Chapter 9 #2
“How was school?” Riley asks incredulously. “Are you kidding me? That’s your question?”
Hades nudges my thigh, and I give in and “accidentally” drop some of the risotto on the floor for him. “Usually when I was asked, I talked about lunchtime and my two best friends. Avery had to give them his updated detention timetable.”
“Who’s Avery? Wait, a detention timetable?”
“He’s my little brother. He spent most of high school—and primary school, let’s be honest here—with two timetables: classes and detention. An almost even spread of both, which is pretty impressive. Mostly for harmless pranking, but the teachers really had it out for him.”
“That’s not even possible, time wise,” Grady says absently, more focused on his food than the conversation.
We don’t normally do these kinds of questions during dinner since Grady can’t, and prefers not to, talk about his work.
“He would have had to serve some of that during his classes, and then he would never have graduated.”
“How do you know he did?”
“Touché.”
“He did, though. Don’t ask me how it worked, I didn’t have even one detention all through school.
” I’m not going to mention that it’s only because of my best friends, Zach and Felix, who covered for me and served any detentions I may have potentially, maybe deserved.
Or I sweet-talked my way out of them. Depended on the teacher who caught us.
Some of them liked me, others associated me with Avery and just assumed we were the same.
Which seems rude since he’s younger than me. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
“So…?” I say expectantly to Riley.
He blinks. Is that Morse code? Not any language I’ve learned in it.
“So… I… went to class?”
I guess that’s reassuring even if he says it like he’s not sure. “Do you have friends?” Another nudge from Hades. “You’re not getting any more, you have food in your bowl.”
“No,” Riley says.
That answer’s a bit quicker. A lot more definite. “Not even one?”
“No.”
This is going splendidly, I think. “Do you like your school?”
“No.”
I’m pretty sure those are all actual, truthful answers. Short but the truth. Sometimes full essays aren’t required. Short is boring, though.
I spoon in another mouthful of food and chew thoughtfully. I need a question that’s going to force him to answer with more than one word. No yes/no questions. Grady’s better at this than me, right? He’s a detective, he has to ask people questions all day and in a way that gives him useful answers.
I give him a look, and he asks the next question.
“How long have you been at the school?”
“I dunno, like… six months? Maybe seven. I moved when I changed districts to live with my new foster family.”
Seems like there’s more to it than that. Couldn’t he have taken a bus to his old school? Once he’s enrolled, they can’t just kick him out because he’s suddenly in a different district. I think.
“What’s your favourite class?” I ask, changing tactics.
“I like… sport.” The hesitation seems less like he isn’t sure and more like he isn’t comfortable admitting it. Why not? There’s no wrong answer to the question.
“Fitness is important.” I grin lopsidedly. “I hope it is since they make us do PT every morning.” Or as I like to call it, “torture time.” TT for short. No time for long words when we’re puking our guts up after laps around the oval.
“Do you like it?” Riley counters.
“Depends who’s running it. I might sit in a cockpit most of the day, but it’s hard, labour-intensive work, more than you’d think. So keeping fit is important.”
“Cockpit?”
“I’m a helicopter pilot.” Did I not say that already?
Must have only mentioned the Army part. Details are hard to keep track of sometimes.
There’s only so much room for things up there in my brain.
And I like to leave a bit empty for important things.
Like Grady and his dick. And flying. “I spend a lot of hours in the air.”
“Like really high up?” Riley looks a little queasy at the idea, and I can’t help but laugh.
I’ve seen that look on many a person’s face when I talk about my job.
The percentage of people with a fear of heights is weirdly high.
But what is there not to like, being up there?
You get to see everything, experience the world as a bird, and soar.
“Sometimes, yeah. We were up in the Blue Mountains just the other day for a training session. Those are my favourite. Not a fan of heights?”
“Uh, no.” He still looks a few seconds away from losing his dinner.
“I promise it’s not as scary as it sounds.” I never feel safer than I do when I’m in the air. No, that’s not true. I look over to Grady and smile in what I’m sure is a super-sappy way. I feel safest when I’m in his arms.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“And you, Grady, how was school?” I ask, my smile turning cheeky. I like the idea of starting this up with him. He could just tell me about what he ate for lunch; I’d be okay with that.
