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“I wouldn’t—”
“No?” He cut me off gently. “What if we’d never been good influences?”
I knew he was right, of course. Without good influences, it would’ve been easy to not know wrong from right. Everything in me still hesitated, though, uncertainty and apprehension mixing inside me, weighing down like cement.
“I think you should listen to his side of things,” Dad went on, and opened the drawer back up. “Just listen. You don’t have to see him again after that, but if you care about him like I think you do, you should hear him out. You might find that his story…it’s not what you’re thinking. Not quite. He deserves that much.”
Dad offered my car keys out to me by the ring, and the fob swung back and forth like a pendulum, a ticking metronome, waiting for me to decide.
Only when the fob stopped swinging did I grab the keys, closing my hand around them. “You like him,” I said.
“I do,” he agreed. “He’s a good kid who got lost down a dark road.”
I looked at the car keys in my hand, my taste of freedom, the promise of unknown. Listen to Harry’s side of the story. In the days that had passed since I found out about his past, I’d been almost desperate for the truth.Allof the truth. Why did he do it? Did he regret it? Was he sorry?
And right here, cradled in my hand, I had a way of finding out. Jostling the keys once, I let out a breath. “Thanks, Dad.”
Dad watched as I rose and made my way to the door. His eyes were light on me, expression content. “No problem, Stella.”
