True (True Believers #1)(49)
Author: Erin McCarthy

He snorted in derision. “Of course she does.”

“I thought you also said we shouldn’t be judgmental of other people’s problems.” Not that I intended to defend her, not really. I hated what she had done to her children because of her addiction.

“Sure. Except that she has jeopardized her sons and now she has potentially jeopardized my daughter. My sympathy for her is dried out. There is a little something called rehab if you want to get help.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I didn’t even want to argue with that. These were all thoughts I had had myself about Tyler’s mother. While it was easy to understand how her addiction could have gotten out of control, it wasn’t so easy to understand how she treated her children. Whether or not she was ever physically violent with Jayden and Easton.

The silence lasted again almost twenty minutes, until it was punctured with, “You know no EMT department is going to hire a guy with a prescription-drug conviction. They’ll be afraid he’ll steal half the drugs off the ambulance.”

I looked over at him in the dark, horrified. That had never even occurred to me, but it certainly sounded like a very real possibility. “Oh my God.” My lip started to tremble. I started to cry. “Everything he’s worked so hard for . . .”

Dad seemed to realize his speculation had gone too far. He suddenly hastened to reassure me. “That’s if he’s convicted, that is.”

We pulled into the circle in front of my dorm. “Can you get your bag yourself, or do you need help?” he asked, the air between us awkward.

“I can get it. It’s just a backpack.” I had been planning to spend the weekend in pj’s or the same pair of jeans. I had packed light, not expecting to come back on Friday. My room was going to be lonely, the dorm eerily quiet with everyone gone for the holiday.

“Let me know what’s going on.”

“I will. Thanks, Dad. For everything.”

Then because I was me, and he was him, we didn’t say anything else. That was as emotive as we seemed to be capable of, and as I got out of the car, I was already texting Nathan to let him know I was back. When I glanced back to wave, I saw Dad was on his phone, too, probably calling Susan to do damage repair.

Nathan said he would be there in ten minutes to pick me up, so I went into my room and unpacked my bag, wishing I had a way to contact Tyler’s brothers myself. I was worried about them.

Mostly, though, I was worried about Tyler. My main knowledge of prison was gathered from TV and movies, but I didn’t think they were unrealistic in portraying them as depressing and violent. I didn’t want to picture Tyler there, some hulking guy with an attitude shoving him just for the hell of it. Or worse.

After a few minutes of pacing, I went back downstairs to wait in the lobby. When I saw Nathan pull up in Tyler’s car, somehow that only made me feel worse. “We need to go to the money machine,” I told him when I got in. “I didn’t want to ask my dad to stop.”

“What did you tell your dad?” he asked, looking as worried as I felt. His hair wasn’t combed, and he was wearing his sweatshirt backward, the tag sticking out under his chin. He looked like he’d been ripped right out of sleep.

“I told him the truth, as much as I know it. He freaked out, of course, but he’ll get over it.” I hoped. “I’m just glad you answered the phone when Tyler called.” Now that I thought of it, I wondered why he hadn’t called me. Probably because he’d known I was an hour away without a car.

“I was actually sleeping.”

That confirmed my suspicions.

“But for some reason I answered it. Not even sure why I did, but it was a good thing.”

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Yeah. I’ve bailed a person or two out in my time.”

“Do you know what the possible sentence is for something like this if he gets convicted?” I asked. I couldn’t fathom that he would get prison time, but what did I know about it?

“It’s a first-time offense,” he said, pulling in to the bank. “So that’s good.”

That wasn’t exactly answering the question, but now wasn’t the time to worry about it. He took my card and inserted it into the machine, and I gave him my pin. Twenty minutes later we were walking into the lobby of the police station. I stayed close to Nathan, uncomfortable with the sounds and smell and appearance of the place. It was stark and dingy, with apathetic guards and rude desk clerks. Everyone looked miserable, and it smelled like body odor.

I let him handle all the talking and the paperwork and the payment process. Then we waited on a wooden bench for forty-five minutes while Nathan tried to entertain me with jokes from his favorite comedians. I smiled and tried to give him appreciation for his efforts, but the truth was, I felt like throwing up. This was even more alien to me than the suburbs had been to Tyler’s brothers. There was random yelling and psychotic muttering, and the heat didn’t seem to be on. I was huddled in my coat, hands jammed in my pockets, wishing I was anywhere but there. Of course, I knew that meant it had to be ten thousand times worse for Tyler, stuck on the other side.

But finally he was let out through an electronic door and he started toward us.

“Rory!” Immediately he glared at Nathan. “What the f**k is she doing here?”

“I only had fifty bucks, man,” Nathan protested. “She paid the rest of the bail.”

“You didn’t have to bring her here though, you idiot.”

“You’re welcome,” Nathan retorted, clearly irritated.

“Why am I not allowed to be here?” I asked, standing up. “And hello to you, too, by the way.”

“Because you don’t need to be in this shithole.” He took my hand and pulled me close to him, glancing around like he thought someone was going to snatch me and toss me in a cell.

When he hit the front door to open it, he was aggressive and angry, the door bouncing off the wall loudly enough that I glanced back, fearful that someone might yell at him or drag him back to jail. Nathan was walking quickly ahead of us, and we all seemed to have the same desire to get the hell out of there. Tyler was practically dragging me, and I stumbled to keep up.

“What happened?” I asked. “What happens now?”

“I may or may not go to jail, that’s what happens now.”

Fear crawled up my throat. “Are you kidding me? For a few pills on a first offense?”