Page 56 of The Lies Always Told (Baker Oaks #4)

“Shh, it’s okay. Come here.” His arms wrap around me, immediately pulling me to his chest. He smells spicy and fresh and mine.

He smells like comfort. He smells like I can let myself fall, and he’ll catch me, like I can show him my walls and he won’t tear them down, but rather hold them up.

He feels like I would be able to open up a dam, and he’ll swim across the current to find me.

So I let him. I let him be my rock at this moment.

I let him hold me and console me. I let myself feel, cry, and scream against his chest. I let myself do it all, for as long as I want, without feeling like I shouldn’t.

I don’t apologize, I just let it all out and he lets me.

He holds me and doesn’t let go. My buoy. My lighthouse. My safe space .

For all I know, all morning went by. For all I care, today never came, and I’ve been stuck in a loop of before everything happened.

For all I hope, nothing actually happened.

But there’s no point in knowing, caring, or hoping, not when the reality is as dark as the deepest part of the ocean.

Nick is dead. Cody’s brother shot him. Cody might be alone. Cody.

Gus keeps soothing me with words like It’s going to be okay. Cry, baby girl. Let it out. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. He doesn’t stop until I do, until I stop crying and just sniffle against Gus’ chest.

“Who told you?” I ask, waiting for his reply. God, it feels so long ago when he was here, begging me for another chance. It was just two nights ago, but the world exploded in between.

“Cara. I was with Manny when she texted.”

“Does she know you’re here?” I ask. The last thing I need right now is to have to explain to my family what’s going on with me and Gus.

He shakes his head. “Manny does. He knows , but he won’t say anything, not until we’re ready.”

I nod and bury my head in his neck. I want to get lost in him. I want to lose myself in this moment and never face the world again. I don’t want to feel this anymore. There’s a buzzing sound in the distance interrupting the moment, pulling me away from my thoughts.

“Do you want me to answer?”

“No, it’s okay. Just give it to me.” He hands me my phone, but the call drops.

It’s an unknown number I won’t call back.

Whoever it is can wait. I sit up straight and regret it.

My head is heavy, probably from all the crying, and I don’t even want to think of what I look like right now.

I don’t want to think about anything at all.

My phone is full of texts, missed calls, and tags online.

I’ll deal with them when I can. Right now, I just want it all off. I want to turn it off.

I get up, walking to my dresser and pulling on some leggings and a hoodie. I slide into them, not saying anything at all.

“Nellie, talk to me,” Gus pleads, his voice thick with concern. It comes from behind me, soft but insistent. He’s still sitting on the bed—I can hear the slight creak of the mattress as he shifts—but I refuse to look at him. I can’t. If I do, I’ll break.

I press my lips together and focus on my hands, clenched into fists on my hoodie. I don’t want to explain. I don’t want to talk. I just want it all off—this feeling, this weight, everything that happened yesterday.

Before I can say anything, another buzzing sound cuts through the space. I whip around, snatching it and answering.

“Hello?” My voice is steadier than I expect.

“May I speak with Cornelia Thompson?”

My stomach knots.

“This is she.”

“This is Detective James, calling from the Baker Oaks Police Department. How are you?”

A chill races down my spine, but I force myself to sound normal. “I’m good. What can I help you with?” There’s a pause, just long enough for my heart to start hammering against my ribs.

“We were wondering if you could come to the station within the hour so we can ask you a few questions about yesterday’s events.”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Is this optional?”

His voice turns sharper, edged with something I can’t quite place.

“ It’s voluntary right now, but I can get a warrant if I need to.

You’re not in trouble. This is not about you; this is about whatever information you may have that can aid this case.

Ms. Thompson, someone is dead, and from what we understand, you know more about what happened yesterday. We just have some follow-up questions.”

Dead. The word lands in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold. I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. My mind races, fragments of yesterday flashing like broken glass.

Gus shifts again, not dropping his eyes from mine. He knows something’s wrong. How much does he know? I don’t know.

