Page 78 of False Start
“Actually,” she says as I’m heading toward my room to change for practice, “I have some things I need to handle. Can you take me to get my car first?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nia,” I say without turning around yet.
She clicks her tongue, the annoyance apparent in her tone. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I sigh, finally turning around to face her before I ask, “What kind of things do you have to do?” I try not to sound condescending, but there’s absolutely no way she thinks I’m buying this shit.
Her face scrunches up. She’s pissed, but she’s trying to choose her words.
“What, because my life is justthisnow?”
Oh, yeah. She’s withdrawing.
“This?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate to bite back, “You being in control of everything.”
“Stop it.” I don’t mean to sound stern, but I do. “Stop trying to create a problem where there isn’t one. Don’t make me say it.” I shake my head.
With a scoff, she’s standing and somehow managing to not look weak for the first time all day. “Don’t make you say what? That you’re keeping me here?”
“I’m not keeping you here, Nia. I’mtellingyou it’s not a good idea.” I don’t look away. I just hope my words get through to her.
“But you’re not going to take me?” It’s not even annoying that her attitude is adorable, but the fact she gets this mean this fast… This is gonna be an even bigger challenge.
“Nia, you’re withdrawing, you’re dopesick, you just ate for the first time in days. What the fuck could you possibly need your car for, and what makes you think you’re in any shape to be driving it?” I don’t mean to be blunt, but I lay the facts out there.
“You’re treating me like I’m a fucking kid, Harvey.” She’s trying to stand up for herself, but she’s getting weepy, reminding me once againwhywe’re doing this.
“I’m treating you like ajunkie, Nia,” I correct.
“I’m not a fucking junkie.” The look on her face is pure anger, her eyes burning with intensity.
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh babe, you’re gonna have to take a hard look at yourself right now, because we bothknow once you walk out that door, there’s only one thing you’re gonna be looking for.”
“Fuck you, Harvey.” Her voice is cold, like she’s shooting to kill.
I slap my hand to my heart and feign hurt. “I’mthe one who does the fucking, remember?” It comes out as a breathy laugh.
She pushes at me like she wants me to back away, but I grab the gold loop of the collar and flick at it, reminding her it hasn’t even been hours since she accepted it. The acknowledgment sets in on her face like she’s been proven wrong, and she shrugs it off, crossing her arms.
“You’re coming to practice,” I tell her.
“W-what? There’s no point. I can’t skate like this.” She lifts up the cast that didn’t stop her before she started getting too high to skate.
“I can’t leave you here, so you’re coming with me.” I shrug, changing into a pair of gym shorts and throwing on a clean practice shirt. I grab some clothes from her suitcase and bring them out to the living room with me.
“Come sit between my legs.” I give her the clothes and sit on the edge of the couch, brush in hand, waiting for her.
The frown never leaves her face, and she doesn’t bother going to another room to change. She’s not wearing much of anything anyway. She slides on the sweatpants and grabs the hem of her shirt, her nostrils flaring as she makes eye contact with me.
She can’t take it off on her own, but she’s too pissed to ask me.
This isn’t a moment I need to win, so I stand up and reach for her shirt to help pull it up and off her. Not bothering to let her try, I grab the fresh shirt myself and dressher in it. I pull her to me, pressing her against my body and gently tugging at the ends of her hair. She finally looks up at me.
“Let me brush it.” I unravel the hair tie and slide it over my wrist.
She’s gone quiet, and I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing, but she follows me back to the couch, where she kneels between my legs on the rug. I’m gentle, pulling the braid apart, and once it comes free, I rub my fingers across her scalp, a groan of satisfaction falling from her lips.
