Page 32 of Two Wrongs

I knew it before I pushed his buttons. I’m tired of being rejected by these men, and I wanted to walk away on my own terms. No matter what I told Liam back at the hospital, I still plan to leave. I’m a forgiving person, but I can’t forgive his betrayal.

I go back to searching the freezer. It’s one of Liam’s favorite hiding spots for money, so it seems a safe bet if he has any drugs, this is where he’d keep them.

“Why are you looking in there?” he asks, while he puts the couch back together.

In the back of the freezer I find a box of Girl Scout cookies. Considering I haven’t bought any of them for at least a couple years, I pull it out. Opening the end, I find a large storage baggie filled with round, white pills.

I hold it up. “This is why.”

“Son of a bitch,” Griffin shouts and kicks the table, busting one of the legs.

“We’re not done yet.” I move through a few other places I know he likes to hide things, including the vent in the bedroom, and the false bottom of one of his dresser drawers.

After we’ve torn apart the entire apartment, we’ve got several dozen pills, and a wad of cash.

“You were right,” Griffin admits. I jump as he comes up behind me. “I’m not sure I even know who my son is anymore.”

“That makes two of us,” I agree.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for helping me get him help. You never answered my question earlier, by the way.”

“Yes I did,” I say, and point to one of the bags. “I know he needs help, but he’s been lying to me for half a year, cheating on me, and treating me like shit. I care about him enough to get him help, but I can’t be with him anymore.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “You should go on home. It’s getting late, and Liam is my mess to clean up from now on.”

I nod and head to the door. Turning in the doorway, I pause and look at him. He holds my gaze and gives me a sad smile. We both know whatever is happening between us needs to end. No matter what Liam did to me, two wrongs don’t make a right.

* * *

“Okay,bitch, spill. Why do you look both satisfied and sad at the same time?” Bess hops up on the bar and swings her legs back and forth while I put bottles of beer into the coolers under the bar.

“Can you make yourself useful and get some ice?” I complain.

“Fine, don’t tell me, but you obviously got some bow chicka bow wow today. Was it bad? Did you have to lay there and think of England or something?” she continues to carry on her ridiculous conversation without my input.

“Shit,” she whispers dramatically. Her head swivels around scoping out all the exits. “It wasn’t Donovan, right? You aren’t supposed to shit where you eat, which is a really gross way of saying, don’t fuck the boss, if you ask me.”

I flap my arms at her. “No, it wasn’t Donovan. Can we drop this please?”

She claps her hands. “But it was somebody.” She does a wiggle on top of the bar. “Wren got her pipes cleaned,” she starts to sing before I slap my hand over her mouth.

“Fuck, you’re extra today. I’ll talk to you if you keep your voice down,” I hiss.

Bess does a little shimmy and hops down from the bar. “You know, in the future, it would be a lot less painful for you if you’d just give in to me from the beginning. These are things you should know if you’re going to be my BFF.”

I can’t help but smile at her. “Just like that? We go on one shopping spree and to the salon and now we’re best friends?”

“Need me to make you a bracelet? My macrame skills are a little rusty, but I’ll hit the craft store tomorrow and whip you up a friendship bracelet.” She nods like this is the best idea she’s had in a while, and I’m pretty sure she’s already picking out colors to use on what I would bet will be matching bracelets.

“You’re a little bent, you know that right?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “Life is more fun this way. Better to be bent than boring.”

Truthfully, I am in the market for a best friend. Audrey has been increasingly absent for the last few months. So much so, I’ve stopped reaching out. It’s at the point now that I have to assume we have the relationship she wants.

“Ugh,” I groan. “I might have, kinda, hooked up with my father-in-law.” The last words I rush out and purposely say a bit garbled.

Her mouth falls open, and she hops up and down. “You are my hero. No, nothe-ro. We can’t let men get the credit for this. You, my dear, are myshe-ro.”

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