Minder

Chapter 15

LAWSON

“Where is she, man?” I turn to a couple of my cousin's friends, throwing a basketball back and forth.

“Who?” We are all out in the parking lot for a routine fire drill; I scan the faces. Nodding along, I catch Calhoun with his hands on his head. As Kalonie flings her arms in the air.

“Olallie?” Calhoun mouths her name to me with a perked eyebrow. He stands taller, looking above all the other heads.

I’m sure she is lost among the crowd. Waving my hands, telling Cal not to worry and calm his roll.

Teachers start naming off students, going through each class roll call. I try to think about dinner, my stomach grumbling for my mom’s cooking.

Guys at my shoulders start laughing at Verse's story about a girl he met over the weekend. Olallie’s name gets called; I lean against my truck, waiting. Guesses and accusations fly as to who pulled the fire drill. I point at Kalonie, making a scene, shrugging with a smirk.

When another student’s name is called, someone shouts out they’re sick. The list continues. It isn’t until police cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance pulls up that everybody and their dead grandma take it seriously.

The principal runs out huffing, going to each teacher, ensuring every member is accounted for. They call out Olallie’s name again, and when they can’t locate the ghost of a girl, Calhoun and Kalonie are questioned.

A careless grin loses its mojo. Push past everybody as I make my way over to Miss Madsen.

“So neither of you have seen her since this morning? Have either of you tried texting her?” Cal pulls out his phone as I do the same.

When the phone starts to ring, her phone is in my pocket. Gripping it harder than I should, probably cracking the screen.

“f**k. I’ve got her phone.” Bringing it out to dangle it in the air.

“Language!” Miss Madsen screeches before hurrying off to tell the principal.

“Shit.” Calhoun actually looks worried; he better be concerned. Just because he acts like Kalonie’s little b***h doesn’t mean he gets to ignore my girl.

“Look.” Someone points to the lab building on the other side of the campus—two seconds before I take a look at Calhoun, and we both are hauling ass to the entrance.

“Whoa! Hold up, you can’t go back in there until we get the all-clear, boys.” A teacher calls out to us. We make it through the first barricade before they stop us.

“Dude, I’ve got to get in there; my little sister is missing.” Calhoun is doing his best to be a good guy.

“She probably heard the alarms and has exited. No need to worry further; we will find her.” The teacher tries to distract us from the emergency we know is happening.

“She can’t hear that s**t. She’s deaf, you dumbass.” Olallie’s new set of cochlear devices hadn’t arrived yet.

“Officer Conrad, is it?” I check his nametag as he pulls his radio on his shoulder, bringing Patch over to us.

“Lawson, what’s going on here? Conrad, cool the drama.” Patch comes over; thank goodness he needs to settle this ASAP.

“Sir, these two were trying to endanger themselves.” Cocky Conrad needs to realize who is in charge.

“Olallie is still in there.” I flick my eyes to the school, so Patch knows I am going in one way or another.

“I’m sure she is good.” Calm, distracting me. Eyes ignite, and Patch rolls them as he turns Conrad to the crowd.

“This kid of yours is causing a scene; the students will become distressed.” Conrad must not be on payroll from Knox.

“He isn’t a troublemaker because I’m a cop, and he is rebelling against his father figure. Lawson’s real daddy is locked up down the road. He can’t wait to follow in his footsteps.” Patch gives me a cocky grin.

Once they face away, I move quickly and run through the doors.

Hallways are dim, hurrying my eyes along to adjust. Think, think, damn it, why don’t I pay attention to Olallie more?

What does she have this period? She carries books, maybe the library? Wow, what a reach that is. But it is the only thing I can think of right now.

Vast big windows provide afternoon light, the whole place feels warm. Olallie sits at a table near the back door. My breath won’t come quick enough, bending in half, wondering where all that cardio went.

All the physical activity I’ve been withstanding to keep my distance. Not that the erratic heartbeat slowed its steamroll. Coach wouldn’t be impressed with that sprint.

