Page 67 of The Guy in the Alley

“I’ve only held back to give you space to settle into your new routines,” was my weak defense.

He huffed under his breath and eased back. “How kind of you. But I can multitask.” He nodded up the aisle. “Come on. Tell me what’s next on your list. And then we can talk about your taste in men.”

Excuse me? “What’s wrong with my taste?”

“You can start with raising your fucking standards,” he told me. “You want a quick fuck? Say the word. I’m fairly confident I can deliver. But you gotta learn to aim higher. You deserve more than?—”

“Okay, you can stop.” I was done. I was so goddamn done that I felt dead inside. Zero emotion, including anger and annoyance. If he was gonna circle back to that again, like he’d done in his stupid letter, I didn’t wanna hear it.

Friends, it was.

Fuck him.

* * *

I stuck the key in the ignition and rested my forehead against the wheel.

What was wrong with me?

I’d fucking told myself not to make decisions on his behalf, and here I was, pushing the kid away because I was so certain he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. And he didn’t. He really didn’t. But that wasn’t all on him. I wasn’t even giving him a chance.

This was better in the long run, though. I needed stability and people who stayed in my life, and I could think of a million ways I’d fuck up a relationship because I couldn’t be a good partner. I had to focus on my son, on getting him and Ma out of that apartment. I had to save up money. I had to work.

A friendship was easier to maintain. Trace wouldn’t have the same demands, and I’d hopefully have him in my life for as long as I breathed. Because that was where I’d landed. He had to be a permanent fixture.

I didn’t even know what he wanted. I just picked up on our chemistry every single day, and it fucking killed me, because there wasn’t a chance in hell we’d ever be on the same page. He was young, driven to go further with the Clover, passionate about the projects that helped people, and…he had a more “fuck it, let’s see what happens” attitude. I didn’t. I couldn’t afford that. For one, I’d already screwed myself over by being halfway in love with the little shit. For two, Alvin.

I wanted them to meet. I wanted to coax Alvin out of hiding and eventually find comfort in a social setting with people he liked, and I knew he was going to like Trace. Which made it all the more important to keep the pressure off so I didn’t do something that sent Trace running.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Trace Kalecki

“I remember when you were fun, babe,” Eric slurred lazily. His head lolled back against the couch, and I eyed the mess all around. Two dudes were lost in their highs on the floor. Pizza boxes, empty bottles, fucking needles, and tinfoil.

“I remember when you were sober,” I replied absently. Why had I come? Why had I bothered tracking him down?

It used to be just booze. Then he’d tried his ma’s pain meds. Then he was buying Tramadol on the street. Then benzo. Then he discovered oxy. And now…

He was one party away from shooting up fentanyl.

Who knew what he was on right now.

“Come on, Eric. Let’s go. You can crash in my room.”

He found that funny for some reason. “Like your dad’s gonna let me in.”

“We’ll wait till he’s gone to sleep.”

He shook his head and sprawled out across the cushions. “Life’s too good, Trace.”

The edges of my vision grew blurry and my lungs burned and… I sucked in a breath, the images faded, and I cursed and rolled over to bury my face in my pillow. God-fucking-dammit.

It’s just a bad dream.

Unfortunately, the memories pulled me back in.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

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