lawson?” I muttered, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat.

I could go home. I could tell myself he’d come back on his own, and that making a scene would only push him further away. That was the smart play, probably. The one all the parenting blogs I’d read at the library would have recommended.

I ignored all that advice and turned my car around, driving to the east side of town instead.

When I pulled up to the house a few minutes later, my stomach tightened. It was a crappy-looking place with a patchy lawn and a chain-link fence that leaned at an angle in places like it had given up on standing straight a long time ago. A black sedan sat in the driveway. The porch light was on, and beneath it, two figures stood near the front steps.

Lawson and Cade.

Cade was leaning against the sedan with his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he owned the whole street. He was maybe nineteen with dark hair, pale eyes, and sharp features that reminded me of his older brother. There was a cigarette tucked behind his ear—or was that a joint? I couldn’t tell. My gaze drifted to Lawson, who stood beside him with his hands in the pockets of the black hoodie he’d been wearing earlier. His posture was loose and easy in a way it never was at home. He looked relaxed here. Comfortable.

That stung worse than anything.

I pulled up to the curb and cut the engine. Both of them turned to look at me. Cade’s expression didn’t change—he kept the same flat, bored stare—but Lawson’s face cycled through about four emotions in two seconds before landing on furious.

I got out of the car.

“What are you doing here?” Lawson’s eyes darted to Cade, then back to me.

“Get in the car, Lawson.”

“How did you even know where I was?”

I didn’t answer that. “We’re not doing this here. Get in the car.”

“I’m just hanging out.”

“Get in,” I said.

“Are you serious right now?” His voice cracked with disbelief.

“Get in the car, Lawson.”

Cade watched the whole exchange between us without moving. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but still signified that he found the situation amusing.

I wanted to wipe that look off his face.

“Now!” I shouted.

Lawson must have realized fighting me was a losing battle. He stalked toward my car and yanked the passenger door open, flopped into the seat, and slammed the door shut hard enough to rock the whole car.

Cade lifted two fingers in a lazy wave but didn’t say anything.