Page 52 of Trust Me

Chapter 15

Dean

“Can you help me with this?”

Before I could look up, there was a huge thud. The giant pile of mail Oli had dropped on the table started to spill over onto the floor, probably wanting to escape as much as I did.

“What exactly do you need help with?” I asked.

With a dramatic sigh, Oli lowered himself to the floor. He sat crisscross and hung his head, which made his dark waves fall over his eyes. “It’s overwhelming.”

“It’s just mail.”

“A lot of mail. Some junk. Some bills. Some that I can’t even process without thinking about taking a nail gun to my temple.”

“Need some good nails, otherwise you’ll just end up with an ugly scar and a hospital bill.”

“I don’t want to kill myself, Dean. Just a low-budget lobotomy. And if I botch it, that’s God’s will.”

“Well, I’m not down with lobotomies, so I guess I have to help.”

“Thank the stars.”

I picked up a piece of mail and studied the horrible state of the envelope. It was practically ripped down the middle. This guy was a different brand of chaos than I was used to.

“This says you’re pre-qualified,” I said.

“Oooh.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Tossing the letter to the side, I grabbed the next. “No credit cards.”

“Why not? I have three.”

“That’s one reason. Do you pay them on time every month?”

“I think so.”

Ignoring that disastrous statement, I checked out a few more pieces, all of which were junk. Then, I found one with big red letters.

“Have you paid this?” I asked, passing it to him.

He took a minute to read through it. The little hum he made probably wasn’t a good sign.

“I don’t remember,” he admitted.

“How?”

He shrugged. “If it was on auto-pay, it should be paid. But since this says overdue, I assume it’s not.”

“What do you use to track your spending?”

He lifted one brow silently.

This was it. This was when a stroke was going to take me out.

Pulling my dab pen from my pocket, I stood and walked to the back door. I poked my head out, blowing the smoke into the air. After another hit, I tucked it away and turned back to Oli. He was looking at a new piece of mail, which was too colorful. I snatched it from him and tore it in half.

“No cards,” I repeated. With a sigh, I sat on the couch. “Give me your phone with your bank account pulled up.”