Chapter 3
Kendrick
I know it’s him from the cadence of his stride. Each step is authoritative, purposeful. Formidable without wielding the kind of overzealous power stereotypical of law enforcement.
The cell door swings open, but I don’t lift my head until he’s seated beside me. It takes that long to garner the courage to face him.
His deep brown eyes flecked with gold are full of nothing but warmth and concern. The man sitting beside me isn’t the Lake Chapel sheriff. This is my Pops.
He regards me, one eyebrow raised. “I raised you to be loyal, son. Not sacrificial.”
He knows there isn’t an impulsive, reckless bone in my body. There can’t be. I’m a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound running back hoping to go pro. One indiscretion could ruin my career.
Damn if this wouldn’t have been a hell of a lot easier if I was a nobody in this town. But I’m not, and I made a deliberate choice. One he doesn’t agree with, if the disappointment on his face is any indication.
“You raised me to take care of my own, Pops. So that’s what I did.”
He frowns as he surveys me, the wrinkles in his forehead creasing deeply. “It wasn’t for Decker,” he declares after another moment’s appraisal.
I roll my shoulders out in a shrug. “You don’t know that.”
I’m going for nonchalant, not disrespectful.
He’s caught the lie before I even close my mouth.
“Maybe not. But here’s what I do know.” He drops his elbows to his knees. “We get a call from the Crusade isle. Reports of aggravated assault by a tattooed hulk of a man wearing a red Crusaders cutout.”
Tilting his head, he makes a show of examining my long-sleeve fitted performance T.
I don’t wear cutouts. Especially during the day. I can’t risk exposing that much skin. He’s been buying long-sleeve shirts like this for me since I was diagnosed with lupus more than ten years ago.
“The call is from a panicked out-of-towner who’s making substantial claims and insisting he’s got the whole thing on video. All this went down at the place where my son lives with his friends, where my baby girls go on the regular to visit their big brother.”
He lifts one brow in a way that’s always made my stomach sink. He’s a fair man, but he’s got high expectations of me. Especially when it comes to my sisters.
“I stay back at the station, conflict of interest and all that, and send Rodriguez as my eyes and ears. I sit in my office panicking, worried about one of my son’s best friends, and down three cups of coffee in the process.”
With his fingers steepled in front of him, he’s the epitome of calm, even though he’s raging on the inside.
“When Rodriguez returns, she doesn’t have Nicholas Lockewood in custody. Nor has she obtained video footage or evidence. Because it’s gone. Poof. Inaccessible. Corrupted. Wiped. Whatever it is Kylian does to make things disappear.”
He watches me, waiting for me to argue or counter his assessment.
I don’t. What’s the point? He’s not wrong.
Though I have no intention of admitting the truth or dragging my friends into this now that I’ve stepped up to take the heat.
“Aggravated assault. Potential evidence tampering. Obstruction of justice. You sure you know what you’re doing, son?”
The question hits as intended.
Shuttering my eyes, I give myself two seconds to panic.
Two counts. One breath in. One breath out.
A blip in time to let the gravity of what I’ve done sink in and to acknowledge how it could send the whole castle crumbling down.
Do I know what I’m doing? Hell no. I’m so fucking out of my depth. I don’t know what’ll come of all this—the legal consequences or the disciplinary action from the school and the team. A smear on my record. A major hitch in my plans to go pro.
The scope of the potential fallout is unfathomable.
Yet I’d do it all over again.
Accepting my silence for what it is, my dad stands with a sigh and clasps my shoulder. “My hands are tied, Kenny. I love you, but I can’t help you with this one.”
I look up and lock eyes with him. This powerful, honorable man. A man I respect. A man I love.
He and my sisters aren’t the only people I love these days, though. Is there any greater display of love than sacrificing for one’s family?
“I know,” I concede, placing my hand over his and squeezing.
I didn’t take the fall thinking I could get off easier because of my last name.
I did it because I could take it. Come what may, I can handle the consequences.
“Your uncle is up for reelection this year. If he gets wind of this, or the media spins it and he feels compelled to make an example out of you…”
My uncle’s a ruthless prick. Whereas my pops believes in justice, order, and civility, his brother is a county commissioner who revels in power and control and doing whatever it takes to come out on top.
“Understood.”
He sighs again. “I see so much of her in you. Conviction. Honor. Love. You have my stubbornness, but you have your mother’s spirit. I won’t pretend to understand what the hell you were thinking, sacrificing all you’ve worked for so hastily, but I’m damn proud of the man you are, Kendrick.”
His words slam into me so hard I have to restrain myself from hopping off the bench and pulling him into a hug.
He’s never been stingy with his affection. Reserved and stoic, yes. But ever since my ma passed away, he’s led our family with empathy and compassion. He’s the kind of man who says what he needs to say when he needs to say it.
Swallowing past the gratitude and overwhelming sense of vulnerability coursing through me, I clear my throat, prepared to ask what happens now.
Turns out I don’t need to.
He walks out of the cell and leaves the door wide open behind him.
“Decker posted your bail. I’ll get one of the officers to take you home.”