Page 57 of Shattered Pieces

Diesel: Meet me at my place.

Hunter: You sure? Give me an hour. Dealing with something.

Diesel: Positive.

Did I want him at my house? No, but the only way I’d get answers about Rory without Skeeter finding out was to have Hunter come to me.

I had a beer when I got home, but that didn’t hit the spot. I did some push-ups, had a snack, and tried focusing on anything other than my panic for Rory. I felt sick, the anxiety clawing at me until I was rummaging in my bedroom drawer, needing it to stop.

How could I feel like this forever? I couldn’t.

Rory needed me, and just like the shit with Sasha, I was forced to stand back and let the Psychos destroy her.

Angry tears burned my eyes as my shaky hands picked up the syringe I’d stashed, mentally fighting myself on it until I let out a curse and snatched the baggie of small crystals. The blood was rushing in my ears, my head loud as my emotions and thoughts clashed with one another.

This was why I couldn’t have Rory. Maybe the universe had spared Sasha from me? Was I the problem?

Self-hatred washed through me, and I angrily prepped my syringe in the kitchen before yanking off my belt and jacket, tightening the belt around my bicep.

I wanted to scream and cry at the same time, sliding down to the floor and just holding the syringe while choking on a sob. I was weak, it would always be like this. If I took this step, I couldn’t take it back. Rory fucking needed me, I had to stop.

I smacked my head back against the cupboard as if it would knock some damn sense into me, staring at my inner arm and lifting the syringe to it.

This feeling would go away if I just did it. I could stop fighting.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hunter murmured when he appeared in front of me, giving me space but being close enough to tackle me if he had to. “You’re okay, man.”

“Do I fucking look okay?” I snapped, holding the syringe a little tighter.

“Talk to me. You don’t want to do that.”

“I do. I really, really do,” I said weakly. “I can’t help her, Hunt. She deserves better.”

“You can help her, we’re working on it. You deserve more than this too. Come on, give it to me,” he said calmly, reaching a hand out to take it. I pulled it back, blinking past more tears and cursing at myself. I knew I’d been a mess lately, but how had it gotten to this point again?

“I’m tired of this fight,” I croaked, my shoulders drooping.

“Do you need Skeet? Brick? Who can help you right now if you don’t want me to. I know you need it to stop, but this isn’t it, D,” he replied, shuffling closer to try and take the syringe again.

This time, I let him, smacking my head back against the cupboard again. He put his hand on my head to stop me from doing it again, standing to empty the syringe down the drain before squatting in front of me and hugging me so tightly that I just completely went slack in his hold and sobbed like a fucking baby.

“I’ve got you, man,” he promised, one of his hands going to the back of my head to keep me close as the other loosened the belt around my arm and slid it off before hugging me again.

I clung to him as if he could fix me, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

No one could fucking fix me.

Hunter

It took two hours to calm Diesel down. It had been a long time since I’d seen him like that, and part of me was pissed at Skeeter over it. Had he not noticed Diesel slipping? Was he so caught up in this bullshit about Rory that he couldn’t put it aside long enough for Diesel’s sake?

I’d warned him about it coming to this, but he hadn’t believed me.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked once we were sitting on the couch, his face scrunching. “You know I won’t judge you for it. I mean it, talk to me.”

“Since I kissed Rory,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s gotten bad since the night she was arrested though.”

“Does Skeet know?”