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“And what, you’re going to lift me underneath the arms?”
He freezes, looking at his hands and dropping them at his sides. Standing up straight, he looks around and then back to me.
“Just bring me back in there. It’s a fucking mistake to leave this hell hole.” If possible, I sink even deeper into the wheelchair in despair.
It’s such an odd sensation, to look down at your body and know it’s still attached, but literally not be able to feel anything below your neck.
“Shut up.” He frowns at me.
“I’m serious. What’re you thinking bringing me back with you? Look at you, you’re exhausted. You can’t take me on. I’m a grown ass newborn now, Easton. With everything else that you’re not telling me, you look about ready to crash.”
He shakes his head, clearing his mind of whatever contemplation and hesitation he had a moment ago. With clear focus in his gaze, he walks up to me and slips his arms underneath my knees and his other hand around my back, lifting me up with a breath and placing me down in the passenger seat.
“I forgot what a beefy fuck you were.” I say, because it’s awkward as fuck that my best friend just lifted me up.
“Fuck off.” Easton shuts the door in my face and jogs back with the wheelchair. When he comes back, he gets in the driver’s seat and cranks on his truck, revving out of the parking garage so quickly the squeak of tires makes my ears ring.
“So, now tell me, what the hell is going on with the Mexicans?”
Easton looks over at me. Leaning over, he pops the glove box in front of me and pulls out a pre-rolled blunt. He brings it to his lips and lights it up. The instant smell of herbs and grape swisher makes my blood warm. It’s been so long.
Way too long.
Holding the steering wheel with one hand, he uses the other to bring the blunt to my lips. I take a large hit, coughing so hard that spit dribbles down my chin.
With a furious expression, Easton grabs a used napkin from his center console and brings it up to my face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He swerves into the centerline and it makes my nerves clench up that I can’t even move my body on reflex.
He grabs the wheel, righting it quickly and making my head spin. “No chance in hell am I going to crash my truck because I’m wiping up your ugly mug.”
“Fuck off, give me another hit.” Easton brings it to my lips, and I take a smaller one this time. “Now, tell me.” I cough.
“There’s a lot of pressure down south. Lynx and Aziel have been speaking with us, and we’re going to try and negotiate with the Mexicans.”
“Negotiate?” I spit the bitter word out like its acid. We don’t fucking negotiate. Not at all. There are rules and order in place for a reason. If you don’t want to follow what’s already in place, you get nixed. It is what it is.
Easton sighs. “They want to try—”
“Who? Who in the worlds bright idea was it to try and negotiate with those stupid fucks?”
“Rich and Lynx were talking and thought—”
“Rich and Lynx? Fucking hell. Old ass men, you think they’d be set in their ways. Might be time for them to think about retiring.”
“You’re telling me. Rich has been on one since… you know.” Easton cringes thinking about what happened.
“You mean, when my dad literally stabbed me in the back?”
Easton takes a hit and nods.
“Paralyzed me from the neck down?” I seethe. My face prickles in irritation. The man has literally ruined my life since I’ve been born. Of course, he couldn’t go out without damaging me for good.
“I fucking get it, man.” Easton breathes a deep, emotional breath.
“You don’t fucking get it. No one does. What would you do, if you couldn’t ever move or fight or fuck, ever again?”
His face screws up in disgust. “Paint my walls with my skull.”
“Yeah. Been there.”
