After spending the night at Drew's, I take a cab to the police station where Sebastian's father works. The dress I wore to the club last night is decent. I wonder if it makes me seem less of a human trafficker's daughter.

I tell the guard I'm here to see detective Hutches and wait for Bast's dad, sitting in a hard chair that squeaks each time I shift a leg. Detective Solano passes me by and throws a kind smile my way. Why, I have no clue. He knows who I am. He can't like me.

"Tara."

Mr. Hutches appears in the waiting room doorway and motions for me to come closer. If he's surprised I'm here, he's good at hiding it.

I stand and walk toward him, wiping my clammy palms on my cherry red dress. "Good morning. I need to talk to you. I hope you don't mind I'm here."

He shakes his head. "Come with me."

We end up in his office, that's as stereotypical as they come. A dirty coffee mug rests atop a stack of papers on a cramped desk, and a map of our area hangs on the wall behind it.

"Please, sit," Mr. Hutches says.

Memories of Christmas at Bast's resurface as I lower myself into a slightly more comfortable chair. I felt good at his house. I even managed to forget about spending holidays on my own since I turned sixteen. Did Sebastian lie to me? Was I just a way to learn things about my joke of a family?

But then again, his dad is a policeman. He might know about my mom. He has access to every secret of ours; that's why deep down, I doubt he needed to use his son.

"What brings you here?" detective Hutches asks.

I look him in the eyes. I might be a criminal's daughter, but I did nothing wrong. "I know the truth about my father," I say. "I just wanted you to confirm he was arrested for being involved in human trafficking. I also need to know if Ian Byrne works for the police because he was the one to tell me everything."

Bast's dad nods. "Ian helped us, yes. I'm sorry you found out the truth from him and not us. There has been an unexpected turn in the investigation. Since you're here, would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Not at all."

Because I'm related to someone who did evil things, and I'd do whatever it takes to help if it means feeling less shame and guilt.

Mr. Hutches stands and strides to the door.

"Santiago," he calls, opening it. "Bring the folder and come here."

The other detective enters the room right on cue, a black folder under his arm. He's also carrying a cup of coffee.

"The truth elixir?" I ask when he places it in front of me.

Both men laugh while I take a sip of the drink. When I rest the cup on the platter, detective Solano puts a picture in the only free spot the desk has.

"Do you recognize this building, Tara?"

The coffee rises up my throat. I gulp it down and try to draw a lungful of oxygen, but the cigarette smoke filling the air makes breathing hard.

I take the picture and study it. "It's an old guest cabin on our property. We haven't used it in forever. It's empty and unfurnished."

Detective Solano taps his fingers on the black folder. "Does your employee Celeste clean it?"

"No," I say. "Why?"

Bast's dad sits in his leather chair and steeples his hands, resting them on the desk. "Tara, we believe some girls were being held in that building. One of them appeared dead in the woods in Ashwick. The evidence suggests she managed to escape, but we don't know how. Have you noticed anything strange going on at home? People you've never seen, vehicles?"

A glance at the dark brown liquid in my cup makes my stomach turn. "No. I've hardly visited."

"It's okay," detective Solano says. "We might need to talk to you again later, though."

"Sure. Do you think I can see my father?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid." Detective Hutches rises to his feet. "I'll accompany you outside."

I grab my clutch and follow him out of the office. He greets several officers with a nod and heads for the exit.

I might be in shock because questions plague my mind, but I can't voice them. Detective Hutches opens the door for me and exits the station after I do.

"Before you go," he says, "Sebastian told me you're mad he lied. You need to understand I didn't give him a choice. Even now, I can't answer all the questions you sure have. Once visiting your father becomes possible, someone will let you know."

"Thank you," I say, the words feeling bulky on my tongue. "And I'm sorry."

Bast's dad pats my shoulder. I force a smile and turn around. The weight of what I learned slows my steps, and pressure builds behind my lids.

They held the girls there. Under everyone's nose. Cara would tell me; I have no doubt. Is that why she had so many days off? Did my father make sure nobody noticed? Why did he get into something so depraved?

I'm the daughter of a criminal. If I were detective Hutches, I wouldn't want someone like me for their only child, either.

***

Kenny won't be home for another few hours. I'd go to the store, but he doesn't keep a copy of the keys there - he gave me the only one he had.

I call a cab and go to the cemetery where they buried Sadie, although she's not the only one I'm here to visit. After leaving roses for her, I walk past the chapel to see the person I haven't visited in three years.

Mom's grave looks the same, but several bouquets lie on the granite. Someone must've visited her recently. I know my father did. So did Cara. She'd tell me she said hi to my mom on my behalf as if Mom cared.

I remove the wilted flowers and put her favorite tulips in their place. There's so much I'd love to ask her. So much I'll never know. So much resentment I still feel despite the therapy and grief support group meetings I attended for over a year.

I don't want to cry, but tears breach my lids and spill, leaving wet trails on my cheeks. I stay by Mom's side until the wind dries them and head back to the chapel. The sun will set soon, and staying here when it's dark doesn't appeal to me.

I bury my hands in the pockets of my jacket as I walk, glancing around the cemetery. A few feet ahead, someone crouches next to a grave—the familiar, tall someone.

It's as if my heart tips over. I stop, and Bast looks my way.

