A knocking drags me out of a deep sleep, and I sit up in bed. Disorientation sets in when I do a scan and have no idea where I am. The doorbell rings, another knock, and little kids’ voices squeal that someone’s at the door.
I rub the sleep out of my head as I slowly realize I’m at Marshall’s. I’m shirtless and in a pair of old sweats that belong to my uncle. Near the door on a wooden chair are my neatly folded clothes. I didn’t do that. I barely remember stripping down, leaving my clothes as a mess on the floor and stumbling into bed.
I pick up the clothes and they’re warm as if fresh out of the dryer and have the sweet scent of fabric softener. The niceness that someone would do my laundry disarms me. I take my time changing and try to figure out how I should act or what I should say when I leave this room. My relationship with Marshall is complicated enough, and I don’t want to do anything to insult or upset his wife and children.
I’m saved from having to figure it out with another knock, this time on the door to my room. It opens right as I finish pulling the shirt over my head. Marshall pops his head in. “Hey, how are you?”
“Good.” My voice is rougher than normal, deeper, and my head throbs. “How long was I asleep?”
“Not long. It’s eleven.”
“At night?”
“In the morning. I had hoped to let you sleep longer, but Mr. Copeland’s here and he wants to talk to you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that a good idea?”
“I don’t know, but he’s here and he seems calm.”
Yeah. The guy is all about appearances. I follow Marshall down the hallway and in the living room is Scarlett’s father. He’s in a pair of khakis, a collared shirt, and he turns away from the window when we walk in. His eyes narrow at the bump and bruise on my head, and he mashes his lips together. “I heard there was a scuffle when they found you and my daughter. I had no idea it was so bad.”
I glance at Marshall, willing him to take the lead, and he doesn’t disappoint. “Jesse’s legal team is handling the altercation directly with the police.”
I have a legal team? Sounds fancy.
“I’m here to offer my support,” Mr. Copeland says. “I’ve talked to several people in the department, the chief of police is a friend of mine, and it sounds as if there was a severe overreaction. I have it on good authority that the resisting arrest charges will be dropped, but of course, it’s up to Jesse and his legal team if you want to file a formal complaint against the officers. I have not ruled that out myself.”
Spoken like a true manipulator, but I don’t buy it. Not for a second.
“I can speak to the chief if you’d like, Jesse, and tell him that I believe that the officers were out of line with you and my daughter.”
In exchange for what? My soul?
“Thank you for your offer,” Marshall says. “We’ll definitely keep that in mind. While we appreciate you coming by to check on Jesse, it’s been a long night and we need some decent sleep before we discuss legalities. It’s good to know that you’re hoping for the same thing we are: a peaceful, quick and just resolution.”
I’m assuming I’m not the lone one who picked up on the subtext that we aren’t only talking about the arrest last night.
“I agree.” Mr. Copeland waves his hand at the couches. “Please, why don’t we sit?” As if this is his house to offer.
I’m proud of Marshall as he stands his ground. “I mean no disrespect, but Jesse is recovering and my daughters just returned home. Unless there is something else that weighs heavily on you, we can set up a meeting to discuss anything else you’d like this coming week. My law practice is near your company, which will make it convenient for you.”
No wonder Gran liked Marshall. It’s nice being on his side instead of the one he’s fighting.
“Of course,” Mr. Copeland says. “I do have one question, and it’s a private matter. Would it be possible for me to speak to Jesse alone?”
“No.” Marshall has balls of steel.
Anger flashes over Mr. Copeland’s face, but it’s gone as quick as it was there. “I understand and respect that. Jesse,” he hesitates, “my daughter is going through a lot in her life. She’s very confused, and I apologize that you’ve been caught up in her erratic behavior.”
“Erratic?” I spit out, but the warning glare Marshall sends me shuts me up.
“As a concerned father, I’m trying to figure a few things out. One of them being, do you have any knowledge of Scarlett using drugs?”
My muscles tighten and my fingers form a fist. Marshall moves his arm out in front of me as if the driver had hit the brakes too fast and I’m whiplashing forward. “Answer, Jesse, but yes or no only.”
Yes or no only? I want to tell Scarlett’s father where to shove his question, and then I want to smack him like he’s been smacking his wife. It’s hard as hell to stay in place and even harder to not run my mouth. “No.”
“Has she been drinking?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she currently is?”
My entire body recoils in fear. “Don’t you?”
“Yes or no only,” Marshall bites out.
“As I said, Scarlett has been having a rough time. She’s confused, and not acting like herself. Her mother and I are very concerned, and we’d like to get her help. After the traumatic experience you and Scarlett went through, she was understandably very upset. She left home sometime this morning, and she took Isabelle with her. With how Scarlett has been behaving lately, we’re concerned with her mental well-being. I’m begging you, Jesse, if you know where Scarlett is, please let us know. We’re extremely worried.”
“Do you know where Scarlett is?” Marshall asks.
“No.” And that scares me.
“If you’re concerned,” Marshall says, “I would suggest involving the police.”
It’s obvious that’s not a recommendation Mr. Copeland appreciates. “Her mother and I were hoping to avoid the dramatic scene from last night. We believe it traumatized her. If you hear from her, please let me know immediately.”
Mr. Copeland offers Marshall his hand, they say short, obligatory goodbyes then Mr. Copland shuts the front door behind him. Marshall pivots to stand directly in front of me. “There’s more going on than two teenagers making out in a car, and it’s going to be in your best interest to catch me up.”
My brain swims—losing my land, and now Scarlett . . . The bump on my head throbs and I’d give anything to crawl back into bed, but that’s not in the cards I’ve been dealt. Scarlett is missing and that means she’s in danger. “Can I trust you?”
“Yes, but that’s never been the problem. You have to decide to do the trusting.”
Scarlett trusts me, but I love her. She needs help, more help than I can give, and Marshall might be the force of nature who can help her survive this storm. “Scarlett’s father abuses her mother, and I’ve been helping Scarlett plan how to leave home after graduation. If she’s gone, it means things are bad and she needs our help.”