Noise from the alarm fades as I hear the cutest f*****g giggle, chilling my bones. Giggles, actual damn girly giggles. A comforting sound that brings relief to the panic.

On instinct, I go to her. When I am a few feet away, she senses me and turns to see why I’ve disturbed her. Olallie’s eyes focus behind me, the flashing lights warning. She jumps and knocks the chair over. Searching for her phone, I slide it on the table behind her.

No inches are separating us.

My hands support her jaw, trailing to the back of her neck. Tilting it up and angling her lips to meet hungry ones.

It must be the fear of talking; I worry this is my last chance to kiss her. And if it is, I sure as hell make it burn on both of our skin.

Grabbing her against me, she lets out the smallest of squeaks. Our mouths crash and I lean her over the table. She arches back, bending flat in degrees. My fingers clench my shirt as I pull it over my head.

Those iridescent blue eyes gaze with hope. My torso crawls and crowds over her space. One day I choose to break my vow against her, pulling restraints away as I kiss and caress her figure. Whispering hushed promises as I nip down her earlobe. Wondering if this time was different if I could surrender.

I know I couldn’t, but right now, I didn’t want to deceive her. Cursing myself, why today of all days, she wore jeans. Her flawless legs usually prance under knee-length dresses.

“Olallie, I can’t stay away.” We both firmly direct our words to each other’s eyes.

She brings the softest expression of understanding as her lips kiss my ears, and she says, “No one asked you to keep the distance.”

“I was protecting us.”

“No, Lawson, you were protecting yourself.” She leans back, unbuttons her shirt, shows me invisible scars.

The thought of getting caught briefly challenges my desire. But nothing is going to keep me from stealing a taste of fate.

Later, when the school has settled and the building has cleared, we are back in class.

I scoot in behind Olallie, and I pull her tiny figure against my pounding chest. The teacher drones on, and the rest of our classmates sit cross-legged like elementary school children.

I twirl her hair and move it around her shoulder so I can kiss her behind her ear. I love you, I whisper. She giggles, even though I know she can’t hear it. It sounds like the gift of breath, weightless light that lifts my being.

It terrifies me, the vulnerability I show her. Cut open deep, fish gutted, and that's what I offer her. Inside the bruises, the beatings, the damn laugh I busted out when the enemy gets their face cheese grated into the cement. Because the poor suckers deserved it.

I would bleed all over this town if she asked for an ounce to serve her maker.

Goosebumps run over the speed limit underneath my jacket. Since the first time she looked my way, there wasn't any chance to escape.

“Let me take you home.” Grabbing Olallie’s hand, she nods, reading my lips.

When we get to the truck, I climb in the passenger seat. I kick open the driver's door and throw her the keys; the girl looks terrified and unsettled.

“Come on, ghost, we don’t want to miss Angel’s lasagna.” Giving her a laugh, she still cradles the keys outside the door, fearful.

Her fingers start shaping words and letters, but I wave her off.

“Stop fretting. Get in; you have to drive.”

She hops in and buckles her seatbelt tight. We make it a few stops before I reach over and pry one hand off the wheel.

“Relax, baby.” I kiss her palm, and her shoulders dip a bit. And then we hit something.

She tries to get out of the truck while still being buckled. Olallie tries to push down on the metal release but can’t seem to find the right point. I release her and hop out to see the damage done.

“Where did you learn to drive, Utah? Kids like you shouldn’t be given licenses until there is a thorough background check to make sure you are even legal citizens.” The man in the sports car sees me first, and as he slams the driver's door closed, his arms flare wide.

“It was an accident; she’s learning how to drive. It looks like there is more damage to my hood than to your precious beamer.”

“Oh, so you speak English? Amazing, can you call your immigrant parents and tell them they are going to pay for a new car until they are in their graves?”

“Sir, we will handle this, and I don’t need my parents coming to rescue a two-dollar scratch off your fake bumper.” It is probably a dime scratch, honestly.

The man’s eyes are the color of gold; he must snort it daily, if not that then loads of audacity. Olallie runs up and tries to explain with her signs.

