I couldn't get far enough away from, apparently, all the liars in my life. Broden first, Noah second. And now my dad. Did he smuggle drugs? Did he use them? Did he even work for Phelps at all? I hid by sitting on the slanted roof connected to my bedroom window. My dad, Dwayne Gray, was somewhere downstairs, speaking with Noah Tomery—whoever that was.
I laid my head on my knees. I had taken a warm shower to get the river off of my skin, but the night lingered. In the air. On my skin. In my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the world to disappear. Even then, Noah was still in my life and so was tomo. It always had been. If I blamed Noah, I had to blame my family, too.
"Hey," Broden announced himself from my doorway.
I didn't lift my face to look at him, but I heard him climb out onto the ledge and felt him sit next to me. He elbowed my arm softly.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Not really."
I wanted to be in the forest, among the acres of trees and brush. I wanted it to be daylight, so I could throw a couple of my father's knives into the tree trunks. I wanted to go running with Argos. All of the moments of the night would disappear, then. Eventually, though, it would return with the sunrise. As far as I knew, Lily and Miles were under arrest, and my father had something to do with all of it.
"Are you mad at me?" Broden asked.
I lifted my head to look at him, but bit my lip to prevent speaking.
Broden offered a meek smile. "I would be. I know this is hard to understand—"
"Hard to understand?" I repeated. "Yes, it's hard to understand how my best friend could drug everyone, then call the cops. You could say that."
"I didn't call the cops."
"So who did?"
"Pierson."
"The door guy?" I asked before I remembered how Lily had told me Pierson was Miles' friend. My hands curled into fist. "Of course he did."
"Miles knew Pierson," Broden said. "We trusted him with our plan."
"You mean, Noah's plan."
Broden tilted his head, thoughtful. "It was necessary."
"Necessary?"
"Noah needs a distraction," he said. "If the government is busy handling the biggest drug drop in the State since the massacre, they won't have time to come after him."
"That," I started, "could have easily turned into another massacre."
Even though it was four years ago, I didn't know much about the Phelps' Massacre, but I knew to be afraid. Hundreds had died protesting. Right in the State, too. That night, my dad locked me in the forgery and told me not to come out. I listened. When he opened the door, it was done, no one I knew had died, and I had gained a dog. If anything, the massacre had brought me a best friend and, as a lonely twelve-year-old, I didn't care to question it much beyond that. Now that I was a little older, I wondered if I should've paid more attention. Of course, digging into it would only cause trouble.
All we needed to know—according to the State—was that extremists attempted a terrorist attack, and failed. Tomo had been their fuel, hence the demonizing of the drug, and it was deemed a dangerous hallucinogenic. Talking about the massacre beyond that was practically illegal, even though ramifications were rampant. Most surviving family members were arrested or detained. Even kids. They were placed in correctional facilities for screening, the same ones Lily volunteered at today. Despite these massive buildings no one could ignore, no one really discussed it either. It was practically treason, or an invitation to be institutionalized too. Which was why father told me not to mention it. Never bring attention to our family. Never. And now I knew why.
He was an extremist. Wasn't he? He could've participated in the Phelps' Massacre too. I didn't know where he went that night. Not at all. And now he knew Noah. And Noah almost caused another one.
"We could've died," I said.
Broden winced. "But we didn't. And it didn't turn into... that," he said. "Miles made sure it didn't. The State won't kill minors, and Noah needs to be hidden."
"Isn't that what his fake identity is for?" I argued, loud. Loud on purpose. I was tired of hiding. And Broden was tired too, just of something I couldn't understand yet.
He sighed. "That identity won't protect him forever."
My anger fell to a simmering rage. "I thought he wasn't staying."
The only hope I had managed to cling to was the fact that Noah had mentioned leaving again--and soon. My life could go back to normal then. My life could be mine again. But Broden didn't respond. The thought of Noah staying churned my stomach--and made my heart race.
I dropped my face to hide my burning cheeks. "I hate him," I managed, knowing that Broden could hear the lie in my cracking voice. I didn't hate Noah. Not a single bit. Even though hate was all I wanted, I couldn't feel it.
The roof squeaked when Broden shifted. "You don't know him."
"I know that he shouldn't know my father."
"That's for your dad to explain," he pointed out.
"Which I'm guessing he won't."
"You never know."
We fell into silence, and the voices from downstairs floated up, indecipherable. Still, I could pick out Lyn's groggy voice out of the bunch. The young nurse from the Albany Region had suddenly become another stranger.
"Does Lyn know Noah, too?" I asked.
Broden shrugged as if it were a possibility, and frustrated tears built up in my eyes. "Does everyone know Noah except me?"
"Sophia—" Broden laid a hand on my arm.
I swatted his hand away. "Who is he, Broden?"
He cringed. "I can't explain that to you."
"Then, who will?"
"I will."
Broden and I jumped at the interruption, and I clutched onto the windowsill, careful not to fall off of the ledge. I peered into my bedroom window to see Noah standing there. He wore fresh clothes borrowed from my father, though the large clothes hung off of him. His brown hair dye had been washed out, revealing golden blond hair and his injury. The cut on his forehead was in the beginning stages of being bandaged. My father had woken Lyn to give him stitches.
Noah hesitantly stepped toward the windowsill before he poked his head outside. Since he was closer, I could see a knife hanging from the belt around his waist, a six-inch throwing blade that had my father's signature—a spiraling sun—embroidered on the grip.
My father trusted him. Whether or not I trusted him was another debate.
Noah opened his mouth to speak, but a cop car flew by, sirens wailing. Even though the road was far away, Noah ducked back to conceal himself in the shadows. He exhaled as his eyes met mine, releasing the nerves, but the wild remained behind his gaze. Wild and afraid. I hadn't been able to see that in him before now.
My rage broke into contemplative silence, and for a few, fleeting seconds, I looked at Noah and he looked at me, and nothing else seemed to exist except us. And danger.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I said I would tell you when I had the right kind of permission." He paused to look at Broden before returning his gaze to me. "I got it."
Broden smirked. "You never did care for my permission."
Noah hadn't been waiting for Broden or Miles or even a stranger to talk to me. The man he deeply respected was my father.
"Tell me now," I said.
"Only if you're sure." Noah lowered his voice to a whisper. "You won't be able to look at anyone the same way again, Sophie. Even your father."
"I already don't."
"Okay." His softened gaze hardened, all traces of his fear now replaced with steady preparation. "But you two need to come inside first. We'll talk downstairs."
...
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