“How was the consultation?” he asks, and looking up from the crunchy gravel, I think for a moment before responding, “They’re bringing him into the station Saturday for questioning.”
“They are?” Aaron says, his tone surprised.
We approach the car before he unlocks the doors, yet we continue to stand still beside the trunk. “Yeah. Enough evidence to report it as an assault,” I add, my tone bland.
I take a nervous swallow as I part from Aaron’s side, and as he walks along the drivers’ side of the car, he gives me a worrying look. “You okay?” he asks, and without speaking, I nod. “Yeah,” I murmur. My hands grasp onto the door handle before I abruptly open it.
“Just a bit,” I pause, trying to form my thoughts.
The words sit scarcely on my tongue, unable to escape as I think.
“Scared.”
“Scared?” Aaron repeats, and I nod.
Placing his arm onto the roof of the car, he stands for a moment, one leg propped on the inside. “Of what?”
“Of shit becoming harsh on me.”
“Why would that happen?”
“Because, Aaron” I respond lightly, and Aaron raises an eyebrow. “Because?”
“Because that’s the way shit works. Nothing ever traces back to people like Chris. You hear me, Aaron? Ever.”