by Kelley York
…
Chance is gone in the morning.
His side of the bed is still warm, so it hasn’t been long since he left. I roll onto my back with a groan, running my hands over my face, halfway convinced last night was a dream. If so, it was a really vivid one.
Except the clothes Chance borrowed from me are still gone, as are the ones he was wearing when he got here. I swear I must have lost a fourth of all my clothes to him over the years. Now I wonder whether it was out of necessity, because he needed them and never would’ve asked, or because he liked feeling closer to me. Maybe a little from column A, a little from column B.
I shuffle around in a dazed state between awake and what-the-hell-happened-last-night. And what happens now? Maybe that’s the more important question. Did Chance go back home? If so, I’ll get dressed, go over there, and retrieve him. Once and for all.
Ash is still sleeping. She growls dangerously at me when I ease into her room and say her name, but all it takes is, “Chance stopped by last night,” and she’s sitting up, trying to make sense of her hair while shoving aside blankets, speaking with all the slurredness of someone pretending she’s more awake than she is.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“He didn’t want anyone to see him.” Which is half a lie, because he wanted me to see him, obviously. But if he’d wanted Ash woken up, he would’ve said as much. That’s how Chance works. “Come on. We’re going over to his place and bringing him back home, even if we have to break down the door.”
“That doesn’t sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” she mutters, but she shoves me at the door to leave so she can get dressed.
Ten minutes later, we head downstairs with every intention of skipping breakfast and getting out of there. Halfway down the steps, I make out Dad’s voice, and from the living room we see him at the front door, talking to two men in uniform. I vaguely recognize one of them as Roger, an old friend and partner of Dad’s from the force. The other guy is several years younger. Well-groomed. Likely a new cop, I’d bet.
They look past Dad and catch sight of us, and their somber expressions tell me this isn’t a social visit. Dad twists around, and his expression is tight and worried. Fear clutches at my heart, making every beat a struggle.
“Dad?” Ash says. “What’s going on?”
He glances at Roger, who says, “We’re looking for Chance Harvey.”
I let out a strangled breath. They’re looking for him. That’s a step above we found him in a ditch last night. Not great, but better. I think. Before I can respond, Ash shakes her head. “We haven’t seen him in a bunch of days. We’ve been trying to get ahold of him. Did something happen? Is he okay?”
She’s better at this whole lying thing than I am. I simply stare at the two officers and Dad, unblinking, trying to keep myself calm. Logical. What in the world could have possibly happened?
Dad takes a deep breath. “Chance’s mother was murdered.”
Ashlin
The words hit me like a bag of bricks. Immediately, Hunter collapses onto the couch, head bowed, hands running through his hair again and again. I sit slowly beside him and reach for his hand, letting him squeeze mine as tight as he needs to. For my own comfort as well as his.
“His mom,” I repeat. “That doesn’t…make any sense.”
Dad lets the officers farther into the house and shuts the door. He sits on the other side of Hunter, keeping close to us. Roger takes a seat in Dad’s armchair while his partner remains standing. No more sitting room.
“Kids,” Roger says gently. “Anything you can tell us would really, really help.”
Oh, there are plenty of things we could tell him. Now I wonder if we shouldn’t have lied about Chance being here last night. Could we have been his alibi? Does he need an alibi? “We haven’t seen him in a few days,” I repeat. “We were sort of… He was… There was some stuff going on at home and we figured he was dealing with it.”
“What sort of stuff?”
My brother and I exchange glances. “Is he a suspect?” I ask.
“It’s a possibility,” the younger officer says. “First things first, we’d like to know if he’s all right. Judging by the state of the house, it looked like there was a struggle, and Zeke Harvey is also missing.”
Roger shoots his partner a look, like he’s said more than Roger wanted him to say, then adds, “Chance needs to come in for questioning. We can’t rule anything out.”
“Chance wouldn’t hurt his mom,” Hunter insists. “If he hurt anyone, it would be his dad.”
