Page 118 of Offside Devil

“A little,” she admits. “But a seven-year-old guessed that I was eighty this morning, so I’ve had worse.”

“I just don’t need to be here,” I continue. “I just got Aiden, actually. I haven’t had him long enough to fuck him up yet. If something is wrong with him, that’s going to be his mother’s fault. Unfortunately, you can’t march her in here.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Aiden doesn’t like to talk about her much, but I know she passed. I’m sorry.”

“We weren’t together.”

“Still, it must be difficult for you. She’s the other half of your son and now, she’s gone.”

The number of times I’ve wanted to pick up my phone and call Paige the last month is unbelievable.

Why did you keep him from me?

Did you take good care of him?

What turtle-shaped crackers is he talking about? I can only find fish and whales.

“The only thing that’s ‘difficult’ is that Paige isn’t here to yell at. She stole four years of my son’s life from me, and then died before I could call her a selfish bitch.” I snort. “It’s just like her, in a way: always avoiding the consequences of her actions. Until she couldn’t, I guess.”

“How did she die, if I may ask?”

“Overdose.” I thread my fingers together. “I haven’t asked where it happened. No one has told me if Aiden was there or not. Part of me doesn’t want to know because—Fuck. It’s just too bleak.”

“What if Aiden was there when it happened?”

My throat tightens, but I swallow it down. “Then the fucked-up circle of life continues, I guess.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t hate your mother and you said your father wasn’t cold and distant.”

“Not when I was a kid.”

“And now?” she asks.

I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to them in years. Not since they told me they’d call the police if I didn’t get off their front porch.”

Dr. Turner tilts her head to the side. “Why would they call the police on you?”

At the time, I thought it was because they were the worst parents in the world. I stood in the yard outside the picture window that led to the living room and told them I despised them. The memory is hazy, but…

“I was high and looking for cash.” Shame pools in my stomach like I’m still standing in front of the house, watching as my mom tugs the curtains closed. “I’d already stolen from them. I didn’t even need the money, but I was paranoid the police were after me. I stole some checks from my mom’s purse over Thanksgiving and cashed them. When she confronted me, I lied to her face.”

I lied to everyone, actually.

To Coach Popov.

To Jace.

To Daniel.

I lied about how bad things were and how deep in it I was. I’d go on week-long benders with Paige, but tell Daniel I was visiting my grandma. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to get what I wanted.

“Have you tried to reach out to them?” Dr. Turner asks. “You’re four years sober, right?”

“I’m four years sober from opiates, yes.”

Until a couple weeks ago, it would’ve been four years sober, period. Now, there’s a caveat. I loathe that little fucking asterisk.

“But it doesn’t matter how long it’s been. There’s always a chance I’ll slip up again. There’s always a chance I’ll end up screaming at my parents from their front yard. They disowned me once. I don’t want them to have to do it again.”

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