“I’m Detective Rossi looking for Ryan Thompson. Does he live here?” The detective flashed a badge, then returned it to his jeans pocket. He was wearing an orange button-down shirt that darkened his olive complexion. He wasn’t much taller than me with gelled curls that I imagined crunching between my fingers.

“I’m his mother. What’s this about?” I knew what this was about. I just never thought it would actually happen. I steeled myself for the worst.

“Please show me to your son, ma’am. I’m going to need to bring him to the station for questioning.”

A force cut through the air like a guillotine. Somehow I managed not to faint—or to hit Rossi in the mouth. I couldn’t believe this. Owen Fischer was most certainly behind this. After what he had done to Ryan, smashing his face, he had the gall to press charges now? The shock shook my anger loose.

“Is this about Aria Fischer? Because he didn’t rape that girl. She’s a family friend and it was consensual.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “Ma’am, we’ll be speaking with everyone involved to get the facts. If you want to bring your son to the station, we’ll get all the details and figure it out together. I understand this is difficult for you, but I need to speak with your son.”

As his words draped one over another, it felt like a red-hot brand to my brain.

“Did Aria press the charges, or was it her parents?” I demanded fiercely.

“I’m not at liberty to say at this moment, ma’am. Like I said, I need to speak with Ryan in person, down at the station, now. Once we get his statement we can get to the bottom of it. Right now no one is in trouble.”

“So he’s not under arrest, right? He’ll be coming home after your interrogation?”

“No, ma’am, he’s not under arrest. We only need his statement. If the DA feels the charges are legitimate, there will be a formal arrest. But for now, all we need is to ask him some questions, get his side of the story. Is he home?”

“Yes, he’s in the basement. I’ll go get him.” I opened the door wider, letting the detective step inside the foyer while I headed toward the stairs. I paused as something occurred to me. “Do we need an attorney?”

“If he hasn’t done anything wrong, there’s no need for one. Like I said, we just want to know what happened from his point of view.”

As I turned the corner to head down to the basement, a turret of dark brown hair slid into view. Lucas, awake from his nap, eyes wide with confusion and worry. No child should have to watch his big brother, his idol, being hauled off in a cop car.

“Hey, Fizz,” I said, lifting him up and smoothing down his bedhead. I grunted as I hugged him against me. My little boy felt so big in my arms. “Why are you awake, buddy? Naptime isn’t over yet.”