Roger rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. “What makes you say that?”
I close my eyes, knowing Hunter wouldn’t have said such a thing if he hadn’t planned on going all the way with it. Now, whether Chance wants us to or not, we’re letting his secrets spill. Hunter stares at his hands, mouth pulled into a twisted look of uncertainty.
“Because,” he says, “his dad is the one who beats the hell out of him.”
…
It takes two hours for us to give Roger and Allen—his partner—all the information we can think might be helpful. Helpful for Chance, that is. We’re careful not to say anything that might not look good on him. It isn’t lying. Not really, right? Withholding information? We know Chance didn’t do it, but no sense in giving the police more reason to harass him than necessary. I’m still torn; if we tell them now that we lied about Chance being here last night, they might not be inclined to believe anything else we’ve told them. They don’t let us in on much information to the murder. We know it happened yesterday afternoon or evening, when neighbors reported hearing a gunshot. So, it’s a safe bet to say she was shot to death.
Only a short time after we left Chance’s, too. It’s possible that we were the last people to see Tabitha Harvey alive.
By the time they leave, Hunter is frazzled, and Dad has been deathly quiet. As soon as the front door shuts, he gets to his feet and hobbles into the kitchen without a word. Hunter and I follow, lingering in the doorway to watch him.
“Dad?” I say.
His back is to us while he fusses with the coffee maker. There’s a heaviness to his movements. After a moment, “I never knew.”
“Neither did we,” Hunter mumbles.
“You were kids. I was the adult. I saw Chance more than his own parents did, and I should’ve recognized the signs. I always knew he didn’t have a happy home life, but this…” He shakes his head. He’s beating himself up over it. I hate that. It wasn’t his fault. He’s also getting frustrated with the coffee maker, so I nudge him gently aside, and he sighs, shuffling to the table to sit down. “I tried mentioning it to him a few times…asking if things were okay. He always brushed me off.”
“He did the same thing with us,” I say.
Hunter sits across from Dad. “You don’t think he did it…right?”
Dad folds his hands on the tabletop, sighing. “Chance isn’t the only suspect.”
That isn’t a “no,” but it’s not a “yes,” either. I’ll take what I can get. “His old man.”
“Zeke Harvey.” Dad gives a solemn nod. “He works as a mechanic at a shop across town, Roger said. Never one I’ve been to, but I’ve driven by it plenty of times. He’s got a bit of a record, so…”
“It has to be him.” Hunter gets back up, clearly too restless to remain sitting. “It has to be. He’s been hurting Chance all these years, and we’ve seen his mom—right, Ash? She’s this tiny little cowed thing. I wouldn’t doubt he’s been abusing her, too. Chance said he’s been trying to talk her into leaving for years, so maybe she was finally going to and he found out…”
Dad gives him a thoughtful glance. “When did he tell you that?”
Hunt opens his mouth, barely catching himself from saying last night. No matter how much Dad wants to protect Chance, he would totally not be okay with us lying to the police. “I don’t remember. Whenever we saw him last.”
“Hmm.” Dad nods when I set a cu
p of steaming coffee in front of him. He stares down at it like he isn’t sure what to do with it. “Roger will keep me updated on the case. All I need is for you two to keep an eye out for Chance. You see him or talk to him, let me know, hear? The best thing we can do for him right now is to get him to cooperate with the police so they can clear his name.”
Hunter and I exchange looks. Getting Chance to cooperate with the police? Not going to be easy.
…
I call in sick to work for the next two days. When I show up on the third day, everyone falls quiet when they see me. It takes twenty minutes into my shift before I realize the cops must’ve stopped by here, too, looking for Chance, and they would have found out he hasn’t been in lately and was fired. Or would have been, if Deb could ever get her hands on him.
Deb pulls me into a back office long enough to say, “I hope whatever’s going on with Chance has nothing to do with you and won’t affect your work.”