I clear my throat, forcing the words out. “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” The line goes dead.

I lower the phone slowly, staring at it like it might burst into flames.

“Nellie?” Gus’ voice is careful, hesitant. I turn to face him. His brows are drawn together, worry etched into every line of his face.

“They want me at the station,” I say, barely above a whisper.

His jaw tightens. “Why do they need you at the station? It didn’t even happen at your school.”

“My student. No, not my student. My…I don’t know, client? I don’t even know what to call them.” I let out a brutal laugh. “I don’t even know what to call them, and I already have to follow up with a report? With a police visit?”

“Why?”

“The kid who brought the gun to school is the brother of one of the kids I see often, and he…well, I think he knew something was going to happen. I missed it, so it’s all my fault.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“It’s not your fault. Do you hear me?” He clasps my face, daring me to look at him and not drop his gaze. His eyes are on me, soft and calming, understanding but serious. “I don’t even know what happened, and I can tell you it wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe I missed the signs. Maybe I could’ve done something.”

“Did you put the gun in his hand? Do you even know this kid?” I shake my head to each of his questions. “Then you didn’t do anything wrong. I promise you. Tell me you understand that.”

I don’t have the energy to say anything back. I don’t have the energy for anything more than what I have to do, and right now, that is going to the police. I nod so he’ll drop it, and he does.

“How can I help?” he asks.

“Can you build me a time machine?” My voice cracks, just a little. “Take me back to the day before yesterday?”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, and I already regret saying it. It’s not fair to put this on him. It’s not his fault. It’s mine. All of it. I talked to Cody every day. I should have known.

I swallow hard. “Can you take me to the station?”

A slow nod. No hesitation. He slides on his shoes, and I do the same. The quiet stretches between us as we step out of the room, out of the house, into the driveway.

“How did you even get in?” I ask, glancing at him.

“I climbed through your window.”

“How did you know which one was mine?”

He looks out toward the window and says, “I saw you last night. You were pacing in your room. The street lamp illuminates it just enough for me to see your silhouette. So, I sat out there in my car, waiting until you fell asleep—or at least until you stopped walking around. I’m sorry I hurt you so bad, Nellie.

I’m sorry, but we don’t have to talk about this now. I’m here for you.”

“Why are you?” The word is barely above a whisper. Please don’t lie to me. Not about this. Not right now.

“I told you. You needed me.” His voice drops lower. “But maybe I needed you too. I needed to see you, to know you were okay, too know you weren’t hurting—” He swallows and doesn’t finish the sentence, since I interrupt him.

“I’m not,” I say, but I won’t. I won’t do that .

His eyes search mine, dark and unreadable. He nods and asks, “Are you okay?”

No, but I don’t say that. Instead, I force a tight, brittle smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I don’t think that matters right now.”

We keep walking. When we reach his car, he unlocks it without a word, and I slide into the passenger seat.

The drive is quiet, the kind of quiet that isn’t comfortable, too heavy with things left unsaid, things to figure out. When he pulls up in front of the police station, he doesn’t move to turn off the engine. We just sit there, staring at the building looming in front of us.

“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I shake my head.

“Nellie.”

“Gus,” I whisper.

“Please,” he pleads.

“I’ll call you tonight, okay?” My fingers tighten around the door handle. “There’s just…a lot I need to figure out.”

His jaw clenches, but he nods. Then, suddenly, he reaches for my hand, brings it to his lips, presses a kiss against my palm like he’s trying to leave something of himself there, something I can hold on to.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “But please, call me. Please. I’m begging.”

“I will.”

“Promise me. Promise you will come to me.”

I nod, but I don’t say anything. I can’t promise things I don’t know I’ll keep. I’m stepping out of the car, the air rushing to meet me, before I know it. I take the steps slowly, one at a time, my pulse thrumming in my ears. I don’t know what’s waiting for me there.

But I know there’s no turning back.