Chapter Twenty-four

After eating for what feels like twelve straight hours on Thanksgiving Day, we take the red-eye home. We land at oh-dark-thirty Friday morning. Instead of getting sleep like a sane person, I change my clothes and brush my teeth and spend an hour reciting fun-filled antics of our trip to my parents.

And then I head out the door on the pretense of celebrating my early ungrounding with some Black Friday shopping.

Of course, I’m not going shopping. Unless I plan to buy a pack of gum from the convenience store across the street from Adam’s apartment.

Mrs. Corwin’s cat has probably barfed up things that look better than I do right now, but vanity will have to wait. And so will my wishy-washy pros and cons list about what I’m doing with Adam. This isn’t about that. It’s about Julien.

She needs help and she asked me. Which means I need to remember. And other than that brief moment holding hands with Julien in California, the only person who’s made me remember anything is sitting inside this apartment.

I knock and wait at least a minute before knocking again. Adam answers maybe a half second before I lose my nerve and bolt. If I was worried about my looks, I needn’t have bothered. He’s sporting four or five days of stubble at least and eyes so red I wonder if he’s slept since I’ve been gone.

“Are you sick?” I ask.

“No,” he says. He’s flat. Cold. Still edgy as all hell too, looking around his apartment like he’s waiting for a hit man to show up.

“I went to California,” I say, but I’m not really thinking about my trip. “I saw Julien Miller.”

He flinches, and for a moment, I can see the old Adam. The one who worries about me.

Then it’s gone, the indifferent mask in place. “California. Sounds great. I’m really busy.”

Lie. He’s not busy. He just wants me to leave. It stings like hell, but it reeks like a lie too.

I should be thinking about Julien and talking about all of the things she said or hinted at, but I can’t force my brain to go there. I can’t think about anything other than how horrible it feels to stand here and not be okay with him.

“She’s sick, Adam. God, she’s so incredibly sick.” I take a breath because I don’t want to be emotional. I want to be calm and make sense, but I’m not. “She’s sick, and I’m scared and I missed you. I still miss you.”

His eyes meet mine then. He cuts me right to the quick with that look. And he won’t say it back, I know that, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes are speaking for him.

I flex my fingers and then ball them into fists because I’m aching to touch him. “I saw all these buildings. Our hotel room looked over Balboa Park. The houses and storefronts or whatever—they all sort of look the same, like the same style.”

“Spanish Revival,” he says, and I can practically feel his eyes caressing my face. He steps closer and then backs away. It’s killing me.

“Adam…”

He swallows hard and shakes his head as if he can’t imagine why I’m here saying this. Acting like this. “Chlo, this needs to end. You’re right to stay away from me.”

“You don’t believe that. I know you don’t believe that.”

“I do believe it. Because it’s true,” he says, and it’s like someone’s ripping the words out of him.

I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, blurring my vision. “Maybe I don’t care about what’s true.”

Adam lets out a breath that sounds shaky. “You have no idea how hard you’re making this.”

“This isn’t hard. You know it isn’t,” I say, half whining. He touches me then, hand on my face and fingers moving into my hair. Everything in me melts into his hand, drawing into the soft, warm press of his fingers.

“I wish it was different, but it isn’t. Your mom was right, Chlo. I did break into that pharmacy.”

“No. There’s more to it than that. I know you, Adam.”

He flinches, and I can tell I’m right. Still, he shakes his head. “It happened. I did break into that pharmacy, and she’s right to want you to stay away from me.”

I feel like I’m sinking in quicksand. Or maybe that I’ve become quicksand and that all of this darkness and fear is swallowing me from the inside out. “Tell me why.”

He looks away and shifts his feet with a shrug. “Money.”

“Liar.”

That gets him to look back. He throws up his hands in surrender, and I feel cold where he’s let me go. “Fine, then go with drugs. What’s it going to take for you to get this?”

“Get what? There’s nothing to get because you’re not saying anything! And I know you’re not a user, Adam. Give me some credit.”

“What does it matter? I did exactly what you’re so afraid I did.”

“Yeah, I got that part. What’s still missing is the why.”

“You didn’t like my why.”

“That’s because it’s a freaking lie! Just tell me!”

Adam growls in frustration, ripping a hand through his hair. He still smells the same and sounds the same, and I wish to God I cared about what that scar on his arm means, but I don’t. Not anymore.

“Tell me why you did it.”

He turns, muttering something about being busy, and I can’t wait anymore, so I touch him. His arms first, and that’s enough for him to take a breath and hold it. He closes his eyes when I touch his face, and I take a breath as another memory runs through me.

Me a nervous wreck as Adam helps me jiggle the lock on the school cafeteria. I feel it give way underneath my fingers. Despite the thrill, I roll my eyes.

“I still don’t get why I’d need to break in here.”

“To study,” Adam says with a shrug. Off my look, he smirks. “Well, it’s a hell of a lot quieter than my house.”

