I figured the more support Oakley has right now, the better.
His father doesn’t look happy to see me on the other side of the door. “What’s going on?” He bounces a sleepy C.J. in his arms. “Dylan told me I needed to come over right away.”
As if on cue, Dylan treks up the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
Closing the front door behind me, I whisper, “Oakley’s sitting inside with a bottle of whiskey.”
“What?” Dylan hisses.
Mr. Zelenka’s disappointment is tangible. “Dammit.”
“He didn’t open it…yet,” I inform them. “But he heard some really bad news and he’s having a hard time digesting it.”
Mr. Zelenka gives me a look. “What kind of bad news?”
Given I might need a lawyer, he’s not the worst person to tell. However, now isn’t the time. “I’ll tell you later.” I open the front door. “Right now, let’s focus on Oakley.”
Oakley shoots me a look of annoyance when we all enter his apartment. “You called my dad.” His eyes flick to Dylan. “And Dylan.”
I let his animosity roll off my back because I know I did the right thing. “Yes, I did.” I take a seat next to him on the futon. “Because we all love you, and we’re gonna stay here with you for however long you need us.”
Dylan plops down on the other side of him. “What she said.” She gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You can’t get rid of me, butthead. I’m like a hemorrhoid that won’t ever go away.”
At that lovely visual, Oakley snorts.
Oakley’s dad sets up a blanket on the floor for C.J. to sleep on, but she wakes up the moment he lays her down.
Her sleepy gaze roams around the room, stopping on her big brother. “Uh-oh.”
Oakley melts like butter in the sun.
A moment later he’s scooping her into his arms.
“Hey, pipsqueak. What are you doing up past your bedtime?”
She giggles.
Oakley’s father, however, doesn’t. “I dropped everything and came right over.”
Oakley’s jaw tightens. “You didn’t have to do that.”
His father holds his gaze. “Yes, I did.”
Fortunately, C.J. breaks the tension by grabbing Oakley’s cheeks and blowing raspberries in his face. “Love, Uh-oh.”
Yeah, she does.
We all do.
It’s almost two in the morning by the time Dylan and Mr. Zelenka leave.
I’m stifling a yawn as I drain the bottle of Jack down Oakley’s sink.
Oakley joins me in the kitchen. “You know what’s weird?”
I toss the empty bottle in his trash. “What?”
“I don’t know what enjoying a single glass of alcohol even means. I hear people talk about it all the time, like it’s normal.” He leans against the counter. “But I always need the excess to drown it out.” A hefty sigh escapes him. “And pretty soon one glass leads to ten, which leads to a few lines of coke, which leads to popping some pills. But I didn’t think I was an addict like my mom…I thought I had the shit under control.” His eyes meet mine. “But I don’t, because it was controlling me. It’s still controlling me.”
“That’s because you have a disease,” I point out.
“I wish I didn’t.”
I tell him the cold-hard truth. “There might not be a cure, but you can manage it. You just have to want it bad enough. You have to fight for your sobriety and make it the first priority in your life. And you have to surround yourself with people who love and support you.”
“You mean the people I’m constantly disappointing because I fuck shit up.”
“No one was disappointed tonight.”
We were relieved.
Because the old Oakley would have given in.
And even though temptation was sitting right in front of him, summoning him to fall down the rabbit hole, and he could have listened…he didn’t.
He let me in instead of going to the dark side.
Just like I did with him.
Once upon a time, I built walls up to keep people out…
But now I’m realizing those same walls also kept out my happiness.
The ability to trust and love people.
Including my own family.
I will always love my mother and wish she was here…but I’m tired of keeping her secrets.
I want to be free.
Chapter 47
Bianca
“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Oakley declares when we pull up to the house.
“I know.” Pressing my cheek to his shoulder blade, I squeeze my arms around him, soaking the strength he’s giving me up like a sponge. “Thank you.”
Nerves bunch in my stomach when I look around the driveway and spot my father’s car along with Jace’s royal blue Lexus.
They’re all inside waiting for me.
And they have no idea what kind of missile I’m about to launch.
My legs shake as I get off the bike, and for a moment, I debate telling Oakley to drive me back to my dorm.
But I don’t.
A groan lodges in my throat when my phone rings. Stone’s been blowing up my phone all morning, despite telling him I was busy studying for a test.
I suppose I could have told him what I was really up to, but then he’d have a bunch of questions for me.
I’d rather tell him everything after I tell my family.
I’m about to hit the ignore button, but I realize it’s not Stone calling me after all.
I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway.
“Hello?”
“May I speak with Bianca Covington?” a deep voice asks on the other line.
“Speaking.”
“Hello, this is Detective Pollard with the Special Victims Unit. I was calling to give you an update about your case.”
To say I’m surprised would be putting it mildly because I was told it would take a while to gather evidence and get the ball rolling.
“Oh. I didn’t think it would be so soon.”
The detective clears his throat. “Yes, well unfortunately the case will be closed.”
Anger rushes through my veins. “What the hell do you mean the case will be closed—”
“Dr. Young was murdered late last night.”
My head whirls and a stunned gasp flies out of me.
“Wait, what? Murdered? By who?”
I see Oakley tense. “Who was murdered?”
I quickly hold up a hand, silencing him because I need to know what happened myself before I can tell him.
I hear the detective’s sharp inhale of breath over the extension. “I’m not at liberty to disclose all the details, but the department was conducting another investigation involving a different victim. However, the victim’s father decided to take matters into his own hands.”
Holy. Shit. I’m literally speechless.
“I…wow.”
“Even though the case will be closing, if you would like some counseling or to come by and speak with—”
“No,” I quickly say. “Thank you, though.” I can’t deny that I’m awfully curious as to who’s responsible for giving this piece of shit his due karma. “Do you know who murdered him?”