He slowly pushes himself to standing, and I approach him on wobbly legs.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey."

What do I say to him? Asking what he's doing here is stupid. Burying my face in his neck like I've wanted to for days is uncalled for.

"I was going to stop by Kenny's later so we could talk," Bast tells me, saving us both from more awkwardness. "But since you're here, can you please listen?"

It's his red eyes and the stubble peppering his chiseled jaw. Or maybe his messy hair and the vulnerable look he gives me that make me cave in and nod.

"There's a bench behind the church. Let's sit?"

I jerk my chin downward, and Bast takes off toward the chapel, his strides slow enough so I can keep up in my heels.

We sit, and I pin my crossed arms over my chest.

"Cold?" Bast asks. His hand rests on the zipper of his hoodie even before I say I'm not. When I shake my head, he sags against the back of the bench and wets his bottom lip.

"Just listen, okay? Let me get it all out."

Instinctively, I place my hand on his sweats-clad thigh. It's not how you treat someone you think betrayed you, but I'm a mess over him. A weak, broken mess.

Bast covers my fingers with his palm. "Zoey and I met in middle school. She was the new kid, and some bullied her because she stuck out like a sore thumb with her pressed dresses and braided hair.

"I defended her once, and we became friends because I liked how smart she was. We were alike in everything except our upbringing. Her family was filthy rich. When we started dating some years later, I thought her parents would hate me, but they treated me surprisingly well.

"She wanted to be a doctor." Bast lowers his voice and runs his free hand over his mouth. "But shortly after turning sixteen, she got sick.

"It was dizziness at first. When the doctors told her parents she had a pontine glioma, a rare brain tumor, it was as if we won some kind of a cruel, fucked up lottery. They gave her a year at best.

"I refused to believe it. I spent hours researching trials and treatments. I would've done anything for her, Tara. Even if she decided to dump me, I would've moved the fucking Earth so she'd live.

"Some children's hospitals in Europe had good results treating her illness. I begged her parents to do something, but despite swimming in the fucking money, they refused to move her out of the country.

"She died at seventeen. It's her birthday today, and..."

I slip my hand from under Bast's because it shakes. He looks so pained and broken it shatters my heart into tiny pieces.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

He runs his fingers over the spot on his pants where my hand used to be. "After Zoey passed, nothing made sense. I drank, like that time you found me on the highway. It was the anniversary of Zoe's death, and I spiraled after months of thinking I was doing better. I also got into fights. When I didn't drink or fight, I studied because I promised her I wouldn't fuck up my future. But inside? Inside, I was dead."

Bast's cheeks glisten in the setting sun. I raise my hand to wipe the moisture but drop it when he beats me to it and then stares at the wet spot on the sleeve of his hoodie his tears left.

"I thought I hated you. You walked into that class and brought back memories of Zoey's family and their wealth. And my feelings of not being enough to save her.

"But despite everything, I stared at you. I drank in every movement of yours. I invented a nickname based on your looks and trained myself to notice only certain things. Your confidence. Your money. It was so fucked up and so wrong, and so unlike the guy I used to be before she died.

"I thought I hated you, Tara, but I never did. I used to draw you in class and then drown in guilt because you weren't her. How fucking could I have all those thoughts about someone else so soon? I felt numb with Elena, but you made my insides vibrate with something that scared me. Zoey would want me to be happy, but until a few months back, I didn't believe happiness was something I deserved."

I stiffened my lungs while Bast was speaking without realizing it. Now that the silence cocoons us, I can breathe again, but each inhale is painful.

He loved someone deeply and unconditionally. He fought for his love. If we'd met later, he probably would have liked me for me. He wouldn't have felt the need to hate me for not being someone else.

Maybe he would've loved me.

"You deserve it, Sebastian." I take his hand in mine. "You're caring and kind and so talented you could make a living drawing if you wanted to. We can't always save those we love. Please don't punish yourself."

These are the words of a friend. Honest. Heartfelt.

But my heart feels so much more. And it cries from the realization he might be the person I've waited for. One I thought would be mine for real.

Everything in my life has been about timing. Once again, it's wrong.

I crush him close and stretch my body against his for the last time. His fingers twine in my hair, and our lips meet with urgency.

"Tara," Bast murmurs between gentle nips of his teeth and greedy licks of his tongue.

I taste the salt. I can't tell who's crying.

He takes over; his lock on me is bruising, but the kiss is gentle. It tastes of goodbye, and I hate it.

I cup his cheeks and unglue my mouth from his.

"Bast...we shouldn't."

My phone vibrates between us. Sebastian lets me get it from my pocket and watches me, his ribs working in great hives.

"It's detective Solano," I say, glancing at the screen.

Sebastian stands and makes a few steps toward the church, giving me privacy. His silhouette almost blends with the shadows now that it's dark.

I press the cell to my ear. "Hello?"

"Tara," the detective says over the cacophony of voices. "We need you here at the station. I'm afraid it can't wait."

Did anyone see this coming? What are your thoughts?

Basti isn't good with words. (Like most guys to be honest)

Give me your theories, guys. Tell me what you felt reading. Did Sebastian redeem himself or you're not convinced of his intentions with Tara?

More soon.

P.S. Dancing With Your Ghost is the song for this chapter.