by McKayla Box
“What's it gonna be like?” I ask. “When I leave?”
“Uh, well, you'll live in Santa Barbara,” he says.
“Smart ass,” I say, tapping his chest. “You know what I mean. What's it gonna be like for us?”
He thinks for a moment, then looks at me. “I seriously don't fucking know. I mean, you know how I feel about you. That isn't gonna fucking change. But I don't want you feeling like you're responsible to me or some shit like that. That's fucking lame.” He pauses. “And I don't know what's gonna happen with me.”
“I don't feel responsible for you,” I tell him. “Or, I won't.”
“Okay, I don't mean responsible,” he says. “I mean that I don't want you to be feeling like you have to call me or text me or whatever. I don't want you thinking you have to come home every weekend. That isn't what you're going up there for, right? You can't really have one foot there and one foot here.” He shakes his head. “That won't fucking work and you're too smart not to know that.”
I sigh and roll onto my back. He's right and I've thought the same thing. It won't work that way and I don't think either one of us wants that kind of long distance relationship, at least not in that way, where we're tied to one another. We'll start doubting one another and it'll all go to shit in a hurry.
But I'm not sure where that leaves us.
His hand slides across my stomach. “Hey. Stop focusing on what's going to happen. We'll figure it out.”
“We can't just keep saying that,” I tell him. “We can't just say 'we'll figure it out' and then hope it happens because it's like doing nothing.”
“So what do you want to do?” he asks. “Tell me.”
I look at him. “I honestly don't know. I don't want to break up.”
“Me either,” he says, shaking his head.
“But I don't want to get married,” I tell him.
He laughs. “Uh, me either.”
“So I'm not sure what that means,” I say. “I really don't.”
“So then you're saying...we'll figure it out?” he says.
I slap his chest and he laughs. “I'm serious. Stop making fun of me. This freaks me out.”
He pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me. He kisses the top of my head. “Not making fun of you. And don't let it freak you out. We'll be okay. Neither one of us wants to break up and if that's the case, then we're on the same page. Let's not jump too far ahead. Let's just...play it out.”
I'm not sure what play it out means, but I don't have a better answer.
And I'm about to tell him that when I see the police officer on the other side of the window.
TEN
“The fuck?” Trevor says.
The police officer is peering in through the window. When he sees us, he raps on the glass.
“Jesus fucking christ,” Trevor says, untangling himself from me and sliding out of the bed. He pulls on a shirt and walks over to his door that leads to the grass and the bay.
I pull the sheet tight to my neck and realize my clothes are in the bathroom.
Trevor opens the door. “Help you?”
The officer pushes his mirrored glasses on top of his head. “Trevor Robinson?”
Trevor nods.
“I tried your front door upstairs, but didn't get an answer,” the officer says. “I saw the truck in the driveway, so I came down to see if anyone was home.”
“Well, I am,” Trevor says, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“I need to ask you a few questions,” the cop says. “Do you have any identification available?”
“My dad isn't home and I'm done talking to the police without an attorney,” Trevor says. “I shouldn't have to talk with you at this point while we're waiting for trial.”
The police officer shakes his head. “I'm not sure about any of that. I need to speak with you about an incident on the beach last night.” He gestures at the bay. “Over there.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Trevor says.
The cop looks past him at me. “Miss, I'm going to need to have you get out of the bed.”
Heat rushes to my face. “I'm...I'm not dressed.”
He nods like that was the answer he was expecting. “I'm going to turn around for just a moment and allow you use the bathroom to get yourself dressed. Please be quick.” He turns around.
I wrap the sheet as tightly as I can around myself and slide out of the bed. I look at Trevor.
He holds his hands out like he has no idea what's happening.
I hustle into the bathroom, drop the sheet, and struggle to pull on my clothes from last night. They are still damp and cold. I didn't hang them up and they've been in a pile on the tiled floor. I get them on, run a hand through my hair, and walk back out.
The police officer is facing us again and looks me over.
“I didn't have any dry clothes,” I say.
“Were you at the party last night?” he asks. “Across the bay?”
I nod.
“Do you have any identification?” he asks.
I nod again and turn to go find my purse.
“Hang on,” Trevor says, touching my arm. “I have no idea why you're here and I told you I'm not interested in answering questions without a a lawyer. Same goes for her.”
The cop gives each of us a long long. He's got close cut brown hair and his head is almost square-shaped. His cheeks are pink and clean-shaven.
“Are you both minors?” he finally asks.
We both shake our heads.
“You're both eighteen?”
We both nod.
“So you're both adults,” he says. “We can do this one of two ways. You can get me your identification and we can talk here. If you choose not to do that, I can bring you both into the station and we can talk there. Your call.”
Butterflies knock around in my stomach.
“I'm just getting my driver's license,” I say, looking at Trevor. “We haven't done anything wrong.”