I stare at her incredulously. Really? Does she think I might’ve had something to do with all this? “I’m not hiding him in my apron, if that’s what you mean,” I say tightly. Deb eyes me but lets me go about my business. Great, even my boss is treating me like a leper.
I pull on my apron and decide to handle this by keeping my head down and my eyes on my work. It’s best for Chance. Probably best for the safety of my job, too. Let me survive my shift and I can get the hell out of here and resume looking for Chance. Small comfort is in the fact that Hunter is also at work, just as distracted as I am.
I text Chance all day, any time I can find a second to pull out my phone. It’s been three days. I don’t know why I think he’ll magically respond when he hasn’t any other time. But the cops haven’t found him, and they haven’t found Zeke, and it doesn’t look so good on either of them.
At lunch, I head to the back of the building and slump down with a sandwich and a granola bar. Sitting in the break room is too much of a headache. Where I used to be able to eat with my coworkers, now I can’t even sit down without someone giving me a curious glance. Regardless of how it happened, someone has died. I may not have been Mrs. Harvey’s biggest fan, and she wouldn’t have won any parent of the year awards, but she was still a person. She didn’t deserve this. Even so, everyone wants in on the gossip, and I’m not about to indulge them.
Outside by myself it is. I’m working the evening shift, so “lunch” is, technically, at dinnertime. Although it’s too cold outside to enjoy eating and I don’t have much of an appetite anyway, I nibble at my granola bar, knowing I need to get food in my stomach, while I check my phone yet again for a call or text I’m starting to think I’ll never get.
“If you’re not going to eat that, can I have it?”
Chance’s voice makes my head whip around so quickly I smack it against the brick wall. I grab the back of my skull with a wince, vision blurring with brief tears as he takes a seat next to me.
“Jeez, nice one. Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I grind out, rubbing at the knot most definitely forming. “Am I okay? You asshole. Where have you been? The cops are looking all over for you!”
Chance has on his jacket, hood pulled up and around his face. But it doesn’t hide the bruises. I can see why Hunter was so upset. The edges are fading into a sick brown and yellow—healing, but slowly. He shrugs.
“Here and there. What did they tell you?”
“That your mom was murdered.” I twist around, narrowing my gaze. Aside from a subtle flash of pain in his eyes, Chance doesn’t react. “You need to go to the police department, Chance. You need to tell them whatever you know. They think you’re either dead or a suspect.”
“And get arrested?” He makes a face. “I don’t think so.”
“Why would they arrest you if you didn’t do it?”
“Because I’m still a suspect. And I’m willing to bet they’d find a way to hold me.”
“Only because you keep running and they’d be worried about you taking off again,” I hiss. “If you’d gone to them immediately, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Chance sighs, absently twirling a strand of my hair around one of his fingers as though we’re talking about something inconsequential, like the weather. The gesture is a familiar and yet sharp reminder of how normal things were just a few days ago. “It’s my word against his, you know. We were both there.”
All the anger seeps right out, leaving me feeling instantly drained. “You were there…?”
He shrugs, staring off at nothing. He is sitting right next to me, but he looks like he’s a million miles away. Bruises aside, his face is drawn and tired, and his eyes are red, like he’s been crying recently.
“Chance.”
“What?”
I wrap my hands around his bicep, noticing the way he winces when I do. “You need to talk to me.”
“There’s really nothing to talk about. Let them catch my old man and toss him behind bars.” It’s brief, but there’s a hitch in his voice at the mention of his father. “It has nothing to do with me.”
“You can’t just avoid them until they convict your dad. That’s not how it works.” God, how dense can he be? I know Chance isn’t this stupid. “You’re scared, and I get that, because I would be, too. Hell, I am scared. But running away and ignoring this isn’t going to fix it. You lost your mom, and you might have evidence that can help convict the person who did it.”
Finally, he looks at me, lips curving into a sad smile. “I do have evidence, just not with me.”
I frown. “What evidence?”
Shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
I resist the urge to beat him with the remainder of my granola bar. Losing my temper isn’t going to accomplish anything. “You have to go to the police.”