“You mean before I got stuck with this one?” Riley protests loudly, and we ignore him.
“It was fine. Boring, even. We had a few interviews, Quinn ordered something new from the café around the corner for lunch and regretted it. He threw half of it in the bin and somehow managed to cajole one of his men to feed him instead.”
“Will, right?” That man would drop anything he was doing to feed someone. He used to swing by the base to eat with Peyton all the time.
“You’ll be surprised to know it was not, in fact, Will.
He did try Will first, but he didn’t answer.
A quick call to the right people, and we found out he was on a job.
Quinn got distracted by it—he shouldn’t be allowed near Google—and it turned into a whole thing involving the rookie—don’t ask.
Eventually, Sebastian came and dropped off some stuff from the Noodle Bar.
He had rice for me, but I made him eat some first in case he poisoned it.
He’d find a way to get out of the murder charge because he’s a crafty fuck. ”
“You had way more adventure than me.” To be a fly on the wall for some of that.
Riley stares at Grady like he’s never seen him before. It was a lot of sentences for the man of few words. Grady catches him staring and frowns. “It’s getting late. Once you finish eating, I’ll take you home.”
Riley’s hand clenches around his fork. “Why do I have to go home?”
“Because that’s where you live?”
“Why can’t I stay here?”
“That’s not how it works,” Grady says gruffly. “Won’t your parents be worried about where you are?”
“They’re not my parents,” Riley snarls, dropping his fork and loudly shoving his chair back. “They won’t even notice I’m not there.”
I exchange a glance with Grady. Why is Riley so reluctant to go home? I study him carefully, from the tense line of his neck to the bruise on his cheekbone. He never said where he got it from. “Riley, is there a reason you don’t want to go home?”
“It’s not my home,” he replies stubbornly.
He’s been at his new school for about six months, so he can’t have been with this new “family” very long. Does he get shuffled a lot? He’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem like a bad kid. Just in need of some guidance.
Riley stands abruptly and folds his arms over his chest. “Fine, whatever. I’m ready to go.”
Grady leans back in his chair, totally relaxed. It shows off his impressive chest, and my heart thumps unsteadily. I don’t think there will ever be a day that I look at him and don’t feel some degree of lust.
“Your phone is in your bag, still at the station,” Grady says conversationally. “Why haven’t you asked to go get it?”
Where is he going with this? It’s always fascinating, watching him question people. He goes routes I’d never think of. Do they get training in the force or something?
“I don’t fucking need it.”
“I’ve told you to watch your language. Don’t you need to contact your boyfriend?”
“We’re not attached at the hip,” Riley says stiffly. He looks uncomfortable, and it reminds me of when a soldier just out of training is getting a dressing down. It takes a while to lose the deer-in-the-headlights feeling.
“Don’t need to scroll your social media, check their Facebook pages to see what your friends had for dinner?”
Riley’s face scrunches up in disgust. “What the fuck? No. And I already told you I don’t have friends.”
Grady nods and stands, seemingly satisfied with the answer. I have no clue what he just concluded from any of that. “Take your dishes to the sink. Do you want to wash or dry?”
“Excuse me?”
Hades barks and runs around Grady, tail wagging. Probably thinks they’re about to go outside and throw the ball.
“Do you want to wash the dishes, or do you want to dry them?” Grady repeats patiently.
Riley looks between us, then at the table, and back at the kitchen sink. If he’s trying to work out the puzzle, I hope he tells me the answer because I have nothing. “Wash,” he eventually says, wariness in his voice.
Grady gestures with a hand. “Get started, then, and I’ll come dry. Everything you need is under the sink. There are gloves, too, if you want them.”
Riley’s slow to gather the dishes, like he’s waiting for the punchline. For Grady to tell him, “Psych, get in the car.”
I wait until he’s out of earshot before saying, “You want me to make up a bed for him?” Just in case that’s not the plan. I don’t want to get Riley’s hopes up only to have them be dashed.
“Yeah, for tonight.” Grady sighs. “Something’s going on at his place.”
And other places. “Do you think he broke up with his boyfriend?” Most teenagers have their heads glued to their phones, don’t they? Especially if they’re in the throes of “young love.”
“I think that he distrusts the world and is always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for people to turn their backs on him. I’m going to do some digging into his living situation.”