Page 44 of You Spin Me

“Mind your own business, dude,” he begins.

But when I shove him up against a concrete pillar, the light must hit my face in just the right way because he blanches when I growl, “You and your friends bug my friend Walt again, and your face’ll look much worse than mine, I promise you.”

He just blinks, so I lift him off the ground. “Did you hear me?”

“Uh, yeah,” he squeaks. “Okay, yeah.”

Tossing him to the side, I spit, “Get out of here, then. And don’t come back.”

After he takes off, I keep watch while Walt gets his belongings back in order. He finally shoos me away, but even after the walk home, I’m still agitated.

How can I protect Jess if I don’t even know where she is?

And then I realize that I still don’t have her fucking phone number, so I’ll have to wait all the way until Monday when she calls into the station to hear if she’s okay.

It’s going to be one long weekend.

Sunday afternoon,as I’m closing my eyes for a much-needed post-dinner nap on the couch in my parents’ den, someone sits on the cushion by my feet. “I can’t talk right now,” I moan. “I’m too full.”

My mom’s hand lands on my right ankle to give it a squeeze. I can tell it’s her without opening my eyes. She squeezed me in that spot in the exact same way every time she came to see me in the hospital. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You were a bit grumpy with the kids at dinner.”

Grunting, I throw a forearm over my face. Of course I’m grumpy. It’s been a totally fucked-up weekend. Jess is getting drunk with strange men, I still have to confess that I exposed her secret to half of Boston, and I’m getting in fights like I’m back in junior high.

Worst of all, the words of the guy who picked up the phone after Jess passed out Friday night won’t stop echoing in my ears.Maybe you should let her know you’re in love with her.If this guy can tell how I feel about Jess in one short phone call, she must know, too. I know I don’t deserve her, but something has me hanging on to a thread of hope.

As if that weren’t enough, I’ve got to figure out how to hang on to my job, the one thing I thought I could count on.

It’s too much to even try to explain to my mom, and she doesn’t need to take on my crap anyway. If I’m going to figure out how to be a grown-up, I have to do it myself.

She squeezes my ankle again. “Cal. You’re never grumpy with them, especially not with Robbie.”

My nephew Robbie is four. He looks exactly like I did at that age, before the accident. I love that kid more than anything. “I’m sorry. I’m… There are some complications in my life right now and they’re a little distracting.”

“Does one of these complications have the name Jessica?”

Grabbing a pillow to cover my face, I groan. “I’m going to kill Penny.”

“Don’t blame your sister.” When she pushes my lower leg, I bend my knees so there’s room for her. “I listen to the radio too.”

“You stay up for my show?”

“Sometimes, while I’m ironing or finishing cleaning up the kitchen.”

“When you’re avoiding going to sleep, you mean?” After the fire, my mom had insomnia for years. I peek out from under the pillow and, seeing an opportunity to sidestep the sideshow that is my life, I go on the offensive. “I hate it when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I make you feel guilt. Or regret.”

“But I do feel guilt. And regret.”

“Well, stop it. It makes me feel worse.”

“I’ll stop it when you let a girl kiss you on that cheek”—she points to my scarred side—“as well as the other one.” She grips my ankle again. “When you let someone love you more than I do.”

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