Page 161 of Long Way Down

Tobias would skate away, since he hadn’t done anything more than withhold information.

Melissa didn’t know if she’d ever sleep again.

Then again, she’d never slept that well to begin with.

“We’ll both have to testify?” Lynn asked, now, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. She glanced toward Lana, who stood with shoulders back and head lifted, valiantly put together, her bruises faded to the faintest shadows.

“Yeah,” Melissa said. “Obviously, it’s your choice, but victim testimony is a huge deciding factor for cases like this. Doctors and photographs can tell the jury what happened to you in a technical sense – but hearing from both of you makes it personal.”

Lana nodded and let out a slow breath. “I’m ready. Just tell me when.” To Lynn, she said, “I don’t want them to get away with it.”

Lynn swallowed, but nodded; visibly called upon some inner well of bravery. “Yeah.” To them: “I’ll do it, too. Just tell me when.”

Contreras offered them a small, proud smile. “Good. We’ll be in touch.”

The girls traded another look with each other, then turned and walked across the weathered boards of the classroom to their easels. The evening’s model – a woman who looked to be in her sixties with lots of interesting tan lines, freckles, and some old, faded tattoos that would make for a characterful sketching experience – was already situated on the chaise, and the rest of the class bent over their paper. Melissa watched the girls get settled, and select their pencils, the quiet scratch of graphite and the occasional muted cough underlined by piano music from the stereo across the room.

After a moment, Professor Dubois moved to stand behind Lana, studying her paper. He offered a quiet word of encouragement they couldn’t hear from the front of the room, but the tiniest uncertain smile touched Lana’s lips.

Contreras leaned in to whisper, “You think he’s really in love with her?”

“Maybe. But. She’s not in any place to give serious thought to that.” A fresh wave of melancholy swept through her. “Poor girl’s gonna struggle with what happened the rest of her life.”

“Hm. Doesn’t mean she can’t find ways to be happy, though.”

“No.” She thought of her own current situation, the warm, callused hands that had roused her from a nightmare last night, the damp lips at her temple.Shh, you’re dreaming. It’s alright.“I guess not.”

“Day off tomorrow,” he said, a few minutes later, when they were walking down the front steps of the building to the sidewalk below. The streetlamps here were imitation old gas lamps, and they threw a warm, buttery glow across the concrete. “Got any big plans?”

Melissa shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and tried to ignore the little flip in her stomach. She kept telling herself it was stupid to be nervous, but that didn’t do anything toalleviatethe nerves. “No. Well. They’re notbigplans.”

“Hold up.” He halted and touched her shoulder, urging her to turn toward him. When she did, she found that he’d adopted a comically shocked expression. “Youhave plans? You haveplans? Youhave–”

“Okay, okay,” she held up a hand to stop him, chuckling. “Yeah.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling. “He’s taking you to meet his parents, isn’t he?”

“No, that’s next weekend.” Andthatwas terrifying in a new way. “We’re riding up to Albany tonight, and I’m gonna spend a few days. Formally meeting hisotherfamily.”

The grin slipped a little, and he let out an impressed whistle. “Wow. Where are you guys registered?”

“What…? We’re…” His meaning hit a beat later. “We’re not gettingmarried.”

“Hey.” Both hands went up. “I’m just saying. Wedding, no wedding. Meeting the family’s a big deal.”

“Gee, thanks. No pressure.”

“Hey,” he said again, softening, and caught her eye, smiled in encouragement. “You’ve already met some of them. The president, you said. So you’ve already got the seal of approval. This is just the social part of it.”

“The social part is the part I’m worst at.” Also, there was in fact business to be hammered out in Albany. Pongo had said there was going to be a “council,” and she’d envisaged a heavy table, and men in mail and armor,Game of Thronesstyle.

“Good thing bikers don’t have any social skills.”

“Oh my God, stop,” she groaned.

He laughed, and then said, sincerely, “You’ll do great. They’ll love you.”

It was a simple sentiment, and one that was automatic: it was the sort of thing people said in these instances. But, coming from him, she knew it was heartfelt, and it was so rarely something said to her, besides. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard before they could betray her. “Hey, Rob? Thanks. For everything. For being my partner.”