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I want to say it. The words are heavy on my tongue, but they just sit there like a weight because they’ve been spoken a hundred times before and no longer hold meaning. They’re as burdened as he is.
I have to make this right.
And I do know how. I do. Ican.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve done it, but I’m never going to do it again.”
His shoulders deflate with a sigh. If he wasn’t so defeated, I imagine his eyes would roll.
“Iwon’t. The medicine works, Dad. It worked for two years before I met Damian, remember? And I haven’t had a single blackout this entire year I’ve been sober.”
“Except for last night.”
My mouth hangs open. Part of me wishes there had been drugs in my system so I could explain the blackout.
“Right, but I was stressed. Creeper has been texting me, and it’s been making things really hard, and?—”
“Please, no more excuses.” My dad holds up his hand.
“I’m not trying to make excuses; I’m trying to take action. The drugs are obviously not the whole problem. It’s the people too.”
“Take action?” He squints, looking to my side like he’s thinking. “What are you talking about?”
A lump of shame unwedges from my spine to allow me to stand tall. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago. I’m turning Creeper in.”
I brace for relief. For pride. For dimmed love to brighten in my father’s eyes, so when instead I see skepticism, it takes me back a step.
“Turning him in for what?”
My mouth opens and closes as I curl my toes inside my sneakers. “He’s a drug dealer.”
“He’syourdrug dealer. Is that how you’ll tell the police you know what he does?” His mocking tone makes my face heat.
“He isn’t my dealer anymore, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. I could leave an anonymous tip. Jesus, Dad, you’re the head of the DEA.”
“Which is how I know you aren’t thinking straight. The only reason anyone would put that thug in a room is to make a deal to get someone higher profile. And what happens if he knows you narced on him? Do you think he’ll keep your secrets to himself?”
“He doesn’t know my secrets.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” I say, my voice growing louder.
I thought he would be proud. I can’t believe he’s fighting me on this.
Flexing my fingers, I force my shoulders to lower. “Creeper and Damian were friends. If he knew what happened, I would be dead.”
“You mean they were in the same gang. Not friends.”
“Brotherhood,” I correct, although I don’t know why I feel the need to defend them. I think because while most men in the brotherhood were undeniably despicable, I always admired the bond they shared. The loyalty. With everything I lost, it made me want to be a part of it. I was desperate to be a part of it.
And now, ironically, I’m desperate to break it apart.
“You’re not turning that man in, Olive. You’re staying away from him.”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
He’s the head of the DEA. TheDEA. Why is he discouraging this?
