For the duration of the ride back to the precinct, all I could think about was the softness and warmth of Liv’s lips and how good they felt pressed against mine. When Liv and I got back to the station, Wesson was nowhere to be found. I was glad about that. I worried he’d ask why I’d insisted on seeing Liv by myself. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I would.
Since meeting Liv, my morals had become a lot more flexible. It should’ve bothered me, but it didn’t.
Thankfully, I didn’t see Dad when we entered, either. Unfortunately, I did see my partner standing at my desk, rifling through a file folder. “Officer Lyle,” I greeted. Liv’s hand brushed mine. I wrangled the urge to grab it.
“Hey, Alameda,” Lyle said. “Are you ready for another interview?”
I glanced at Liv. She wasn’t smiling anymore. I knew she wasn’t eager to get back into talking about the worst part of her life.
“You should probably ask her,” I said. “Not me.”
Meekly, Liv nodded. I felt bad for her. We kept reopening a wound she needed sewn shut.
Lyle didn’t come with us. I figured she had something else to do. It didn’t matter to me.
“We can take our time,” I said, leading Liv to the interview room that had begun to feel like my second home. The time I’d spent interviewing Liv was the most time I’d spent in an interview room in seven years of policing. I wasn’t eager to cause her any more pain, but I knew we had to get the rest of the story out there. I had to know what happened next, or else I couldn’t save her.
“Where were we?” Liv asked as if she’d been telling me some wild joke and not the painful story of how all her friends had died.
I lowered my voice. “Liv, if you need more time… I mean, if you don’t want to do this now—or if you don’t want to do this with me—”
“No.” Liv waved me off. “This isn’t about you. It’s not about us. It…” Her voice trailed off. I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.
“Claire,” I prompted. “We left off with Claire.”