Read Online My Secret to Tell by Natalie D. Richards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Natalie D. Richards
Ads: Link
gobsmacked and then irritated. “Of course he did. Why not piss off every-damn-body.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter right now. Let’s just go to the police. You can tell them everything you saw that day and all the people you think might have been behind this. What did you hear at the docks?”
“Mostly that everybody’s pointing the finger at me.” He nudges a root with his foot. “No one’s heard a thing. I’m probably going to go down for this.”
I don’t know what to say. With anyone else, I’d offer a hug, but we don’t do that. So I stand there looking like an idiot, arms crossing over my middle, while some small part of me wonders how I can save him.
Another part of me can’t stop thinking how much Mom would want me to stay away from this. But who else does he have? Chelsea is lost. Joel is suspicious. His mom is…gone. I know what it’s like when the person you need isn’t there. When my parents decided they needed a break , my brother was a thousand miles away, with a string of disconnected phone numbers and bad email addresses. If I didn’t have Chelsea and Deacon then, I’d have lost my mind.
I owe him this. I owe it to both of them.
“I’m not okay with this secrets crap,” I say. “I deserve better. I deserve the truth.”
“You do.”
“But you said you’d go to the hospital and that you’d talk to Chelsea. You gave me your word about that.”
“Would you come with me?”
“To the hospital?”
“We can take my bike.”
My hands and feet tingle. He says bike, but he means motorcycle. I can already picture my mom’s lips going thin, her head shaking before the no is even out. Still, I don’t have a car. Don’t usually need one since the historic district is walkable and a bicycle will get you anywhere else. The hospital, however, is a town over.
He shrugs. “It’s okay. Maybe it’s a bad idea.”
No maybes about it—it’s a terrible idea. A motorcycle ride with Deacon? There will be leg-to-leg, arms-around-waist touching involved. On a vehicle that terrifies my mother.
“Of course I’ll go.”
Chapter Six
I hand Deacon the keys I scooped up with his phone. He doesn’t say anything when we walk up his driveway, but I can tell he doesn’t want to go inside. He doesn’t even look at the house.
He finds an extra helmet in the detached garage and hands it to me, mounting the bike while I stand there with my knees knocking and my teeth chattering from nerves.
“Okay, do you see the silver thing here?” He’s pointing at small pegs on each side of the bike, and I just zone out. I’m about to get on a motorcycle. A motorcycle. I swipe my hands down the sides of my shorts. Check the strap on my helmet. Check it again.
Three days ago, I would have killed for this opportunity. I could fill notebooks with a variety of daydreams that featured this motorcycle. But now that it’s here, scaring me… I check my strap again.
“Hey.” His fingers brush my elbow.
“Don’t go fast,” I say, feeling myself go crimson inside the helmet. And now I’m twelve. Maybe nine. A nine-year-old girl who’s terrified of the big, scary motorcycle.
“I won’t,” he says.
Three days ago, he would have teased me.
But three days ago, Mr. Westfield wasn’t hurt. Deacon wasn’t a suspect. I wasn’t needed like this.
Everything was different.
Deacon puts on his helmet, settles into the seat, and looks up at me with his too-pretty eyes. I’m sliding, just like always. Like it’s gravity. This part is never going to change, is it?
I check my strap again, and he bites back a smile.
Deacon’s saying something, but I can’t make it out. I can’t really hear anything beyond the humming in my head and the engine. I still manage to nod and scrape together enough common sense to figure out that it’s time for me to get on.
I hesitate because there’s no way around it. I’m going to have to touch him. Just planting one hand on his shoulder feels like crossing a line.
“Look, it doesn’t matter right now. Let’s just go to the police. You can tell them everything you saw that day and all the people you think might have been behind this. What did you hear at the docks?”
“Mostly that everybody’s pointing the finger at me.” He nudges a root with his foot. “No one’s heard a thing. I’m probably going to go down for this.”
I don’t know what to say. With anyone else, I’d offer a hug, but we don’t do that. So I stand there looking like an idiot, arms crossing over my middle, while some small part of me wonders how I can save him.
Another part of me can’t stop thinking how much Mom would want me to stay away from this. But who else does he have? Chelsea is lost. Joel is suspicious. His mom is…gone. I know what it’s like when the person you need isn’t there. When my parents decided they needed a break , my brother was a thousand miles away, with a string of disconnected phone numbers and bad email addresses. If I didn’t have Chelsea and Deacon then, I’d have lost my mind.
I owe him this. I owe it to both of them.
“I’m not okay with this secrets crap,” I say. “I deserve better. I deserve the truth.”
“You do.”
“But you said you’d go to the hospital and that you’d talk to Chelsea. You gave me your word about that.”
“Would you come with me?”
“To the hospital?”
“We can take my bike.”
My hands and feet tingle. He says bike, but he means motorcycle. I can already picture my mom’s lips going thin, her head shaking before the no is even out. Still, I don’t have a car. Don’t usually need one since the historic district is walkable and a bicycle will get you anywhere else. The hospital, however, is a town over.
He shrugs. “It’s okay. Maybe it’s a bad idea.”
No maybes about it—it’s a terrible idea. A motorcycle ride with Deacon? There will be leg-to-leg, arms-around-waist touching involved. On a vehicle that terrifies my mother.
“Of course I’ll go.”
Chapter Six
I hand Deacon the keys I scooped up with his phone. He doesn’t say anything when we walk up his driveway, but I can tell he doesn’t want to go inside. He doesn’t even look at the house.
He finds an extra helmet in the detached garage and hands it to me, mounting the bike while I stand there with my knees knocking and my teeth chattering from nerves.
“Okay, do you see the silver thing here?” He’s pointing at small pegs on each side of the bike, and I just zone out. I’m about to get on a motorcycle. A motorcycle. I swipe my hands down the sides of my shorts. Check the strap on my helmet. Check it again.
Three days ago, I would have killed for this opportunity. I could fill notebooks with a variety of daydreams that featured this motorcycle. But now that it’s here, scaring me… I check my strap again.
“Hey.” His fingers brush my elbow.
“Don’t go fast,” I say, feeling myself go crimson inside the helmet. And now I’m twelve. Maybe nine. A nine-year-old girl who’s terrified of the big, scary motorcycle.
“I won’t,” he says.
Three days ago, he would have teased me.
But three days ago, Mr. Westfield wasn’t hurt. Deacon wasn’t a suspect. I wasn’t needed like this.
Everything was different.
Deacon puts on his helmet, settles into the seat, and looks up at me with his too-pretty eyes. I’m sliding, just like always. Like it’s gravity. This part is never going to change, is it?
I check my strap again, and he bites back a smile.
Deacon’s saying something, but I can’t make it out. I can’t really hear anything beyond the humming in my head and the engine. I still manage to nod and scrape together enough common sense to figure out that it’s time for me to get on.
I hesitate because there’s no way around it. I’m going to have to touch him. Just planting one hand on his shoulder feels like crossing a line.
Similar Books