Trevor scowls.
I look at the cop. “My purse is in the other room. Can I go get it?”
He nods. “Please be quick.”
I turn and I feel Trevor on my heels as we leave the bedroom. My purse is in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. My hands shake as I unzip it and pull out my wallet. I look at him. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I have no idea,” he says, shaking his head. “This feels like bullshit to me. Like they're messing with me.”
“He said he didn't even know about the trial.”
“And he could be lying,” he says, shaking his head again. “This is weird.”
“Just give him your license,” I say. “If it gets weird, we'll...I don't know. Call my dad. I don't know.”
I have no idea if he can take us into the station if we aren't under arrest and I'm pissed that I don't know what my actual rights are. But I know I haven't done anything wrong, so it feels like the right thing to do to give him the identification and answer questions.
We walk back into the bedroom and he's still standing just outside the doorway, on the small concrete pad. We both hand him our licenses. He examines each one, then hands them back to us. “Thank you.”
“What's going on?” I ask.
“There was an assault on the beach last night,” he says. “Victim was found this morning. We're talking to people who were at the party.”
“Jesus,” I whisper.
“You were both there?” he asks.
We both nod.
“Can you give me the approximate times you were there?” he asks, pulling out a small notepad and pen.
I think and tell him when I think I was there, but I also tell him I'm not exactly sure of the times. Trevor tells him the same thing. He copies down what we tell him.
“Is the person...alive?” I ask.
The cop nods. “Yes. Were either of you drinking?”
We look at each other. I'm not sure how he'd know if I lie, but if he's talking to other people
, they could tell him that they saw me with alcohol. I don't think there's any point in lying about it.
“I was,” I tell him.
“I was not,” Trevor says.
The cop scribbles some more onto his notepad. “Either of you get into any altercation while you were there?”
“What does that mean?” Trevor asks. “Altercation? A fight?” He shakes his head. “No.”
The cop looks at us. “A fight. An argument. Any sort of disagreement. Anything you can think of.”
“No,” Trevor says, frowning.
“Wait,” I say.
They both look at me.
“There were a couple of arguments,” I say. “But there always are. They weren't fights or anything.”
“Describe them, please,” the cop says.
“I guess we...exchanged words?” I say, unsure how to put it. “With a couple of girls.” I give him Athena's name and Shanna's name.
He doesn't seem interested in that, though. “Anyone else?”
I look at Trevor. “There was the thing with Derek?”
Trevor rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything.
I look at the officer. “There's a guy that we...don't get along with. He was trying to start stuff. He always does.”
“Always,” Trevor mutters.
“And what's his name?” the officer asks.
“Derek Morgan,” I say. “There's kind of a history. He came up and was just saying things and he wanted to fight.”
The officer looks at Trevor. “Did you?”
Trevor shakes his head. “No. I didn't get out of my seat.”
The officer watches him for a long moment. “Anything else happen then?”
Trevor looks away.
I know he doesn't want to say anything else, but I also know it makes him look guilty.
“A friend threw a beer bottle at him,” I say. “It didn't hurt him, though. Literally nothing happened. Derek ended up walking away with his friends. I never saw him again.”
The cop doesn't even look at him. He keeps his eyes on Trevor. “How about you? Did you see him again?”
Trevor shakes his head. “Nope.”
“You sure?”
“Didn't I just say I was?”
I put my hand on his arm.
“Just trying to get a clear picture,” the cop says.
“What exactly happened?” I ask.
The officer closes the notebook, slides the pen into the spiral at the top of it, and sticks it back into his pocket. “The person found on the beach this morning was Mr. Morgan.”
ELEVEN
My stomach drops. “It was Derek?”
“A jogger found him on the beach this morning,” the officer says. “His injuries were fairly extensive. He was beaten pretty severely.” The officer eyes Trevor. “Because of the severity of his injuries, it doesn't seem like a random robbery or mugging. There may have been intent to harm here.”
“He doesn't have a lot of friends,” Trevor says.
“Does he have a lot of enemies?”
“I wouldn't know.”
“What would you know?” the cop asks.
Trevor doesn't say anything.
“You have anything to do with what happened to him?” the officer asks.
Trevor shakes his head.
“You know anything about what happened to him?”
Trevor shakes his head again.
“I'm told you have a relationship with the victim,” the cop says.
Trevor laughs and looks at me. “Told you he was lying.” He looks at the cop. “You didn't just magically show up here. You know all about my court date, right?”
The officer shuffles his feet. “I know that you and he have had issues in the past and they've apparently involved physical altercations. I know that you were at the beach last night and interacted with him. That's by your own admission.”
“I didn't touch him,” Trevor says. “I wanted to, but I didn't.”
“Even when you followed him down the beach?” the cop asks.
My heart stops.
Because I'm wondering the same thing.
