Red and blue lights pop on in the darkness behind us.
It's the cops. Thank God.
A sigh of relief slips from my mouth as I rub my forehead and step toward the lights, waving my arms. “Over here! Help!”
The officer jogs in my direction and notices the two guys on the ground.
“Hey! Break it up!” he calls out as he darts around my car. “Get off him!” Grabbing Max by the collar, he tears him off of Harlow. “The Ramon boys. Why am I not surprised?”
Harlow climbs to his feet, wiping his face. His eyes veer as he glares at his brother, but he doesn't say a word.
Another cop car swerves across the lanes and pulls up in front of us. “What's going on?” Before the cop holding Max can answer, I hear a familiar voice. “Prairie, is that you? What are you doing here? Are you all right?”
Shit, it's my uncle.
His face is shrouded in darkness, until he steps into the glow of the headlights. Coming to my side, he takes me by the forearm, and turns me to face him. He's looking down at me, concern flooding his eyes.
Hanging my head, I'm not sure what to say or how to explain any of this. How do I tell him I went looking for Max, and saw my father's building burning to the ground? How do I tell him that this boy isn't who he thinks he is? How do I make him believe that Max isn't the problem?
I don't have the answers, but I feel it in my gut. Harlow is the issue, not Max. They're not the same, no matter what anyone else thinks.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, examining me from head to toe. Lifting my arms, he drops them and grabs my chin, moving my face in his hands. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, no, I'm fine.” Slipping myself free from his grip, I lean back against the hood of my car. “I'm fine, Uncle Greg, seriously.”
My uncle moves his attention from me over to Max and Harlow. “Just the boys I was looking for. Bring them in, you can put one in your car, and one in mine.”
“Wait—” Reaching for my uncle's arm, I ask, “Why? What do you need them for?”
“Prairie, this doesn't involve you. I warned you about these boys, I did.” Pulling my hand free from his arm, he takes the cuffs off his hip. “Harlow, turn around for me.”
“For what? I didn't do anything.” Harlow takes a step back, keeping his eyes on my uncle.
The other officer removes his cuffs, and twists Max's arms behind his back. Max's eyes shift between the cop and his brother.
Stick up for yourself! Tell them you didn't do anything!
My eyes plead with Max to do right by himself, and not stay quiet for his brother. But he does nothing, he just stands there.
“Stop!” I yell, holding out my hand. “Max has been with me all night. He didn't do anything wrong. Harlow attacked him. He's the one who should get arrested.” Latching onto my uncle's arm, I hold him tight. “Max didn't do anything, Uncle Greg, he didn't.”
My uncle looks down at me, doubt and uncertainty on his face. “Prairie, I'm taking them down to the station for questioning.”
“I'm serious, Max and I were supposed to go to prom, but my car broke down. Look at me,” I say, taking a step back, and running my arms up and down my body. “He isn't the bad guy, not this time.”
Greg looks at me, his face softening. Stroking his jaw, he glances at the other officer and nods his head. The cop releases the cuffs from Max's wrists and takes a step back.
“Wait, no, that fucker is just as guilty as me. He lit the match. He wasn't with that bitch.”
“That bitch is my niece.” My uncle's jaw grinds down as he snaps his eyes to Harlow. “Get him the fuck out of here.” Flipping two fingers, the patrol officer takes Harlow by the crook of his elbow and drags him to his car.
Harlow is screaming obscenities, blaming his brother, blaming me, blaming the world for everything that's gone wrong in his life.
My heart hurts for him a little, but only a little. Maybe I'm soft, or gullible, maybe I shouldn't care about this guy who enjoys destruction. But these two boys lived a rough life. They were dealt a shitty hand.
Their mother died when they were young. Their father nosed dived into alcohol as an escape from everything, including his children.
Why shouldn't Harlow hate the world and everyone in it? He has every right to feel the things he does, he just doesn't have the right to make others hurt because of it.
The car drives off with Harlow in the back, glaring at us until we can't see his face anymore.
“Prairie, I need to tell you something. Your father's office was set on fire tonight.”
“I know, I saw it when I was driving earlier. Does my father know?”
“He does.”
“Is he okay?”
“He will be. I think he'll be able to rebuild it. It'll just take some time, is all. The good news is no one got hurt.” My uncle lets out a sigh, moving his eyes to Max. “As for you,” nudging his head, he points at the car. “That car was reported stolen a week or so ago. Did you know that?”
Shaking his head no, Max pouts his bottom lip. “He told me a friend let him borrow it.” Shrugging his shoulders, he tucks his hands into his pockets. “I didn't question him about it.”
“You got lucky tonight. If it wasn't for my niece here, you'd be with your brother right now. Don't run off, I might have some questions for you later on. Do the right thing on this, don't cover for him if you know anything. You still have a chance, while he seems set on spending his life behind bars.”
“Uncle Greg,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Thanks.”
“Don't thank me,” he says with a smile as he starts to walk back to his car. “I'm going to need a statement from both of you, but it can wait for now. Come to the station tomorrow, you hear?” We both nod at the same time. “Good,” he says as he climbs into his front seat. “Get home soon, Prairie. I don't need your parents calling me all worried. They have enough to worry about.”
We watch my uncle drive off in the direction of the police station. I can feel Max looking at me, but I keep my eyes forward.
“What?” I ask.
“Why did you do that? Why did you cover for me?”
“Because we all need a break sometimes.” Twisting, I let my eyes hover on his briefly. “And I know who you really are, even if you're afraid to show everyone else.”
I leave him standing alone in the dark as I climb into my car and start the engine. I don't need him to say anything in response, and he doesn’t as he slips in the passenger seat. Sometimes, silence is better than words.
14
Max
Her car idles quietly outside my house. I'm ringing my hands in my lap, feeling like a fucking asshole for everything that went down.
Prairie is looking out the window, her hands still gripping the wheel. Her fingers tighten, then loosen, then tighten again. The skin around her knuckles brightens as her fingers bear down, and I watch her exhale.
“I tried, Prairie. I really tried to stop him.”
“What?” she asks, twisting in her head in my direction.