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His eyes have gone wide, unfocused. Unreadable. And as I watch him, trying to find the right reaction, the right words to make him stay, I see his eyes going blank, reflecting myself like empty mirrors.
His shields are back up, right as mine are down, as I’m cracking myself open for him, letting him see he means something to me, something I wouldn’t let myself see before, and he’s stepping away.
It jars me, jolts me back to reality, where my anger returns tenfold. “What’s the matter? Isn’t this your job? Are you seriously trying to make me think you’re uncomfortable with me touching you? Maybe you’re trying to scam me like you did my brother?”
Wiping a hand over his mouth, he stumbles backward. Dammit, he’s got the confused act down pat. “Your brother? Ocean? Is this why you brought me here? Ocean put you up to this?”
Damn, I hadn’t meant to come out and accuse
him like this, but now it’s like I can’t fucking stop.
“Up to what?” I advance on him. “See where his money is getting wasted, yet again? Our parents took his last fucking dime, and now you’re spending it—on what? Drugs? Booze? He thinks it’s for a good cause, dammit.”
He pales, the blood draining from his face so fast it can’t be an act. “Fuck you.”
I’m too fired up to stop, though, not about these things that have been fucking up my mind since I first saw him. “He and Jesse Lee give you their money so you can get off the fucking streets, so you can fucking stop hustling. But here you are, sleeping on a street corner, letting guys beat you up and fuck you. What have you done with that hard-earned cash, huh? What do you have to show for it? Tell me.”
And man, I really wanna know.
“Fuck you,” he says again, his voice hardening. “You don’t understand anything. Tell him…” He takes a deep breath, jabs a finger at me, his white face tightening into a familiar scowl. I see with a start that blood has started running from his nose, coating his mouth. “Tell him I don’t want any more of his fucking money. Not if he doesn’t trust me. Tell your brother that. I’m outta here.”
“Fine,” I say. “Go.”
His eyes narrow, then he turns around and stands with his back to me. His shoulders are heaving, and for a moment I want to take it all back. Go grab him, make him sit, clean the blood. Make him understand where I come from, why this matters so much to me.
Why I’m so damn furious and why I want an explanation.
But the moment passes, and he shakes his head, then opens the door and is gone.
“You don’t understand.”
His words echo in my head in the dark hours of the night. The things I said. The things he said back.
Sinner, my aunt’s voice whispers in my mind, but it’s grown fainter than ever.
Shut up, I tell it, and it goes silent.
Still, when morning comes, nothing is clearer. Or midday. Or evening. Or the day after.
I surface from work only to field another call from my dear dad, and after he threatens Ocean again, and I all but lose my shit on him, I tell him I’ll meet him next week to see what he has to say. To set his terms and make his demands so that I can tell him what to do with all of it, and maybe punch him for good measure.
He has nothing to threaten us with. This is bullshit. Between that and all my thoughts about Jason, I fuck up every single task assigned to me, until I’m sure I’ll be fired.
By the time the weekend comes around, I’m damn tired. I tell Ocean and the others I’m not up to anything, lock up my apartment door and slide, lost in a fog of alcohol, anger and want, caught in an internal war I can’t seem to win.
I should be worried about meeting my old folks, who are fucking scammers, selfish and not caring about their kids’ wellbeing. I should worry about losing my job at Collateral Damage and letting my friends down.
But all I can think about is Jason. That paleness. The way his voice shook when I made my accusations.
What if he isn’t scamming my brother? For all he knows, I’ve told Ocean he’s throwing his money down the drain, and he won’t see another penny. If he was a scammer, wouldn’t he have a story ready to give me?
Or maybe he thought I’d be as easy to convince as my brother? Maybe it was all an act, and he thought I’d buy the emotional meltdown. A calculated risk, going all in, in the hopes that I wouldn’t tell Ocean.
Fuck that. I’m not a push-over. I’m telling Ocean everything.
But every time I lift my phone to call my brother, I hesitate.
Disgusted with myself, I throw the phone on the coffee table and turn on the TV on low. There’s a football game on, and I stare at the images, not really registering anything.
