Page 22 of Trailer Trash

He doesn’t care, as if he must be used to driving people crazy.

I find myself pacing, wondering if I can actually do this.

Don’t forget, Harlow. I get a pay bump. I don’t even have a hose to water the plants outside. My car needs new tires. If I had to do it again with Evan, I’d do things differently.

“We need rules,” I say.

His smile returns, lazy. “I’m down. What are they?”

I hurry inside and dig through a half-unpacked bathroom box until I find the store-bought drug test. “Rule one. You test when I say.”

He catches it against his chest and stares. “Bossy. I like it.”

“Bathroom’s right there.”

For once, he doesn’t argue. He disappears, comes back soon, and I wait for the result with my arms crossed tight enough to hurt.

Negative.

Suspicion hits first.

“Next time, someone watches you,” I say.

His mouth twitches. “You can watch.”

“A guy,” I clarify.

He looks bored but nods.

“Rule two. Whoever gave you drugs before, delete them.”

His expression changes.

There. That one matters.

“Phone,” I order.

He squints at me, defensive now, but hands it over. I sit beside him on the couch and pull up his contacts.

The phone. The rules. The tiny, stupid hope that control can replace trust.

I draw in a long breath.

This isn’t Evan. This is a patient. Don’t make it personal.

“Who are your dealers?” I say.

“Brax, Meghan, and Bobby.”

“Delete them. It won’t stop you if you’re determined, but it tells me whether you’re willing to try.”

He doesn’t move, so I grab his hand and force his fingertip against the screen.

His eyes lift to mine in warning.

“Careful,” he breathes.

I don’t flinch. It’s weakness.