Page 33 of False Start
Maybe, at least in my dreams, I can finally get that girl out of my head.
15
NIA
There are at least twelve things I could be doing other than driving. There’s at least five things Ishouldbe doing other than drivinghere.And there’s at least two things Ineedto be doing, but instead, I am parking.
Three blocks from his house, so as to not affect his relationship with his Karen neighbor, but I’m here nonetheless. Once again, at Ryan Lee’s. I tell myself it’s okay because I only got a couple of pills the last time. I tell myself it’s fine because I don’t need them. I just want them, and that’s gotta count for something.
If it doesn’t, I’m fucked.
I leave my phone in the car, grabbing only my wallet when I decide to make the three block trek on foot to his house. It’s a nice day, spring on the horizon, which means from now until May, it could be anything from twenty to eighty-degree weather.
Layers are my friends.
I take the cardigan off just as I get to his mailbox, already dripping in sweat and regretting that I’ll have to walk back to my car. I’m wrecked with soreness fromyesterday’s scrimmage, bruised to shit from every hit I took from Harvey, so conserving what little energy I have for the bout tonight is necessary.
I’m only not falling apart completely because I spent the last four weeks in physical therapy nearly every single day, rehabbing all the muscles in my body. The door opens before I can get to it, and the same dark-haired woman comes out, this time in a suit, all white from head to toe, except the red on the bottom of her heels. She doesn’t spare me a second glance; she just unlocks her car and gets inside.
I try not to stare, but she’s fucking gorgeous, and the car she’s driving stands out in this neighborhood, despite Ryan wanting to blend in. I push my way inside the house to find a less-than-pleased drug dealer waiting for me.
“What? Was it me, or was ither?” I freeze at the door, unsure if my timing is bad.
“It’s never you, squirt.” He gets up to give me a hug, but once his arms are around me, I can hear the deadbolt locking. “What do you need?” He backs up and places the mask of a happy stoner back on his face.
I narrow my eyes in his direction, just so that he knows I’m well aware of how weird he’s behaving. With a heavy sigh, I drop on the couch, kicking my shoes off at the last minute. “I don’t know.” I drag each word out.
“You always know what you want. You’re just too embarrassed to ask,” he corrects me.
“Fuck you. Always right about me and shit.” I’m covering my face with both hands, but I manage to tuck some fingers in to flip him off at the same time.
“Should I be worried about you?” he asks.
He’s never asked that before. I cut him a look, and heraises his hands up in defense. “You want a dealer, not a friend?”
That cuts to my core.
“No. That’s not what I want, Ryan.” I’m annoyed with myself. “I’m just…” I linger on the thought. “I’m just not ready to stop right now. Everything still hurts.”
It’s a lie.
“That hospital really got you hooked, huh? How long did they have you on that shit?” He’s staring at me like any of that matters.
“It’s like you don’t even want my money. You insult me before I’m three feet in the door.” I’m turning over on my back now, crossing my arms over my chest and staring at the ceiling. “The whole time. I mean, I guess four or five weeks if you’re only counting after I woke up. I was probably not on pain pills while I was asleep.”
“Your money? When’s the last time you actually paid me for something, squirt?” He gives me a look full of a knowing superiority I can’t fight.
“Run the tab, drug man. If you remember it.” I laugh, turning back on my side to face him.
“What’s eating at you?” He gets serious, like he might actually just play therapist for a bit to entertain himself.
“What isn’t? I’m a fucking mess.” I groan, rubbing my hands over my eyes.
“What do I always say, Nia?” He gives me that fucking overprotective look I despise.
“Only commit one crime at a time?” I grimace, knowing it’s the wrong answer as I sit up and steal the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table.
I snag a handful and throw it in my mouth.
