Page 211 of The Last Good Man

He studies me in the rearview mirror before swerving his car away.I’m glad I no longer have to talk.

Slumped in the backseat, I stare blankly at the view and let these past twenty-four hours move through me like a waterspout. Angry tornadoes gathering steam under my calm appearance.

I feel trapped.

Anyone hooked on anything can tell you the worst feeling is when something puts its little claws into you and harshly pulls away.

That’s how withdrawal feels for me right now.

And unlike with cigarettes, I can’t carry a piece of himwith me.

He stated the truth and made me crumble. I will resent him for that at some point, but that point isn’t now.

How could I be so clueless?

Now I need to do two things.Learn who hereallyis and whether I have the guts to be with him.

When I thought I was old enough to know better, a younger man came along and put me in my place. Was I surprised by what he said about Marlowe and Thomas?

It wasn’t exactly groundbreaking news, but getting the saucy details about Thomas, the man with a soft erection, triggered my gag reflex.

Without a clear plan to remedy the damage, I start by tracking down Jax. I see some groveling in my future, although that might notevenbe an option.

The diner was the first place I had in mind as I walked out of Aretha’s office.

I can’t say it’s the best move, but it’s something.

It starts raining shortly after heading to the Bronx, and by the time we reach the diner, other than the few cars parked outside and a couple of tables with people indulging in food that still tastes homemade, there is nothing of interest.

I spot the kid who brought me food last time and ask the driver to pull closer and wait for me.

“Hey. Hey…” I call through the open door, pushing out of my seat.

The kid turns his eyes to me.

His collar is popped, his hair glistening from the rain, his shoulders drawn together.

I make a beeline for him, shielding my face from the icy rain.

“Do you remember me?” I ask.

He silently nods.

“I was with Jax––”

“I know who you are.”

His voice is dry, his gaze suspicious.

“Is there a problem?” he asks.

“No, no problem.”

I reach inside my bag and pull a one hundred dollar bill from my wallet.

“Have you seen him?” I ask, holding the cash up.

“Jax?” he says, his eyes going to the money and back to me.

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