I pull my hands free to bring myself back to the present. Adam’s here too, but there isn’t anything close to a smile on his lips. Still, his eyes make me want to use big, flowery words. Azure. Cerulean.

Beautiful.

“I’m not giving up until you tell me,” I say.

He looks away, and I can tell he’s thinking it over. Maybe measuring my resolve. Finally, he nods and takes a half step back, needing the space, I guess. “She has Alzheimer’s. My grandmother.”

“How long?”

Adam shrugs, plunging his hands into his pockets. “Maybe three years. Do you know anything about the disease?”

“Enough to know I’m sorry she has it,” I say.

He doesn’t respond to that, just goes on like he’s talking about the weather or something. “She gets confused a lot. She had a period where she flushed her medicine down the toilet all the time.”

“Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Sometimes she thought it was poison. Sometimes she thought they were mine—stolen or whatever.” He waves like none of this is very important or interesting. “The doctors helped at first, but it happened too often. That month they refused. Said if she was having so much difficulty, we should consider an evaluation for assisted living.”

“What is that? Like a nursing home?”

He nods. “Sort of. I told the caseworker I found the meds, and she’d been doing better. We didn’t have money for more. I stupidly figured the pharmacy wouldn’t notice a missing bottle of blood-pressure pills.”

“But you got hurt. Your arm.”

“I was going to slide in through the drive-through window. The pharmacy was closed, but the owner was there. He closed my arm in the window. Glass broke…” Adam trails off, gesturing vaguely at the white scar on the inside of his forearm.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

That gets a laugh. A cold one. “Don’t be. It was stupid, and I’m damn lucky he didn’t shoot me.”

“Adam, everybody makes mistakes.”

“Yeah, but most of them don’t rank up there with breaking and entering.”

I want to argue, but I know it won’t work. For whatever reason, he needs to own what he’s done. Pooh-poohing it isn’t the answer. But hell, neither is wallowing in it.

“So it was stupid,” I say, throwing up my hands. “Fine. You were stupid. Now get over it. And maybe get some help for her. Have you looked into that at all?”

He scoffs, relaxing against his closed door. “Look around you, Chlo. We’re not exactly wading in cash and options.”

“But there are like twelve zillion social programs for senior citizens. So why not? Is she an illegal immigrant or something?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “I don’t have any other family.”

“I know you care about her—”

“Care about her?” Adam practically sneers at that. “Yeah, Chloe, I do. But I’m not Mother Teresa, and this isn’t just about family loyalty. If they find out how bad she’s gotten, we’ll both end up in the system.”

I shake my head, still not getting it.

He leans closer. “Nursing home for her. Foster home for me. Good-bye, Ridgeview High and its reasonably decent academic program. Hello, foster care and schools with metal detectors.”

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat, the one that’s worked its way up from my chest. “You stole the medicine because you didn’t want to go into foster care.”

“Yeah. And because I didn’t want my grandmother to die. She isn’t perfect. But I’m all she’s got.”

He must take my silence for something bad because he crosses his arms over his chest and hardens his expression. “It’s not pretty, Chlo. But it is what it is. And it’s not right to drag you into it.”

“I don’t give a damn about what’s right,” I say.

I tug him hard by the lapels of his coat because he’s so tall that going up on tiptoes isn’t going to be enough.

I kiss him, and at first his lips are hard and unrelenting. I know this is some token effort at resistance, and I totally ignore it. It’s a good choice because after a few seconds, Adam’s hands drop to my shoulders and then he’s kissing me like he’s absolutely starved for it. Before long, I feel like I’m the one who needs to steal some medication.

When we finally part, his eyes are closed. His breath is coming in little shuddery bursts, and I can’t quite believe I’m the one able to reduce him to this. It’s dizzying.

“I’m trying to tell you I’m not good for you,” he breathes, voice low and husky.

“Well, I’ve never been a good listener.”

His mouth curls up in a smirk. “Cute. But, Chlo, there’s more. There are things—”

“I don’t care,” I say, shaking my head. “Nothing you say is going to make me care. Not now.”

“I think you’d care about this,” he says.

“I wouldn’t,” I say, pressing my fingers to his lips. I do it because it wouldn’t matter. Or maybe because I’m not ready to hear him tell me anything else.

I can see the pain in his eyes, but eventually he relents. He kisses the tips of my fingers before taking my hand in his own. “You really like to get your way, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” I say, moving in to lean against him.

Adam’s arms go around my middle, and I feel perfect. The stress and fear pours out of me, like sand through a strainer. I push my face against his chest, and his chin lands softly on my head.

“Anything else you want to get out of me?” he asks, his teasing voice rumbling against my cheek.

I sigh in his embrace, wishing that this were enough. If I stayed right here in his arms, it just might be. But there’s a whole world I have to deal with. School and parents and…

“Actually, there is one more thing I need.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to help me save Julien Miller.”