Playing with Fire

Page 26

“This ends here,” I warned.

“I know. You’re West St. Claire. Duh. My name is—”

I gave her a cutting look. She wasn’t getting it.

“Sheesh. Okay.”

Half an hour later, Max came upstairs, shaking his head and apologizing. I sent the blonde back down. I was pretty much out of it during our hookup, although I did remember going through the motions, showing her something of a good time.

My mind drifted to other things. My parents’ relentless calling, Texas being impossible and difficult for no reason at all, and Appleton being a killjoy and a bad sport.

Max explained that Kade, Shaun, and a few other guys in his entourage had cornered him after the fight, making a big stink about his loss. He said he’d gotten them off his back by handing over some of his cut to settle the misunderstanding. It was Bullshit with a capital B. Everyone in that room knew Max had blown the whistle, including Max himself.

But if he wanted to pay them lip money, it was his problem, not mine.

Max handed me my cut. It was what I’d normally make in two months of fighting. He praised me for my form and good taste in women (“Melanie, huh? She’s bangin’.”) and sent me on my way. I was glad to get the night over with. It was late, I was sore from all the illegal jabs Kade had managed to throw in, and I had a morning shift tomorrow at the farmers’ market.

I had no idea what mood I was going to find Texas in, but if she thought I was going to put up with her crap just because other people felt sorry for her, she was gravely mistaken.

I shuffled back to the Ducati, which was parked on the other side of the mall, hidden away from the throng who got in through the main entrance. I’d learned early on that Christina attracted star-fuckers and high school kids who wanted to hop on her and take pictures.

Christina was my one and only indulgence. I’d chucked her out as an expense, seeing as I played the role of someone who had their shit together. I couldn’t afford having people dig into who my family was, get dirt about my life, find out I was as broke as a stick horse. So I pretended to be someone else.

Someone to fear.

Someone who had a sick ride and a sinister taste for fighting.

Ironically, pretending to be someone I wasn’t only made me even more tired of living than I already was.

As I ambled to my bike, I heard rustling coming from the bushes behind me. I stopped, twisting my head. The rustling stopped. I turned back to Christina.

The swooshing resumed.

It sounded like people were whisper-shouting behind the scrubs.

I turned around fully now, cocking an eyebrow.

“If you’ve got something to say, come and fucking say it. See if you have any teeth left by the end of your speech.”

Silence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Deciding it wasn’t my job to coax whoever waited for me in the bushes for another brawl, I got on my bike and drove off.

Once I got home, I crawled into my room and collapsed on my bed without taking a shower. I lifted my pillow, plucked a picture from under it and kissed it, rubbing my thumb over the person imprinted on it.

“Night, A. Sleep tight.” I pressed a kiss to the photo.

I tucked the picture back under my pillow, hating that I was still breathing, living, fighting, fucking.

She didn’t answer.

She never did.

Grace

 

“Dear Lord, just because I’m clumsy, that don’t mean I have the Alzheimer’s.” Grams dangled her feet in the air, perched on the hospital bed. She moped like a punished child, glowering at the doctor like she was the one who needed to get her head checked.

The doctor who saw her, a middle-aged woman with cropped chestnut hair and a nose stud, scribbled something on her clipboard, frowning at the chart in front of her.

“No one is trying to suggest that, Mrs. Shaw. But since you’re already here, and your granddaughter indicated you’ve missed your last two appointments, I think a quick CT scan can’t hurt. We’ll be able to get the results faster than if you book them later on.”

“You’re hollering down the well, Doc.” Grams shook her head, her sweet Southern drawl taking a sharp edge. She glared between the two of us, narrowing her eyes with open suspicion. “I ain’t doin’ it. I burned my hand on the stove. It’s a common mistake anyone could make. Y’all can treat me like an invalid, but that plan ain’t gonna work. There’s nothing wrong with my head. Nothing!” She knocked on her temple with her fist, as if this was solid proof she was in the clear.

The doctor and I exchanged looks. There was so much I wanted to say to Dr. Diffie. Things that would prove Grams exhibited advanced signs of Alzheimer’s. But Grandma Savvy didn’t allow for a CT, and I couldn’t force her.

It didn’t matter that Grams had burned her hand touching the hot stove—not for a fraction of a second, but for at least half a minute—until I burst into the kitchen, smelling the all-too familiar scent of burnt skin, realized what she was doing, and pulled her out of there, kicking and screaming.

It also didn’t matter that her palm was now charred, red, and swollen, her skin peeling and blistering under the bandages.

And it definitely didn’t matter that Grams blanked out on the night with West at the diner, and when I brought it up the next morning, she thought I was making up an imaginary boyfriend.

“You are a fine, smart girl, Gracie-Mae,” she’d told me, giving my cheek a pinch and a shake. “You ought to find a boy eventually. You don’t have to make one up.”

Marla told me she’d been hearing Grams crying in her room when I wasn’t home. That things were getting unbearably bad. I felt so out of my depth, I wished I could tell Dr. Diffie the entire story and beg her to tell me what to do.

Instead, I checked the time on my phone. It was close to nine. I was going to be late for my shift on farmers’ market day. Crap. I’d texted Marla, asking her to take over in the ER, but also called Karlie and requested West’s number.

Grace: It’s Grace. I’ll probably be twenty minutes late and won’t make it to prep. I’ll make it up to you. Sorry.

He didn’t answer.

But of course he didn’t.

He was a crass, rude son of a gun.

Although, you did ask him to treat you as horribly as everyone else, after he helped you out and even called you his friend repeatedly.

Tip: You can use left and right keyboard keys to browse between pages.