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Is the person careless with personal hygiene and grooming?
No. Never noticed that.
Bloodshot eyes? Weight loss? Sleep loss? Change in behavior?
I push away from the screen with a sigh. How should I know? It’s not like I was with him long. Not like I’ve known him well.
Though I know what books he likes reading, and what his childhood dreams were. I know what his mom did to him and to his cousin, I know…
I know quite a lot. His mom really screwed him over, and now… Now he’s saying she did something even worse. That she set him up to go to prison.
Could he be telling the truth? Would she…?
No, that’s crazy. That would be horrifying. Unimaginable.
I get up, pace the length of my living room. I stop at the window and look outside. It’s raining, the clouds low and leaden.
If he’s dealing the drugs, instead of using them, then there’d be no signs. Only, he’d have money, and he doesn’t. All this makes no sense.
Pulling away from the cold window pane, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I recall his face yesterday when he talked about his mother. He’d looked… lost. Pale and somber. Ill-at-ease, pained and sad.
What if…?
Seriously, Manon? You’ll believe such an obvious lie because the guy’s hot? The judge found him guilty, sentenced him to prison. It’s all in his criminal record, which Zane apparently read.
That’s it. Zane. I’ll talk to him, ask what he read in Seth’s rap sheet. No idea why, but I think it might be important.
***
Tracking Zane down proves kind of hard. He’s not at Damage Control, Tyler who mans the reception desk tells me. He’s meeting with a cousin of his girlfriend Dakota, who’s a lawyer.
Doesn’t take a genius to guess it has something to do with Seth.
Instead, he tells me I can talk to Rafe, the young owner of the tattoo shop I’ve seen around a few times.
“What can I do you for?” Rafe growls into the phone, startling me.
“I was looking for Zane,” I stammer.
“Not here. Anything I can do?”
“Maybe. I’m Manon. Madeline Torres.”
“Seth’s girl?”
My next words freeze on my tongue, his question echoing in my ears. Am I? Was I?
“A good friend of his,” I manage, and he chuckles. “What’s so funny?”
“Don’t know, Manon. Boy’s been crazy about you since forever. If you don’t want him, then damn. With all that’s been happening to him, I guess he was right to think he’s the unluckiest bastard in the world.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Don’t say that. God, that’s awful.”
“Yeah, it is.” He’s silent for a long moment. Then he says, his voice deepening, “I take it you believe him?”
“Let’s just say I think it’s possible he’s telling the truth.”
“And why is that?”
