Below that, where his shirt was caught at his lower back, a holster was tucked into his jeans.

And not an empty one.

Ward was armed with a gun and wore someone else’s blood.

It must’ve been the day for red.

Because what else was red?

Flags. Lots of them.

But I must’ve been colorblind because I ignored them all.

12. Sorry About All the Sorries

CHAPTER 12

SORRY ABOUT ALL THE SORRIES

MAC

“How’re you doing, Reed?”

The kid on the other side of the video call didn’t flop into the stuffed animal pile. He didn’t lounge on the couch or sit crooked on the comfortable chair.

He sat in the plastic chair at what used to be my desk, stiff and straight. “I’m good, ma’am. How’re you?”

Ma’am.

Two Fridays ago, Everly made me feel like I was a hundred years old by talking about things in my day. Now I’m a thousand with Reed calling me ma’am.

“Call me Mac,” I told him, not for the first time.

“Right. Sorry, ma’a…Mac.”

“No need to apologize.”

He opened his mouth, and I could almost hear the apology that wanted to force its way out.

“How’s school?” I asked brightly, moving on.

“Good,” he said. “Busy. I sat in on a couple of new clubs this week. I want to add more extracurriculars to get ready for college applications next year.”

With his schedule of AP classes, volunteer work, and club participation, Reed was already ahead of the game for college.

Hell, he was ahead of the game for adulthood. If he could cook without starting a fire, he was more of an adult than me.

That wasn’t always a good thing, though.

I didn’t know Reed well. The year before, his world history teacher had been concerned about some signs of stress. When I’d talked to Reed, he’d assured me he was fine. He just didn’t like high school and wanted to focus on getting good grades so he could get the hell out.

I got that. A lot of kids felt that way. Since none of his answers were alarming and he’d sworn he was fine, I couldn’t force him to talk.

Being too successful and too involved in school wasn’t exactly a feasible cause for concern.

While our single meeting the year before had been at a teacher’s recommendation, it’d been Reed who’d reached out again. We’d had a couple of meetings, and he was a great kid. Polite, with impeccable grades and a large group of friends. His answers were all polished and upbeat.

But he never told me what was wrong.

And there was something.

I toed the line with him. Building trust as I slowly pushed.

“Reed, if you get any more ready for college, you’ll be able to teach the lectures.”