Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(120)

Mom jerked at the noise, and her thigh thumped the table leg. She made a pained sound.

Carson’s eyes filled with tears. She’d gotten all cut up because of him. Because he’d been stupid. “I’m s-sorry, Mom.”

“Oh, hey, honey…” Face soft, she rubbed his arm. “…it’s just tiny cuts. They’ll heal.”

She could have died. Carson’s breath hitched.

Holt could’ve died. Carson looked up at him. “I’m s-sorry. I don’t hate you, an’ I shouldn’t have yelled at you, an’ you were right. I was there at the school. And that fireman yelled at you, cuz you went into the house. Cuz I called you, and you could’ve got killed. Because of me.”

Carson tried not to cry, but the tears kept filling his eyes.

A corner of Holt’s mouth tipped up. “Apology accepted for yelling at me, and I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

Carson held his breath.

“You made a mistake in your choice of a friend and in getting pulled into something wrong, but calling me was the right thing to do. You tried your best to keep Brandon from burning down a house—and I’m very proud of you, Carson.”

Carson could only stare at him, holding the words as tightly as he held Holt’s hand.

A chair squeaked over the floor as O’Keefe pulled it closer. When the big guy sat down, the chair made a groaning noise. “Carson, Josie, my job is to investigate fires. I have a nice long title, but how about you call me Cullen?”

Carson licked his lips. “Can Holt stay?”

“If you’d like.” Cullen stretched his legs out, his hands clasped on his stomach. He looked comfortable, like he was going to watch a football game or something. “I’ve known Holt a while—firefighters and arson investigators run into each other a lot. If you want him to watch your back, I’m good with that.”

With a relieved breath, Carson nodded and then had an awful thought. He’d been a real butthead to Holt. Biting his lip, he turned to look up at the man. “Will you?”

“Of course.” Holt sounded like he still liked Carson. “I wouldn’t have left you at all, but I wanted to get Cullen in here.”

Carson’s breath whuffed out. Okay. Feeling almost brave, he turned to Cullen. “What do you want to know?”

“You know what? Since you and Holt are buddies, I’ll let him ask the questions—and I’ll butt in if he misses something. How’s that?”

Talk to Holt? Yes. “Good. That’s good.”

“First, let’s get you two closer.” Holt dragged Mom’s chair closer to Carson’s.

Right away, she put her arm around him…like the mean detective had told her not to.

Carson’s eyes stung with tears again as he leaned into her.

Holt moved between Carson and the big guy. When he went down on one knee, something inside Carson loosened, because it was the position Holt used when he was showing Carson the cool stuff on a Harley, or when he was giving soccer pointers. His arms lay on his thigh; his hands were loose and relaxed. His gaze met Carson’s, and yeah, this was Holt. All calm and easy.

“Ready?” He lifted an eyebrow and waited for Carson to nod, then half smiled. “Good boy. So I figure I want to hear about the classroom fire first. Why did you guys pick that room?”

Carson leaned his head against his mother’s arm, took a breath, and told him.

*

He’d talked and talked and talked. Carson’s mouth was dry, and his head buzzed like he had flies in his brain or something. He figured it must be awful late at night. But Holt and Cullen finally said they were done.

As Carson limped out of the ugly-ass room, Mom was holding his hand.

“This way.” Holt put his arm around Carson’s shoulders and guided him forward through the wide room filled with desks, computers, and detectives talking with people.

Shit-buckets. Carson stumbled…because Juan, Ryan, and Yukio were in the room.

Juan was talking to Detective Simonsen. Juan’s tiny mama stood beside the desk, arms crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes looked angry as she stared at the detective.

A different guy detective was with Ryan. Ryan’s mama held his hand. His father’s arm lay along the back of Ryan’s chair.

Carson gave a huff of relief. Ryan’d be okay.

At another desk, Yukio was showing his phone to a woman detective. His parents stood behind him, hands on his shoulders and nodding when he spoke.

As Carson crossed the room, his friends noticed. Guiltily, he cringed when they stared and stared, but then Yukio gestured to his eye. Oh. Right. Carson had a black eye and scrapes and stuff. After a second, his friends nodded to him.

Then, two cops in uniforms hauled in…Brandon. Brandon was fighting, kicking, and calling them ugly names.

Carson wanted to cry when they thumped Brandon roughly into a chair. If Carson hadn’t told…

“Good. They caught him,” Holt said. When he looked down at Carson, the hard look in his eyes went away. “Aw, hell, ace. You know, it’s a tough place to be, torn between a friend and what you know is right. Remember though…starting fires was more important to Brandon than you guys were.”

No, Brandon wasn’t like that. Scowling, Carson started to pull away and winced, because his leg hurt. His shoulder hurt. Everything hurt. Brandon was like that. His “friend” had punched him, kicked him, and would’ve hit him with a shovel if Holt hadn’t come.