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I can’t leave her. I promised I wouldn’t fucking leave her. I’m unblinking, knowing not to struggle, but I can’t leave her. I can’t leave Luna.
“On the floor!”
“Against the wall!”
“Hands behind your fucking back!”
The commands are jumbled with grunts, curses, and bodies thumping around the house. Police are saying something about the drugs and collecting evidence. I’m a second from shouting how she needs a fucking doctor, and then in sprints my best friend.
Farrow is running straight for Luna, his trauma bag already half-unzipped, and for a brief second, his eyes flash down to me. I’m handcuffed. On the ground. His focused gaze is suddenly stabbed with pain.
My chest collapses. Then the cop pries me off the floor by the wrists, pulling me to my feet. I stand and shout to Farrow, “She said she hit her head.”
“On what?” He drops the trauma bag and assesses Luna.
“Concrete. The ground. She fell.” The cop is pushing me towards the door. “Check her ribs!” It’s all I can release before the cop carts me outside.
Holy fucking shit. Flashbulbs of cameras glare in the night. Police aren’t the only ones on this skinny South Philly residential street. Paparazzi have arrived, and as soon as they see me, they go nuts in my face.
“Paul Donnelly!”
“Why are you being arrested?!”
“Are you behind the attack of Lily Calloway?!”
No.
No.
I stare hauntedly ahead, almost numb. Cold barely bites at my flesh, still only wearing a stranger’s boxer-briefs.
“Where are your clothes?!”
“Get a shot of his tattoos! The one of Satan on his back!”
“What’d you do to Lily Calloway?!”
It wasn’t me.
Defenses ring in my ears, but I know not to say anything.
Squinting against more camera flashes, I spot Joana’s car on the curb. Nearby, Oscar is talking heatedly in his phone, and once he sees me, his lips stop moving.
The world stills.
Bet this wasn’t on his Bingo card. Watch Donnelly get arrested for his family. If there was a time my friends thought I’d go to jail, it’d be for pissing outside after a night at the bars. It’d be for streaking on a college campus. It’d be for defending one of them at a club and getting in a fucking brawl.
It’d never be for my family.
It’d never be for this.
Truth is, I’ve never been arrested. My rap sheet is squeaky clean, thanks to my cockroach tendencies and a whole lotta luck.
Guess that’s changing.
Oscar steps forward, then halts, looking tormented. He can’t help me. It’s alright, I wish I could tell him. I was always going to survive. I’m not the one he should be worrying about.
Luna is still inside, and the only thing keeping me calm is the fact that Farrow is with her.
“Get in.” The cop pushes my head down while I duck into the police car.
“DONNELLY!” paparazzi shout over and over.
He slams the door, drowning out the mayhem.
Arms imprisoned behind my back, I cast short glances at the window, hoping to see Luna come out with Farrow. Every time I look outside, flashes ignite and I can’t see shit. I can’t even contemplate what kind of photos they’re capturing of me or what’ll hit the internet.
I don’t even care.
An older cop with a grayed mustache slides into the driver’s seat. He shuts out the chaos, and the car is hushed again. He taps on the screen near the steering wheel. “Sorry about the cuffs. We have to treat you like the others.” His brown eyes meet mine through the rearview mirror. “We can’t let anyone know you’re the informant. You understand?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
“We’ll have to book you.”
I blow forward. “I need to be with her at the hospital. I can’t be stuck in a holding cell—”
“It’s important that no one in your family knows you drew us here. It’d put you at risk, and that’d put the Hales at risk again. And frankly, your involvement is an asset we can’t lose right now, so just hang tight.”
I go quiet. I barely blink in the passing minutes. My eyes feel dryer and dryer.
I only awaken when he gets off the phone and tells me, “We’re putting someone else in the car with you.”
I edge over to one side and make room for them. God, I hope it’s not Colin. Or Patrick. The car door opens, and mixed emotions course through my body as my dad slides next to me, hands bound behind his back.
He’s silent at first. His face is set in harsher lines while he looks ahead. “What’s the saying?” He speaks as we’re driven to the station. “Like father, like son.”
I lean back into the seat. Unable to glance at him. All I can think is, fuck me.
“Hey, hey,” I call out in the jail cell, my ankles and wrists chained and a thin metal bench under my ass. Blood is caked and dried on my busted knuckles. The cop on duty ignores me completely. “I need a phone call. Just one call! Please!”
