Page 74 of Risking it All

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Why didn’t I call you?” Bitterness dripped from her. “I was shot at, Relic. Shot at. So were you. So was Camila. Eric is the only way we’re going to survive whatever bullshit is going on. I went to him, just like you should have. We need him.”

Fuck that. “We don’t.”

“We need him,” she shouted. “I don’t want to die because you can’t get over whatever shit you have with him. I’m your family. Camila is your family. It’s time for you to grow up and protect us.”

Rage shot through me. “I am protecting you and Camila. You think getting in with Eric is going to keep us safe? It’s going to get us killed!”

“Not if you’re smart! And you are smart. The most brilliant person I know. You out of anyone can navigate this life andstay alive. Please, Relic. Please don’t leave us vulnerable. Please accept Eric’s offer and get us out of this apartment and out of the danger we’re in.”

I felt like I swallowed a million-pound weight. I had no argument with my sister other than that I never wanted to work for Eric. I wanted more. Had hoped for more. I needed more. But my life didn’t work that way.

Unable to look at her anymore, I left the apartment, went down the stairs, saw a baseball bat on the ground, picked it up and beat the hell out of the apartment complex Dumpster.

Loud bangs rang out into the night, and when the wooden bat splintered, I threw it across the parking lot and screamed out in fury and agony.

Fuck me. Just…fuck me.

Chapter thirty-four

Macie

Relic was quiet. Heavy. Something was wrong and I didn’t know what. Group therapy, though, went on. While we all fluttered looks between each other and Relic, everyone sensing he was off, we pushed forward. Especially Demarius. Even Relic, in the mood he was in, focused solely on Demarius as he told us the story of his parents taking him to see the player who had been hurt on the field from the tackle.

Demarius continuously wiped at falling tears as he spoke. “He told me not to blame myself, and I didn’t know what to say because I do. I asked him if he’s mad, and he told me he was, but not at me. He’s mad at life, and I get it because I am, too. Part of me feels better knowing he doesn’t blame me, but I don’t know how to stop blaming myself.”

Mrs. Collins sat in a chair by the door watching us, and I could tell that Demarius’ story hurt her heart like it did all of ours. Zuri, sitting with us in our circle, leaned forward as if to let Demarius know she was here for him. “Self-forgiveness can behard, but it is possible. We often offer grace more easily to other people, yet continually beat ourselves up. But you’re making amazing progress. It had to take a ton of courage to visit him. I’m sure the fears you had were overpowering, but don’t you feel better knowing instead of guessing what he had to say?”

“The guessing game in my head was a million times harder.” He glanced at everyone, but his eyes tracked to me. “We all have baggage, and I would have never thought I’d be the one to say this, but confronting it head on is better than avoiding it.” He mouthed to me, “Thank you.”

The “thank you” was, I guess, for our deal, the swap for my going to where the carjacking happened. Keeping his end of the bargain had pushed him to go talk to the player. I gave a nod, but it felt half-hearted. Had I really wrangled my issues? No. Visiting the site felt more like a gentle nudge.

“If it’s okay,” Demarius said, “I’m exhausted and don’t want to talk anymore. It’s someone else’s turn.”

“That’s more than okay,” Zuri said. “We’re all proud of you.”

All of us, including Relic, gave an affirmation to that, and Demarius slouched in his seat like he’d just run a marathon.

“Who’d like to go next?” Zuri asked, and we all traded that “why-don’t-you-go-because-I’m-not-ready?” look.

If I had to, I could talk. I could tell them how Dad and I weren’t talking to each other. Then there was Mom, who I could tell was disappointed in how I handled the fight with Dad but was also strangely proud of me for mentioning the tattoo. Now, we were waiting on my Aunt Abby, who worked with the FBI, to come home from an out-of-town business trip because they thought maybe she’d be able to help me describe the tattoo. But before I could mention any of that, Lev said, “I’m not supposed to be here.”

The tension in the room rose a billion percent.

“What do you mean you’re not supposed to be here?” Zuri asked.

“My dad said I can’t come to group therapy anymore.”

My eyes met with Relic’s, both of us sharing a, “What the hell?”.

Zuri glanced back at Mrs. Collins. Mrs. Collins said, “I’ve not heard anything from your family about withdrawing you from the program.”

“Dad’s sending an email today, but he told me not to come. He also wants me to quit my job.”

Just the idea of his dad not appreciating how great a worker Lev was caused my spine to straighten. “Why?”

Lev picked at the chipped pastel pink polish on his fingernails. “He said he sent me to therapy to make me normal. He doesn’t think that therapy is making me normal. He said it’s making me worse, and he said that he doesn’t like my influences at work.”

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