I remember when I went down to the water and had the water fight with the girls. He, Brett, and Jake came back and he didn't really tell me where he'd gone. He got pissed when I even suggested that he might've done something like follow Derek and I felt bad for asking it at the time.
But now I'm wondering the same thing.
“I didn't follow him anywhere,” Trevor says.
“Multiple witnesses stated that after he left with his friends, you left with yours,” the cop says. “Walked in the same direction out toward the point. No one saw him or his friends again, but they did see you return to the area near the fire rings later on.”
“A lot of people walked down the beach toward the point,” Trevor says. “A lot.”
“But not all of them had a prior history with the victim,” the cop points out.
Trevor laughs and shakes his head. “Are you here to arrest me?”
“We are still in the investigative stage,” the officer answers. “I'm just here asking questions right now.”
“I've answered your questions,” Trevor says. “Go talk to his friends or whoever else you want to talk to. I'm done answering. You want to talk to me again, either arrest me or get ahold of my lawyer.” He turns and walks away, out of the bedroom.
I stand there, unsure of what to say.
“Is he telling the truth?” the officer asks. “If he's not, he's not doing himself any favors.”
I look down at the ground. I want to believe he's telling the truth, but I know that I doubted him last night. I wondered the same thing when he came back, if he'd gotten into some sort of fight and just didn't want to tell me about it.
But the truth is I don't know what, if anything, happened.
I look at the police officer. “I think he is, yeah.”
“You think he is,” he says. “But you aren't sure. Why not?”
I think for a moment. “He told me last night nothing happened. I believe him. I still do.”
“But you didn't see him the whole night?” he presses. “You weren't with him the whole time?”
I shake my head. “Most of the night, but not all of it. No.” I pause. “But he wouldn't lie to me.”
The cop eyes me. “But you can't say for sure can you? Since you weren't with him the whole time?”
I think long and hard before I answer.
“No,” I finally. “I guess not.”
TWELVE
The police officer says he'll be in touch and leaves. I close the door and watch him walk around the house, up the hill, and back toward the driveway. I wrap my arms around myself. I'm not sure if I'm cold because of the wet clothes I'm wearing or because the cop has just freaked me completely out.
I leave the bedroom and find Trevor upstairs in the kitchen, bracing himself against the marble island. His palms are on the marble and his arms are locked straight, like he's trying to keep from falling over.
“Total bullshit,” he says, shaking his head. “He lied as soon as I opened the door. That's bullshit.”
“I know,” I say. “You were right.”
“I knew it was going to be Derek,” he says. “And I knew why he was here. I just fucking knew it.”
“How did you know it was going to be Derek?” I ask.
He looks at me, annoyed. “What?”
“You just said you knew it was going to be Derek,” I tell him. “How did you know that?”
He stares at me, frowning, like he doesn't understand the question. “I don't know. Because everything has to do with Derek these days. It's the fucking force that's controlling my life right now. Anytime something goes shitty, it's about fucking Derek.” His face screws up even more with agitation. “I knew he didn't just show up here randomly. He wasn't just going around talking to people at the party. He was here to talk to me.” He shakes his head. “Fucking bullshit.”
I reach ou
t to touch his arm, but he pushes off the island and stomps around to the other side.
“It's fucking ridiculous that I'm even having to deal with this,” he says, seething. “All of it.”
It's the first real burst of anger I've seen from him in awhile and it's startling. He keeps telling me not to worry and that everything will be fine, but it seems clear to me, watching him circle the island that he doesn't believe what he's been telling me.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“What?” he snaps.
I don't say anything.
He sighs. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”
“It's okay,” I say. “After you left the fire. After Brett threw the bottle at him. Did you see him again?”
He stares at me for a few moments. “The fuck, Presley?”
“I don't know, okay?” I say, throwing my hands up. “I'm sort of freaked out right now. You were pretty fucking pissed off last night. I know you wanted to kick his ass when we were sitting there and he was talking shit. He left. You guys went the same way and I didn't see you for awhile. When you came back, I asked where you'd been and you got all shitty with me.”
“No, I didn't,” he says.
“Yeah, you did,” I say. “You were defensive and pretty much telling me to shut up. So I did.”
He looks at me. “But now?”
I don't say anything.
“Now you wanna know if I followed him down the beach?” he says. “If I found him, beat the shit out of him, and left him there on the beach? That what you were wondering?”
“No, it's not like--”
“And you're wondering if I just flat out lied to that asshole cop?” he says, cutting me off. “And if I lied to you? Right? That's what you're wondering?”
I don't say anything.
He laughs and shakes his head. “I can't fucking believe this. Now you're doubting me. Unfuckingbelieveable.”
“I'm not doubting you,” I say. “I'm asking what happened.”
“I don't know what happened!” he roars. “I don't know! I didn't touch that motherfucker!”
“Don't scream at me!” I yell back.
