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A bloated raindrop splats on my windshield. Worry? Is this what I get for my good deed? I’ve seen countless broken lives in my day. Why is the fate of this struggling pair gnawing at me?
The sweep of headlights in my rearview mirror gives a bounce to my heartrate. Not fear…so what, then?
My pulse settles when I make out Jacob, a giant duffle slung over his shoulder, climbing from the passenger side of what I now see is not Hollie’s vehicle. He stops when he notices my car. As I emerge, he pivots for the street.
I put my hand on the door. “You running, kid?” But his only escape is gunning it down the otherwise quiet neighborhood block.
He turns and glares, reluctance in the set of his broad shoulders. “My mother isn’t home yet.”
“So I see. You need mommy for this?”
The jaw on his part-man, part-boy face sets. “You’re a jerk.”
Heard it before, yet for some reason, the name thuds uncomfortably in my chest.
I tweak my tone. “Can we talk? I got some things you might want to hear.”
Jacob looks away, toward the big house that owns the one he lives in. Does he feel like an outsider, a pretender in this high-tone neighborhood he and his single mother could never afford to live in for real? He shouldn’t. His mom has made a wise move installing them in a good part of town. A safe part.
He tosses a shoulder, huffing like I’m asking the world.
More raindrops dance around our feet, and the sky lights up. We’re a couple of lightning rods standing out here. I motion to the car. “Get in.”
He cocks a knee and stares.
“Pretty please.”
He lolls his head back. “Whatever.”
Gotta love teen speak. When we’re settled in my front seats, I tap the wheel. “You know you’re in big trouble, right?”
The kid’s angry-teen strategy involves grunting and not looking at me while he smells my car up with his foul, football-practice stink.
“I did some looking into your case, and there are a couple things I wonder if you know.”
“Like?” The fear he tries to hide with a thrust of his chin tightens his face and flashes in his eyes.
Eyes not at all the light shade his mother owns. The hair is completely different too. Guess the dad donated those things. Speaking of which, where is Pops in all of this? Seems like now would be the time for the man to step up.Loser.
Then again, who’s to say Hollie didn’t cut the guy out of the picture and turn her son against him? It happens. “The charges against you aren’t child’s play, and—”
“I know that!” He turns to the window.
“Are you also aware the D.A. is looking to upgrade them?”
Jacob spins back. “What do you mean?”
I never let the emotion of a perp move me, but this kid’s fear is rattling. I hang my wrist over the wheel. “Well, at this point, the charges are a third-degree felony, but, turns out, the actual weight of goods qualified as second-degree. You got cut some slack. However, I was told by a reliable little birdie in the prosecutor’s office that the new D.A. is going tough on crime and wants the charges escalated to their full potential. Frankly, I’m surprised that didn’t happen at the get-go. And then there’s the matter of the gun…”
Even in the dim light, I see his skin blanch. “It wasn’t my gun, and I didn’t…” His jaw snaps shut.
“Didn’t what, Jacob?”
We bump along a stony silence until he shakes his head. “Nothing.” His expression suddenly pleads. “But I’m a juvenile. I’ll get a lighter sentence, right? My record will be sealed and stuff, right?”
“Who have you been talking to?” The kid is short on pertinent information.
“What do you mean?”
