One of Us Is Next(52)
“I know,” I say with a pang of sadness.
Emma’s been quiet since we got off the elevator. When we get into the apartment she mutters a muted “Gotta study” and heads for our bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Knox holds up his hands, streaked black from tire grease. “Where can I wash these?”
I lead him to the kitchen sink and turn on the faucet, pouring dish detergent into his outstretched palms. “I like your place,” he says, gazing at the large windows and exposed brick.
“It’s all right,” I say grudgingly. And it is—for a hip young couple with no kids. I’ll bet Knox wouldn’t find it so charming if he tried to squeeze his entire family inside, though. “Do you want something to drink? I’m getting a ginger ale. Owen won’t be home for another ten minutes or so.”
“Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.” Knox dries his hands on a dish towel and perches on one of our kitchen island stools while I grab a couple of glasses. It occurs to me, suddenly, that Knox is the only guy from Bayview High who’s ever been in this apartment besides Brandon. I don’t invite a lot of people over, especially not boys. And of course, I hadn’t invited Brandon.
But he came anyway.
“You okay?” Knox asks, and I realize I’ve been frozen in place holding two glasses for I have no idea how long. I give myself a little shake and put them on the island.
“Yeah, sorry. I just—zone out sometimes lately. You know?”
“I know,” Knox says as I pull a bottle of ginger ale out of the refrigerator. “Last night there were blueprints all over our kitchen table and I almost had a heart attack when I realized they were from the parking garage site. My dad’s been helping investigators piece things together. They’re trying to understand why the roof collapsed on Brandon and nobody else. People have been taking that shortcut for months.”
I pour us both a half glass of ginger ale, letting it fizz to the top and then recede before I pour some more. “Well, Brandon is—he was—a lot bigger than most kids at school.”
“Yeah, but the landing should’ve been engineered to bear more weight than that.”
“Have they found anything?”
“Nothing my dad’s told me about. But he probably wouldn’t, anyway.” Knox rubs his bruised jaw absently. “He doesn’t really share work stuff with me. He’s not like Eli.”
I hop onto the stool next to him and sip my drink. “Do you like working with Eli?”
“Love it,” Knox says, instantly brightening. “He’s great. Especially when you consider the amount of crap he has to put up with on a daily basis.”
“Like what?”
“Well, with the kind of law he practices, he’s just constantly hounded. By other lawyers, cops, the media. Plus people who either want him to take their case, or are mad because he took someone else’s.” Knox takes a long gulp of ginger ale. “He even gets death threats.”
“Seriously?” I ask. My voice shakes a little on the word. Eli is always treated like a hero in the media, which I thought was a good thing. It never occurred to me that that kind of visibility could be dangerous.
“Yeah. Another one came in yesterday. Seems like it’s from the same person, so they’re taking it a little more seriously. Sandeep—that’s one of the lawyers who works there—says they’re usually one-offs.”
I put my glass down with a clatter. “That’s horrible! Does Ashton know?”
Knox shrugs. “I mean, she must, right?”
“I guess.” A shiver inches up my spine, and I give way to a full-body shudder to get rid of it. “Ugh, I’d be so scared. I get creeped out by random Instagram messages.”
Knox’s brow knits. “Are you still getting those? From, um…” He glances toward my closed bedroom door and lowers his voice. “Derek, or whoever?”
“Not lately. Here’s hoping he’s given up.”
Our lock jangles noisily, for so long that I get off my seat and cross to the door. “Owen, despite the fact that he recently rewired a toaster, still hasn’t fully mastered the art of the key,” I explain, flipping the deadbolt and pulling open the door so my brother can enter.
“I heard that,” Owen says, dropping his overloaded backpack onto the floor. “Who are you—oh, hi.” He blinks at Knox like he’s never seen him before. “Wow, your face is…ouch.”
“It looks worse than it feels,” Knox says.
“Knox is here to play Bounty Wars with you, Owen!” I say cheerfully. “Doesn’t that sound fun?” Knox furrows his brow at me, like he can’t figure out why I’m speaking to my preteen brother like a toddler. I can’t, either, so I stop talking.
“Really?” Owen’s face lights up with a shy grin when Knox nods. “Okay, cool.”
“You want to show me your setup?” Knox asks.
The two of them disappear into Owen’s room, and I feel a strange mix of appreciation and regret as I watch them go. I have a sudden image of myself ten years from now, running into Knox on the street when he’s gotten cute and has an amazing job and an awesome girlfriend, and kicking myself for not having been able to see him as anything but a friend in Bayview.