The Elizabeth Kincaid CommunityCenter.
Will is already out of the car and waiting by the hood by the time I join him. I can only pray that Ellie’s mom runs this place, and he’s become the doctor he was always meant tobe.
Despite what I did tohim.
“You act like this is worse than the alternative,” Will notes as my stride slows the closer we get to theentrance.
“It is.” I don’t elaborate. My probation officer isn’t meant to be my new best friend, let alone the person to confess my deepest, darkest secretsto.
“You’re an enigma, Shiloh West,” he notes, holding my stare as if I’m gullible enough to probe him for areason.
I’mnot.
Instead, I turn the tables on him as he reaches for the door. “You’re not from here.” It’s not a question. I already know theanswer.
“Missouri,” he says, ushering me inside. “Small farm town right outside Kansas City. Moved here about five yearsago.”
Midwest. I wasright.
Our conversation abruptly ends as we both step foot inside the center. It’s as plain inside as it is out. A flat coat of white paint covers the walls, adorned only by black framed pictures of Ellie—as a baby, as a toothy little girl, as a timid high school freshman, determined to live a normallife.
The last one catches my eye, and I look away before Will sees my expression. A different white room, wires, and sterility blocked out by two familiar smiling faces with dark circles etched under theireyes.
“Whoa. ¿Qué pasa, mami” A voice pulls my attention away from the picture and to an intimidating-looking younger guy in a black t-shirt and baggy jeans. Although it’s rude, I can’t help gawking at the litany of colorful tattoos painting his arms and baldhead.
“I’m sorry, I’m notMexican.”
He tosses his arms wide and winks. “Hey, that’s okay; I’m noteither.”
When I just stare at him, he breaks into a megawatt grin filled with perfectly straight white teeth. He has a nice smile framed by a sparse goatee, but the way he’s looking at me makes me take a step back. Undeterred, he inches forward, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek to suppress alaugh.
“I’m Puerto Rican, not that I’ll ever see it in my lifetime.” He holds out a hand by way of greeting. “Frankie, I run the deskhere.”
I stare at his hand then back at his face, confused at what’s happening. Before I can form a thought, Will steps in front of me, taking Frankie’shand.
“Hey, Frankie. Is the bossaround?”
“What’s up, big suit?” Frankie says, doing some handshake ritual with him. “You been hittin’ it with some honey somewhere? You’ve beenMIA.”
Wait,what?
“You two know each other?” I interrupt their reunion, wrinkling my forehead while passing a finger betweenthem.
Frankie just grins. “Will drops by now and then; dontcha, bigsuit?”
Either sensing my discomfort, or just ready to get rid of me, Will ignores his comment and nods toward a closed wooden door diagonal from the entrance, where no less than ten young boys are hanging in a circle. “Boss got company? He should be expectingus.”
Frankie’s eyes light up as if a show is about to begin and he has front row seats. “Nah, man, he’s ready.” Walking a half-circle around me, he hums low in his throat and winks again. “Followme.”
I don’t remember walking across the open room, or even the silence that suddenly befalls the group of boys as they lick their lips and blow kisses at me. When Frankie opens the heavy door, all air exits my lungs in onepunch.
The man sitting behind the desk glances up, not bothering to stand as I enter. Massive muscles ripple across completely inked arms and melt into a defined and hard chest attached to his equally decorated neck. A slow smile curves his bottom lip as his tongue toys with the round ring piercing through it. The moment he leans forward, a long piece of onyx hair falls down his cheek, covering the ocean blue eyes from my memory—the boy from mymemory.
Only the boy is gone, replaced by a dangerous-looking man who’d make me run in the opposite direction if we met alone on a darkenedstreet.
One word hisses from my lips as my mouth goes dry. “Carrick.”
Five
