Chapter 4

Arsen

Two hours tops.

That’s what I told Prism. I’d have us out of this in two hours tops.

We were currently just past hour three, and we’d finally been processed. Frankly, I was running out of patience with the boys in blue. Westbrook’s finest, my ass.

Normally, I wasn’t so quick to anger. The ability to talk my way out of almost anything was something I came by naturally. I preferred a more laid-back approach to life and an it is what it is type of mantra.

But the second the cuffs had been snapped on Prism’s wrists, I realized I would never be laidback when it came to him. If the current situation didn’t require all of my attention, I might be stunned.

The second they hauled us into the station, it became apparent we were being separated into different rooms. “Don’t say anything!” was all I could yell as they forced us apart.

As soon as walls kept me from seeing him, a clock started ticking inside my head. They must have thought letting us sit would make us antsy or more eager to talk. Because after being processed, my fingers were covered with ink, and I had a mugshot to add to my portfolio, time passed without anyone asking a single question.

It didn’t make me antsy, but it sure as fuck pissed me off.

The second the door opened, my lips were moving without even looking up at who was there. “I want my phone call.”

“Just a few questions first.”

My eyes finally turned on the man in a wrinkled suit and crooked tie. Tamping down my impatience, I held his gaze. “I’m not saying shit until I get my phone call so I can consult with my legal counsel regarding this situation.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he heaved a sigh and pulled the door open all the way, motioning with a generic file folder for me to follow him. He led me to the wide-open bay where desks filled the rooms, phones rang off the hook, and the scent of burned coffee hung in the air.

I glanced around actively, hoping to find Prism but only seeing men in uniform. The fact I didn’t know his first name bothered me more and more. Little shit wouldn’t even tell me.

Shot daggers from his eyes when I called him princess, but secretly loved it. Otherwise, he would have eagerly given me his name.

Truth was he didn’t look like a princess. Not in the least. I’d only said it because I knew it would rile him up, and that seemed like a better option than the wild panic he exuded when we were in the closet. And then again in the squad car.

I glanced around again, my knee bouncing with worry. “Where’s Prism?” I asked the detective.

“So you can ask questions, but I can’t?” the detective quipped.

Never mind what I said about my life approach. It is what it is was now horseshit. Like hell I’d roll over and accept circumstances as if I wasn’t strong enough to change it. From now on, my life approach was it is what I make it.

And right now, I was making it all about Prism.

He was different up close than he appeared far away. Not at all what I expected. He was tall, though not as tall as me at six feet, three inches. His body was solid, completely ripped from being an Elite swimmer, guys I knew trained hard.

He hung with the most popular dudes on campus, people who drew attention every place they went. He was quiet, but his best friend was a loudmouth, so it wasn’t like he could get a word in edgewise. Every time I saw him, he had AirPods jammed in his ears. They were practically part of his anatomy, and I was so used to seeing them that when they weren’t on him, I was surprised.

Those surprising times he didn’t wear them? At the parties in the old gym. I told myself it was because my music was so sick he didn’t want to miss a beat.

Prism seemed confident. Self-assured in an almost intimidating way. I heard people speculate about his sexuality. He never dated, boy or girl. When people asked, he simply didn’t answer, another reason he seemed impenetrable.

Basically, not my type at all.

Somehow, though, my brain conveniently forgot that fact every time the man was within sight because it was him my eyes always found. I thought about asking Jess about him. I knew she was close to him, but I didn’t want to seem like a creeper.

She and I shared the same major, and we had a class together. We swapped notes on occasion when one of us missed lectures, but that was the extent of our friendship. She’d gotten hurt at the beginning of the semester, lost her memory, and I hadn’t known. I’d said a bunch of stuff that freaked her out… Hence the reason I didn’t want to come off as a creeper now.

Plus, her boyfriend Kruger was like their guard dog on steroids. And not the quality supplements either. The kind that made you a little unpredictable.

So I satisfied myself with just looking.

Looking would never be satisfying enough again.

Because the guy I thought was not my type… He was so much my type I wondered if he was made just for me.

“Is he still here?” I pressed.

“Newsflash, kid. You’re the one being detained. Not me.” Grabbing the grungy-looking landline, he turned it around on the desk toward me. “This ain’t a cell phone with unlimited minutes. Make your call, then hang up.”

I gazed at the phone, knowing the second I made the call, I’d be out of here in minutes. But what about him? Did he have anyone to call? Where’d they put him? Was he okay?

Across the room, a door swung open, a cheap set of blinds covering the inset window on the top half banging against the glass. A man in uniform came out first, but my eyes kept moving, going to the space over his shoulder instead.

Prism stepped out, his arms wrapped over his chest like a shield. His posture was slumped like his shoulders were heavy, and his head was angled to stare at the floor. I forgot about the phone call. The people moving around the room. I stared hard at him, hoping he’d feel the attention and lift his face. I just needed to see him. I needed to know he was okay.

The thin T-shirt he wore was an unacceptable barrier between him and everything else, and I thought regretfully of the jacket I’d left at the rave. He still didn’t look up when he jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he followed the cop to a desk that looked just like the one I was sitting at.

Despite the heaviness in his body, he perched on the edge of the chair like he didn’t trust it, pulling his hands from his pockets to clasp them tightly in his lap.

Look at me. I silently willed.

Slap! The loud smack on the table in front of me rattled the phone where it rested in its base. “All that noise about a phone call and now you aren’t even making it.”

I flicked a glance at the detective scowling on the other side of the desk but then went right back to Prism.

