He looked up at me.
“My phone died,” he said. “At the hospital. Around ten. I didn’t have a charger. I didn’t see your texts. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Where’s Cole?” Denise said from behind me. Her voice was shaking. “Nathan, where’s Cole?”
Ezoic
Nathan turned and looked at her. Like he’d just noticed she was there.
“On the porch,” he said. “Outside. He’s scared to come in. He thinks you’re going to kill him.”
Denise pushed past me. She yanked open the front door.
Ezoic
Cole was sitting on the porch steps. Hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. In the cold. In the dark. He had blood on him too. On his jeans. On his hands.
He looked up at his mother.
“Mom,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I lied.”