“And if I don’t”—Chance takes my untouched sandwich, puts it in his coat pocket, and stands—”are you going to call and tell them I’m here?”
He looks down at me. I look up at him. He didn’t say it like a challenge. It’s nothing more than a simple, honest question. Would you turn me in? Do you think I did it?
When I don’t answer, he continues. “If Dad finds me, he’ll kill me. If I’m behind bars, even for a while, he’ll take off and they’ll never catch him. So long as I’m free and running around, he’ll keep looking for me and eventually he’ll make a mistake and get caught.”
In this moment, I almost hate him for doing this to me. For forcing this decision on me—between doing what is right according to the law and what I think is right for Chance. Because he might be right about his dad, but then what? If Chance is locked up until they clear him and Zeke Harvey gets away, will Chance spend weeks, months, years, always looking over his shoulder, wondering when his dad will come back for him? On the flip side, with Chance running around like he is, what if Zeke finds him anyway? He won’t have anyone to protect him.
I run my hands over my face, exhausted. What would Hunter do? I have no idea. I don’t think he’d know, either. So I say nothing.
“You two should stop coming after me, though,” Chance says as he pockets his hands and begins walking off down the back alley. “You’ll get yourselves in trouble.”
He rounds the corner, and I’m alone again with a missing sandwich, a half-eaten granola bar, and more questions than answers.
Hunter
Dad would kill me if he knew I was sitting in my car outside the Smooth Running Auto Shop where Zeke Harvey works. He might also kick himself for mentioning it to us. Not that he gave a name, but there aren’t many mechanics on this end of town. It confirms what Chance told me last night, about what his dad did for a living. Mechanics do bring home good cash. At this point, I guess there isn’t anything left to hide. No reason for him to lie anymore.
I don’t know why I’m here other than I’m grasping at straws for wanting to find Chance…or Zeke. Which is stupid. Of all the places either of them could run, Zeke Harvey’s workplace would not be one of them. The cops have already checked here, no dou
bt. They’re likely keeping an eye on the place. Told the other mechanics to report anything suspicious.
My wandering in to ask about Zeke’s whereabouts? Yeah, that could be reported as suspicious.
So could my sitting here in the parking lot. I should really be heading to pick up Ash from work, but I can’t shake the feeling I need to be out doing something. Looking somewhere. That I should know precisely where to go.
I’m so intently focused on the shop and the unfamiliar faces coming in and out that I don’t notice Roger’s face next to my window until he knocks on it. It startles my heart up into my throat and, groaning inwardly, I crank the window down.
“Roger. Uh, hey.”
Out of all Dad’s friends on the force, Roger is the first one he’d consider a good friend. They were partners. Roger used to sneak us ice cream and candy when we weren’t supposed to have any and always said, “If I can’t spoil ya, who can?” Aside from Isobel, he was the person who helped Dad the most through his recovery. Even though we haven’t seen him for a few years, I look at him as a sort of distant uncle figure. Which means the way he’s frowning makes me sink down in my seat.
“Do I even wanna know what you’re doing out here, Hunter?” he asks.
“I was just…” God, I wish I were better at lying. Roger might know if I tried to lie, anyway. Truth it is. “I was worried about Chance.”
He strokes his mustache. Some of the irritation eases out of his face. “Hunter…”
“He could be anywhere. What if Mrs. Harvey wasn’t the only one hurt?” My throat constricts at the thought, cracking my voice and making it waver. “What if he’s dead in the woods somewhere? It’s not like him to up and leave Ash and me. If he isn’t hurt, then he’s hiding somewhere, scared.”
Roger listens with quiet patience, folding his arms and bobbing his head in a nod. “I get all that, kid. Really, I do. But you think you’ll find him in a place like this? What’s your old man gonna say?”
I stare off at the Smooth Running Auto sign, studying its weathered paint like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “What are you doing here? Did you get a lead?”