He was looking at me.

I took the weight of his stare like a sucker punch to the gut, my breath catching in my chest. Instead of hours, he appeared to have been in custody for days. Shadows darkened his chocolate eyes, making them appear sunken in their sockets. His full lips were red as though he’d been biting them, and his hair looked like he’d been tugging on it in desperation.

The chair I was in skidded back when I stood, hands flexing with the urge to pull him close. His eyes flashed with something that felt a whole hell of a lot like anguish, which turned something inside me rabid. I started toward him, only making it to the corner of the desk before the detective stepped in my way.

“Are you forgetting you’re in police custody?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“No.”

I glanced past my warden, noting the way Prism scrubbed the pads of his fingers over his jeans like he was trying to get ink off his skin.

The detective’s eyes widened when I met them, letting him see just how far past my limit I was heading.

Time to call in the big guns.

The fact they’d yet to realize there would be big guns frankly spoke volumes about how great at their jobs they were.

I went to the phone, snatching it up so roughly the cord knocked over a cup of pens. My finger stabbed the numbers as I dialed and sucked in a breath. The phone rang twice.

“Who is this?” Even being woken up in the middle of the night didn’t dull his commanding voice.

“Dad.”

“Arsen?” he replied. I could practically see him holding the phone away to glance at the screen. “Where are you calling from?”

“Westbrook Police Station.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, but I got arrested.”

“What the hell for?” he spat. Then angrily, he added, “Are they insane?”

I glanced back at Prism, forgetting the phone and incredulous voice in my ear when I saw him glaring at the cop across from him. His hands gripped the edge of the chair so hard they were white, and his feet moved restlessly, ready to run.

The officer on the receiving end of his temper grinned lazily while shoveling a donut into his mouth, smirking while he smacked his lips.

“Son!” Dad demanded in my ear. “What are the charges?”

“Possession of narcotics.”

His reaction, though explosive, was nothing compared to what happened just feet away. A burst of movement brought my head up, and I watched in astonishment as Prism leaped over the desk to crash his fist in the face of the grazing cop.

The abruptness of his outburst brought the entire station to a screeching halt, incredulousness blanketing the room. It lasted for maybe a heartbeat before shouts, stomping feet, and all types of movement erupted.

Dad continued to yell in my ear as I watched Prism draw his arm back again to deliver another blow. An officer nearby reached for his belt.

“Prism, no!” I shouted. The phone banged against the edge of the desk when I tossed it, shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor as I threw myself between Prism and the officers converging on him.

Amazingly, he listened, dropping his fist and turning to seek me out. Intensity burned in his eyes, but it wasn’t anger. It was more like distress. Like he was a cornered animal with nothing left to lose.

What the fuck did they do to him?

A uniform reached out, roughly hauling him away from the cop he’d just punched, and Prism started thrashing, frantically trying to get away.

Someone grabbed my arm, but I shook them off and rushed the remaining space between us. Even though he was wild, I reached for him anyway, bracing myself for any hits I might take.

“Back up,” barked the officer attempting to restrain him.

The guy was a tool. And under-muscled compared to Prism. So much so that he was about to be Prism’s next victim if I didn’t stop him first.

I leveled my eyes on the cop, letting him see this was going to happen. “Let me.”

His nod was clipped, and I inwardly congratulated him on being the least-dumb asshole in this place. I moved fast, curling my hand around Prism’s waist as the restraining cop let go. The momentum of his struggle pushed him into me, and I used my body as a buffer for his. His muscles locked so tight they nearly vibrated, and the second he fell into me, he tried to recoil. I locked my arms, pulling him in tight.

“Relax,” I said against his ear. “Relax. Relax. Relax.”

His body stiffened then stilled, forehead pressing into my shoulder. Sliding one hand into his mussed hair, I kneaded roughly against his scalp, pushing my lips right against his ear. “I got you now. Relax.”

“Say it again,” he whimpered, voice muffled against my chest.

My body swelled, rising to his desperation, and I squeezed him even closer. “I got you. Relax.”

His arm snaked around my waist, the pads of his fingers digging into my back.

“Relax,” I murmured. “Relax. Relax.”

His body shuddered and gave out against mine.

“There you go, princess,” I whispered, tucking my head down so my voice was only for him.

“I screwed up,” he said after a moment. The upset in his voice chained itself around my heart.

He did screw up, but it didn’t matter, and I’d never add to the punishment he was already dishing out to himself. “The asshole deserved it,” I told him.

An officer brandishing cuffs approached, but his footsteps stalled when I smacked him with my cold gaze. I realized then that the entire place was silent and staring. Phones went unanswered, and no one moved.

I kept the man back with my stare while Prism hid his face and fought for control. I had no idea what the fuck happened, but I didn’t care.

The detective who granted me the phone call cleared his throat and stepped near. “You just earned a night in a holding cell, son. Might not have been able to hold you for the drugs, but assaulting an officer is a class-one felony.”

Prism was pulled from my arms, followed by the now-familiar sound of cuffs being slapped on his wrists for the second time tonight. His eyes flickered with emotion I couldn’t name, but just because I didn’t know it didn’t mean it couldn’t cut me to the core.

“What about me?” I asked, forcing my eyes to the detective.

“After you answer those questions, you can go.”

That meant he was going to be locked up alone.

I knew I shouldn’t. My dad was going to shit a brick.

They hauled Prism away, but his eyes clung to me.

“Fuck it,” I exhaled and smashed my fist into the detective’s nose.