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“Who’s who?” I blinked my eyes, putting on a convincing display of ignorance. Obviously, he didn’t buy it.
“The kid,” he said in that rough, grisly voice of his.
“Oh, him. He’s…um…my son.” My voice squeaked with the words, and I immediately regretted uttering the lie. It wasn’t a believable statement, and the idea itself was too far-fetched, but my mind blanked, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Your son?” he questioned.
“Yup.” My voice was too high once again, and I let out a cough to try and hide it. “He’s my little boy.”
Zane raised an eyebrow. I knew I’d always been a bad liar. Typically, I had obvious tells that I had to train away, which was why I usually practiced my lie several times before I said it.
But this time, I desperately needed it to work.
“Since when did you have a son?” Zane asked.
“About ten years ago,” I said. Casey was actually going on thirteen, but if Zane knew that, he just might figure it out. Plus, I was about twelve when Casey was born, which made my being his mother implausible. Fifteen sounded about right.
“I didn’t know.”
I gave a careless laugh. “It wasn’t like we knew each other very well in the first place. There was no way for you to know.”
Zane watched me closely, his eyebrow rising into his forehead. I couldn’t read his expression well to ascertain whether he believed me or not.
“So he’s ten,” Zane said.
“Yes. He’s just tall for his age.”
“I’m guessing his dad was a giant then.”
“Yup,” I said. “A big dumb giant.”
Zane glanced toward the door that Casey disappeared behind and then turned to me. “Let me meet him.”
“No.” The word was an explosion of sound. “I mean, I think you have to understand that you’re not my family’s favorite person.”
His expression didn’t change, as if he couldn’t care less about what I said. I mean, sure, I didn’t think I’d hurt his feelings or anything. I didn’t even think he had them, but I didn’t expect him to completely ignore what I said and continue toward the door.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I demanded
“Helping you inside,” he replied as he shifted my weight to one hand so he could twist the door handle with the other. Casey didn’t lock the door, so it swung right open, allowing us into the room with threadbare couches and a flickering bulb that we couldn’t afford an electrician for. Zane didn’t make any comment on it. Instead, he walked to the couch and laid me down on it.
“Thank you,” I said again, this time trying to smile to be polite. I did feel bad for trying to get rid of him so quickly when he practically saved me from Sydney’s dad today. “For helping me out today and for driving me—”
“Where’s the kid?” he asked again, completely unconcerned with my gratitude.
“Not here,” I answered. My voice was tense from the combination of frustration and fear. “Probably gone up to do his homework or something. Or snuck out to see a friend. You know how kids are.” I waved my hand around, but Zane wasn’t looking at me. He was looking outside the window as if trying to summon Casey in some way.
He also glanced toward the staircase, and I prayed hard that Casey would stay upstairs listening to music on his phone or whatever. I prayed he wouldn’t come downstairs.
Then, I started hearing footsteps coming down the stairs and knew I was going to have to go through the fire.
“Charlotte? Is that you?”
Oh no. Scratch whatever I initially thought. Casey coming down wasn’t the worst-case scenario. This was.
I couldn’t say anything. My brain scrambled for a reply, anything that would stop my father from continuing his leisurely descent, but nothing came to my mind as it went completely blank from fear.
And then Dad stopped when he was almost at the bottom.