“O, it’s all good. Wait in the car; I’ve got this handled.” I try pushing her back out of the argument; she has no place in it.

“She was driving; is she even allowed to with her condition?” The man is getting on my nerves, and I want to pretend she can’t read his arrogant words.

“What condition would you be referring to? I realize you being racist shrinks the opportunity to have open-minded opinions.”

“f*****g retard…” Olallie shrinks back before I can shield the insult she reads on his lips. She starts apologizing. I can take being rationed into a stereotype. But nobody f*****g puts down a girl who's lost everything. She doesn’t deserve to be punished anymore.

“Excuse me, I must have misheard you?” I laugh, and it is the type of laughter that makes all bets off from acting like a law-abiding citizen.

“Is your English not good anymore? I said she is fu—” Short temper remember? And this is where I snap. His face meets the edge of my knuckles. Once he is down, the hits keep coming as he shields his head and body into a ball. Shocked gasps start, and I hear sirens behind us.

I turn to see Olallie, staring, unphased by the mere violence that makes me grow taller.

Verse pulls up, a minute too late, and my cousins are close behind. “Baby brother, get Olallie out of here.” Vayden escorts her to Verse’s car.

“He breathing?” My best friend, a partner in crime soon to be jail cell, doesn’t even ask why.

“Hopefully.”

“Patch is going to be pissed.” Verse knows this, but I think we will both get a rude awakening when our parents arrive.

“When is he not disappointed in his step-son?” I sit on the curb as the police officers arrive. When they get to me, I stand to turn and allow them to slam my head on the trunk of the dude’s car.

“Lawson, I’m sure your dad will be here any moment to get you out of this mess.” Officer Conrad clips on the handcuffs, extra tight, pinching them.

“He’s not my dad Conrad; he’s just a guy that got my mom pregnant after they took my dad to prison.”

The man I beat up starts yelling, claiming it was a hate crime, that he was victimized and targeted.

“Bullshit, buddy.” Mocking me, again and again. Bullshit indeed. Handcuffs and booked into the county jail, not 18, so they wanted to introduce me to the juvie in the next county.

Patch didn’t like the sound of that, and when he can’t be persuasive, his best friend Knox can be.

The man ultimately let the scene go, mainly because someone caught his racial slurs on video.

The backlash was a b***h in this town. It wasn’t like they didn’t sign me up for community service. Those cells down at the station were becoming more familiar with every offense.

Soon Patch wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of my problems. Someday, I would have to face them, and hopefully, it wouldn’t be with years of my life.

“Mom, Dad, can I head over to Krause’s house?”

“Um, are you are asking?” Angel’s voice is on high alert for a lie.

“Yeah, it seemed like something a responsible young man would do.”

“Are the adults home?” Still trying to play along with my charade.

“What?”

“It felt weird saying it out loud, let alone thinking it. It's something a responsible parent would say.”

“Do you want me to ask?”

“Yes! Please humor us; how fun, Patch! We finally get to act like strict parents.” She laughs, and my younger brothers join in on the joke as Patch wrestles them to the ground.

Leaving them in search of food, my mother follows me.

“She’s not perfect.” It seems light at first.

“Angel.” Not in the mood to fix a problem she has created in her head.

“She’s going to let you down, and it will hurt her more than it ever hurts you.” Wow, Angel, thanks a whole lot.

“We’ll be okay. We are starting out; we have time for the heavy stuff.” Brushing off her worry.

“Yes, but don’t put that girl on a pedestal, expecting her not to fall from grace.” I know she is speaking from experience. But the difference between my real dad and me is I wasn’t going to drag Olallie to the grave if she wasn’t willing.

“I pushed her off before she had the chance to rise.”

“Lawson? One more thing?”

“Angel, make it quick.” I’m late to meet daddy.

“Same goes for you; don’t let it define you. When you can’t take Olallie’s pain away.” Angel looked out the window toward the hills that boxed my father’s prison. I stared at her for a minute, wondering if we were ever going to be free of his lashes, free of the scars.