“Fiiinnneeee,” he whines. My eye twitches.
“Goodbye, Zane.”
Mischief wrinkles his nose. “See ya, Chief.”
Hayes watches Zane go. “You have a Campbell.”
I hold his gaze when I say, “I have a Campbell.”
“Hey,” Campbell interjects, “I’m nothing like that guy.”
Hayes slaps his shoulder. “Whatever you say, buddy.”
A snort tears out of my throat, and Hayes and Campbell stare back at me with open mouths. Campbell’s eyes cut to Hayes.
“Did pigs just fly?” he asks, but Hayes shakes his head.
“No, but Theo just laughed.”
The laughter dries up instantly, and I narrow my eyes, glaring at them. “Do you want to see the evidence or not?”
“Ah, there he is,” Hayes says, stepping up to look at the pile of evidence on the ground. His brows furrow, understanding washing over him.
“It was arson,” he says, staring at the gas jugs scattered across the ground.
“It was arson,” I confirm.
______________________
By the time I make it home, it’s late in the night—almost morning—and Tanner is already in bed. I go to bed dreaming about fires and figures dressed in black that slip through my fingers when I reach out. I’m exhausted this morning.
I’ve failed in pretty much every single area in my life. My kid. My job. All the fires since the community building—the one Lily could have gotten hurt in—have been suspicious, but there’s never been any evidence until last night. Even that evidence is minimal. Campbell and Hayes spent the night searching for more—fingerprints, footprints, anything—but they came up empty.
All the failures are piling up, and it’s left me with two things—a poor mood and a pounding headache.
Voices float from downstairs as I make my way down. Irritation niggles at the base of my skull where my head is pounding. I’m not in the mood for company today and still need to speak with my son.
I follow the voices to the living room, wincing at the morning sunlight that stabs my eyes as I walk in.
Bella is sitting on the couch, and Tanner is squatting in front of her. They are talking in a low enough voice that I can’t make out what they are saying.
“Tanner, can we talk?” I ask, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but he doesn’t even look up.
“Tanner. Now.” His name comes out a little deeper—rougher—than before. I hadn’t meant for it to come out so harshly, but I guess the mountain of stress I’ve been juggling all summer is finally starting to crush me.
He looks up this time, but flames might as well be coming out of his eyes.
“Bella isn’t feeling well. I can’t talk right now.”
My irritation melts when I recognize the concern Tanner is wearingbeneath his annoyance with me. “What’s wrong?” I ask, my first responder training kicking in.
Bella’s head is lying on the couch cushion, and she rolls it just enough to look at me. Her eyes are glossy, and her skin looks clammy.
“She has diabetes,” Tanner says, confirming my suspicions. “Her sugar dropped.
Nodding, I move into action, pulling the coffee table closer to the couch so I can sit while I examine her.
“There’s juice in the refrigerator. Go pour some,” I bark. Tanner’s hands curl into fists, the skin over the knuckles turning white. “Now, Tanner.”
