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“Mr. Diaz. His assistant, Linda, is out front, waiting to take you home.”
Home.
I guess I don’t really have one of those anymore.
Closing my eyes and trying to push out the thoughts of what will happen next, I walk out of the holding cell, ready for whatever is going to happen.
“Hello, Dalton,” Linda says as I come into view.
“Hello. Where’s Mr. Diaz?” I ask.
She looks at the deputy sheriff. “Is he good to go?”
He hands me a bag with my belongings, including my phone, wallet, and keys. “Yep. You’re all good. Have a good night,” he responds.
We both reply, “You too,” and walk out of the sheriff’s office to her car, which is parked next to my truck.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Mr. Diaz asked that you follow me back to his office.”
I nod, and we get in our separate vehicles. When the music turns on, I reach over and turn it off. Music has always been my savior, my calming force in life, but right now, all I need is silence.
Once we’re there, she walks me back to his office. “You can wait in here. He’ll be here shortly.”
A few minutes later, Mr. Diaz walks in with, to my surprise, Randy Spencer right behind him.
I stand instantly. “Mr. Spencer.” I hold out my hand to him.
He pauses, obviously just as surprised to see me here. When he doesn’t shake my hand, I pull it back and retake my seat at Mr. Diaz’s desk. Randy takes out the chair next to me and does the same.
“Randy,” Mrs. Spencer says as she walks through the door with her arms open wide.
Randy stands and races to embrace her in a hug; even I feel their love from a few feet away.
“How did you get out?” Mrs. Spencer cries. “I couldn’t get the money to post bail. I promise, I was trying.”
“I don’t know yet. Alex”—he pulls back from her and points to Mr. Diaz—“came and got me. He hasn’t told me what’s going on, and when I arrived, he was here.”
They turn to me, and Mrs. Spencer’s expression doesn’t hide her confusion. “Dalton?”
I stand to shake her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Spencer.”
“Please, call me Tracy.” She shakes my hand, then turns to Mr. Diaz. “Alex, what’s going on?”
I offer Tracy my chair and stand next to the wall.
“Thank you,” Tracy says as she takes the chair and scoots it next to Randy so they can hold hands while Mr. Diaz speaks.
“Dalton came to me, explaining what had happened in full detail.”
I speak up. “I love your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer. I never meant for any of this to happen, but I’ll make it right.”
Tracy reaches out her hand to me, and I grab it. She grins at me, and I smile back. Randy, on the other hand, stays stoic as a statue.
“He was asking for my help to bail you out of jail,” Mr. Diaz says.
“He paid my bail?” Randy’s voice deepens a few notches in anger, his question directed only at Mr. Diaz, like I’m not standing right here.
