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“What’s wrong?” I asked, worried.
“Got a call from work,” he said. “Logan was in an accident. With a 1999 Civic with green wheels.”
I gasped.
“Oh, no,” I said softly. “What happened?”
“The Civic aimed right at him while he was stopped on the side of the road writing a ticket,” he said. “Luckily, Logan’s okay. Has a few scrapes and bruises. The bike’s totaled.”
“Did they catch him?” Dad rumbled.
“Yes.” Relief poured through me at his words, quickly followed by anger. “And no.”
“How does that work?” Mom asked, pouring Lock a cup of coffee.
Dad didn’t even make mention of Lock’s half-naked state.
He was in shorts and nothing else. His hair still a mess.
Still just as beautiful as ever.
“He was arrested and taken to the hospital to receive medical treatment. Thank you,” he said when my mom handed him the coffee. “He managed to slip out of triage while his nurses and doctors were busy.”
“They didn’t have a cop on him?” Dad asked, sounding pissed.
“They did,” Lock answered, sounding pissed off himself. “But there was a commotion out in the hallway. Two rival gangs firing shots in the waiting room. The cop left the man thinking that he was being watched…and he got away. He’s still handcuffed. Arms and legs, though. So at least he won’t be able to move easily. Or hide well.”
Dad grumbled something underneath his breath, and Lock rubbed his eyes.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now we wait, I guess,” he said. “We have the party. I go home. You stay here until he’s found.”
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
“You’re shitting me, right?” I asked, sounding calm but feeling riled.
“Saylor…”
“How about y’all go get some ice,” Dad suggested to me and Mom. “I have some…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I snapped. “I’m going to talk about how y’all think it would be okay for me to be hidden and put on a shelf for protection when I can handle my own damn self.”
“Saylor…” Lock tried again.
But I held up my hand and narrowed my eyes.
“Talk to the hand, Lock,” I snapped. “Fuck off.”
Dad snorted.
“I’ll go get ice,” Mom said. “And I have to pick up my groceries anyway. Saylor, do you…”
“Negative, Nancy,” I said, crossing my hands over my chest. “I have some blockheads to knock some sense into.”
Mom sighed and gathered her purse. “I’ll bring donuts back.”
