The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(109)

My mind isn’t here with them; it’s up with Harrison in his room.

He’s grounded, and I’ve listened to Claire take his every privilege from him this afternoon.

It’s none of my business, and I can’t intrude . . . but I feel for the kid.

I dish him up a large bowl of dinner, slather it in grated cheese, and put some garlic bread and a drink on a tray.

He’s not allowed out of his room. I’ll take him dinner before Claire wakes.

I make my way upstairs and knock on the door.





No answer.


I slowly open it to see him lying with his back to the door.

“I brought you some dinner, Wiz.”

No answer. He ignores me.





Hmm . . .


I walk in and close the door behind me. I place the tray down on his desk and put my hands on my hips as I watch him. “You all right?” I ask.

“Get out.” He sighs sadly.

I sit on the end of the bed, trying to work out what to say. “I found your phone.”





His eyes flick to me.


“A lady found it, and I went and picked it up.”

His eyes drop to the floor.

“Why don’t you tell your mother that you go to the cemetery?”

He clenches his jaw but remains silent.

“Is that where you are whenever you go missing?”

His eyes meet mine, and I know that it is.

“How long does it take you to ride out there on your bike?” It’s fifteen miles—must take him ages.





He stays silent.


“You got a flat tire last night, and you couldn’t get home?” I ask. “And then it poured rain, and you were stuck in it for hours as you walked home?”

He still doesn’t answer me.

“I’m not against you here, Wiz. I’m on your side.” I put my hand on his foot. “I’m trying to work out what the fuck is going on with you. Why wouldn’t you just ask your mother to take you there? Why do you lie about where you’ve been?”

“Because whenever she goes there, she cries for a week, and I can’t stand seeing her sad.”

God.

I drop my head, and we sit in silence for a while. “Where did you get the money for the cigars?” I ask.

His eyes flick to me in horror.

“You’re not in trouble.”

He stays quiet, and then eventually he replies, “I saved my allowance for six months.”





I frown in confusion.


He turns away and looks at the wall. “They were for Dad,” he whispers softly.

I close my eyes as a sadness fills my chest.

Poor fucking kid.

“Just tell your mom where you were. She won’t be angry at you,” I urge.

“What for? She’ll just haul me back to the psychologist. I would rather her be angry than worried. I’m done with the shrinks.”

We sit in silence for a while, and I don’t know what to say. “Have your dinner, and then why don’t you come down, and we’ll build our spaceship for a few hours.”

He stays still, staring at the wall. “No, thanks.”

I put his phone on the bedside table. “Here’s your phone.” I turn toward the door.

“Tristan.”





I turn back to him.


“Can you not tell her?”

I nod. “Sure thing.”

I trudge down the stairs with a heavy heart and walk out to find Claire packing up the spaceship model and Fletcher standing nearby. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Putting this in the Goodwill bin.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s lying, and I won’t tolerate it. I’m not taking his crap anymore, Tristan. I’m done with it. There is no excuse for his behavior.”

“Leave it on the table,” I say.

“Tristan.”

“I said leave it,” I snap. How the fuck do I defend him without telling her what I know?

“Why are you suddenly on his side?” she snaps back. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Just fucking ease up on him, will you?” I sigh. “Have your dinner, have a shower, and go to bed. The boys and I will clean up. Leave Harrison alone for the moment. You’re tired and emotional. Things will seem better tomorrow; deal with it then.”

Fletcher gives me a lopsided smile.

“Tricky, you ready for dinner?” I call.

Patrick comes bouncing in from the living room. “Yes, my favorite.”

I sit in my car and watch Harrison as he walks up the road. I’m outside his school, it’s just around three o’clock, it’s finished for the day, and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.

Well, I do, but I’m pretty sure Claire would go postal if she did.

Too bad . . . I have to do this. It’s been eating at me all day. I drive the car up alongside him. “Wiz,” I call.

He turns and frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Get in.”

“No.” He keeps walking.

“Get in, or I’m telling her,” I threaten.