Page 2 of The Fake
I know I should probably feel relief that I’m not kicked off the team or out of school or in fucking handcuffs, but instead, what I’m feeling is more like panic. Without those drugs, I’m not only out of a job, but I’m also out of money. I broke rule number one in dealing—don’t get caught. I can’t exactly go back to it with Coach watching over my shoulder. I may not have liked how I felt about selling drugs, but it provided money I need to survive and keep my little brother from falling into a similar situation.
Angry footsteps interrupt my spiraling thoughts and Wes’ brooding frame casts a shadow over me.
“Didn’t happen to save any of it, did ya?” I ask without looking up. “If I were going to start doing drugs, now seems like the perfect time.”
“How can you possibly joke at a time like this?” he snaps.
Instead of answering him, I stand and scoop my shit off the floor and toss it in the locker, slamming it shut when I’m through. I head out of the locker room with Wes hot on my heels.
“Dude, stop.”
I don’t.
“Nathan.”
Stilling, I count to three and school my features before I face him. Wes’ expression has gone from angry to looking like I kicked his dog. He shoves both hands in his pants pockets and lowers his voice. “Are you alright?”
Laughter bubbles in my chest, and a strained chuckle escapes. “Nah, man, I don’t think I am.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I don’t know if this is my buddy asking or assistant coach Wes, but he looks about as excited to have a heart to heart as I do to dump my problems on his lap.
“Can’t. I gotta go figure out how I’m gonna make up for the money I just lost.”
“Wait. Just… wait a minute.” Wes shifts his weight from one foot to the other and lets out an exasperated groan. His blue eyes darken, and he pulls at his dirty blond hair. “Will you talk to me? Tell me what the hell is going on?”
“What’s going on is I needed the money from selling the shit you flushed down the bowl.” I lift a shoulder and let it fall. I could explain further, but he won’t understand, no matter how I break it down. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see if I can sell plasma or sperm or maybe an organ.”
He looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t know what, and I don’t give him time to come up with something. I leave him standing there without the answers I know he’s looking for that’ll explain it all away. If only it were that easy.
Outside of the fieldhouse, I take off in a run, sun beating down on me, and I’m sweating instantly. It’s late morning but the summer temp is still hovering above one hundred degrees. I live just across the street, but I don’t head there. I pump my legs hard in the opposite direction of the gym. It’s not until I’ve hit the mile mark that the burn in my chest dulls everything else and I can think straight. I slow as Joel’s Tesla comes into view.
“I should’ve known,” I mutter as the car screeches to a halt beside me.
Joel tilts his head down so his eyes peer over the top of his sunglasses. “Get in, loser. We’re going shopping.”
I look past him to Wes sitting in the passenger seat. He avoids my gaze, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he ran straight to Joel and told him what happened.
“No thanks, and shitty Regina George impersonation, bro.”
Joel chuckles. “Don’t be an asshole, that was spot onMean Girls. Now get in the car. We’re going day drinking.”
With a defeated sigh and a tiredness I feel deep in my soul, I give in and slide into the back seat and sink into the leather. The comfort annoys me. I don’t want cushy. I want to erase the pain with pain.
Joel takes off, glancing in the rearview mirror as he does. “Sooo… how’s your day?”
“Awesome. My day is going awesome.”
He looks from Wes to me. “Hey, anyone got any weed or Xannies—could really help take the edge off, ya know?”
Wes glares.
“Too soon?” Joel smirks. The tightness around his shit-brown eyes gives him away though. He knows I’ve screwed up royally, and this is just his way of being here for me. I appreciate it… or I will when I’m not so angry at myself for letting things go this far.
No one speaks again until we’re at the Prickly Pear, a dive that’s more popular with townies than college students. It’s early, so the place is empty except a lone guy sitting at the bar.
I slump into a chair at our usual table while Joel and Wes get drinks. I can’t afford to buy my own beer and for the first time, I don’t give a shit if they cover me. This was their idea. If they want me to drink with them and pretend this is just another day hanging with friends, they’re gonna have to pony up.
