Chapter 10
Race. I have a damn race in six hours.
I’m at Mic’s because I know you’re not working today and I need to be unseen for a while. You’ve been blowing up my phone since my visit to your grandma’s yesterday. Nowhere feels right. Nothing feels good.
I’m going to race, get the money, get the spot in Vegas, get on with my life. You can get on with yours.
Maybe…
This is the first time I have doubts about my capability in racing. Usually, I can visualize the win. See myself crossing the finish line. Not this time. Half my body feels lost somewhere in the desert. Or maybe lost somewhere inside you. And you’re walking around like I’ve never known your skin. Somewhere out there, we have a history now. And I’ll never be right again.
I exhale hard and look at my sister. A sister who is on the other side of the bar ignoring me and completely uninterested in the fact that I’m sitting here. She has been on her damn phone for the past fifteen minutes, texting or some shit. She doesn’t look up to refill my Coke.
“Pouting isn’t a good look for you,” she says, still not looking at me.
“I’m not pouting. But as long as we’re offering unsolicited comments, your service sucks.”
She laughs but keeps texting. “You’re my brother. You drink free soda all day and leave me air for a tip. Forgive me if I don’t bring my A-game to you.”
I smile and grip my glass. The condensation rolling down it.
“You nervous for tonight?” Mic asks.
Yes, but not for the race. For this feeling of unease. I know it’s you. It’s this hole in my chest that got used to your warmth and now it’s gone. It’s for the best, I remind myself for the millionth time. But it’s cold and hollow and sucks.
Makes me crave a hit.
A hit of you.
That goodness. That raw, uncut sweetness that only you have. It’s like breathing fresh air and life with every breath I take of your hair, your skin.
Yeah, I’m jonesing bad.
Not pouting…
I glance around, Mic’s bar is empty. A few locals are on the other side of the bar and at one table. Afternoon hours can be slow around here and I’m grateful for it. Mic apparently is too because she walks to the back, taking her phone with her.
The bell rings with a customer but she doesn’t turn around. Just continues heading to the kitchen.
I glance over my shoulder.
You.
You’re walking in, fast and concerned and pissed.
I can’t help but wonder if Mic texted you. Because she’s surprisingly absent and you seem to have gotten tipped off to my whereabouts.
“You’re here,” you say, lifting your arms slightly only to drop them at your sides. Your palms slap your bare outer thighs where your cutoff jean shorts don’t cover. I love those shorts. They are officially a staple of our summer together. How many times have I peeled them down your legs? Ripped them open and shoved inside of you? Gripped your hips and felt the waistline against my palms, wishing I could touch more?
I say nothing. Just wait until your swaying red hair stops from your huffy stomping and you come to face me.
Your eyes are bright and fierce. “What has happened to you? Two days and I hear nothing from you?”
I look at my Coke. “You knew this was bad from the start and we ran our course.” The words hurt to say. But I have to say them. It’s better than me asking about your scholarship applications or the “nice young man” you were with. I can’t take it right now.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
I look at you. Tears line your lower lashes. My chest caves in. That’s all it takes, baby. You are all it takes.
I love you.
God damn it, I love you so much it’s killing me inside.
I open my mouth to tell you. I reach out my hand to touch you—
“My grandma is freaking out, Coe,” you say.
I drop my hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Did you take them?” you ask.
“Take what?”
“Her pain pills? She’s missing some.”
My brows rise while the rest of me goes limp. I can feel my face drain until it’s white.
“What?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around what you’re saying. “She’s missing pills and you think I took them?”
You lift your hands again, only higher this time.
“What else can I think?” you say sharply. “She says you came through the house like you were hunting. And I count her pills every few days. She is missing some. Is that what you were looking for? This whole time?”
I frown. My heart shatters like a cheap mirror hit against asphalt. You think I’m still using? Think I could steal from you and your grandma? And you have no idea that in this godforsaken world the only drug I want—need—is you.
I can’t blame you; I’ve given you no reason to think otherwise of me the last couple days. I also can’t deny this fucking hurts bad. This is why I could never claim you. Because I break your heart. Because I’ll always be a junkie and you’ll always be a good girl with a better future than anything I could give you.
We’re done here.
We have to be.
And I have to make that clear, for both of us.
“I didn’t take any of your grandma’s pills,” I say firmly. I turn back to my Coke.
You shove me. “Talk to me,” you say. “Coe, I’m standing right in front of you and you’re still avoiding me.”
I stay quiet. Keep my eyes on my drink.
I love you, Shay.
I’m sorry.
I think this, but say none of it.
Tears are in your throat when you say, “You tell me I’m the young one? You’re the one acting like a child. You can’t even face me.”
You’re half right. I won’t face you. Because I’ve already let this go too far. Leave, Shay. Before I ruin you further.
Your red hair is bright in my peripheral view.
“Please,” you whisper. “Say something.”
I clench my jaw. There’s so much I want to say, but I know better. I gave the truth. I didn’t and wouldn’t break your trust or fall off the wagon. But I have to let you go. For good.
I stay silent.
You nod.
You say nothing more, just turn and walk out. The sound of your boots leaving me and your tears will forever be burned into my memory and I fucking hate myself for both.