Page 53 of Past the Broken Bridges

A spark of victory has me standing straighter at his admission, and I’mthisclose to asking him the biggest favor ever. “Good to know.”

He watches me for a little while longer before ducking his chin. “Commanders is my favorite in the Garden District. Let’s go.”

I’m still standing right where he left me when he turns into the front entrance of the restaurant.

And I swear I see a small smirk that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing by teasing me.

Prick.

But I take the out and follow him in, not arguing when he chooses to order for us and pays.

It feels like a date.

Except we don’t put a label on it.

I think…I think that’s for the best.

Casual,I remind my heart.

Chapter Sixteen

Banks

The second I see Dawson stumbling around the frat’s kitchen, I know something is up. It takes two minutes of watching him struggling to open a bag of pretzels to realize what.

I grab the bag from him and open it, voice lowering so nobody in the hall overhears. “I thought you were done with that shit. You promised.”

He stumbles, catching himself on the kitchen counter and shaking my helping hand off. “Funny,” he slurs, sniffling as he snatches the bag from me. “So did you. But you never keep your word. You haven’t since sophomore year.”

Dawson convinced me to rush a few fraternities our sophomore year. It didn’t take long for me to bounce because of the shit they had some of the new kids doing. Sure, I’d promised to do it together, but I wasn’t going to be part of their little hazing projects just to get the upperclassmen’s approval.

Dawson was a different story. He knew exactly which Greek house he wanted to join and was willing to doanything to be initiated. Legal or not. It didn’t matter that I told him we should both bail because his mind was set.

As bad as it was for his mentor, Marco, to be caught with twelve ounces of cocaine last year, it was worse for Dawson because he became addicted to the product Marco was making him distribute. If the new president and I hadn’t found him, I don’t know if he’d be here now. And the thought… Christ. It fucks with me. Makes me feel like I was partly responsible because we’d gotten into a rift over Desiree. He’d been mad. Understandably so. Avoided me. Told me I was a horrible friend for going after his girlfriend. I didn’t know they were actually serious since he’d never been serious about anything in his life.

But I knew better than to get involved at all. That’s on me.

If I’d known how deep he was into his use, I would have tried stepping in sooner instead of turning the other way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him.

“I don’t know whatyou’retalking about,” he snaps, scooping out a handful of pretzels. He drops more than he keeps, stepping on a few that are scattered on the floor with his Jordans because he can’t stand straight.

“Come on, man. Don’t lie to me. Remember what happened last time?”

He glares with bloodshot eyes, which are a dead giveaway as to how bad it’s gotten. Pot used to take off the edge for him. But the way his face has gone gaunt tells me it’s beyond that point again. “That was an accident.”

An accident.I let myself believe it before because I didn’t want to think about the repercussions of his continual use. I wanted to believe he had a handle on it. I don’t know when it stopped being fun for him, when he decided he neededmore; all I know is that it was too late to convince him to stop when he was found. He hadn’t liked me being at the hospital with him and even tried kicking me out after I told him I called his parents, but I stayed. Whether he liked it or not, we were friends.

I won’t let him do something detrimental to himself again.

“Yeah, well, that accident could have ended your life,” I point out, stepping toward him. “You said you were done. That Marco was gone for good. What happened?”

He took the steps. Got the help. Went to the programs and made his peace. Moving off campus helped. He didn’t want to be roommates but was open to renting the empty space downstairs when it became available. Away from temptation and close to friends. That’s what his counselor said he needed most, and he listened. I thought getting out of the frat helped too. Maybe I was wrong.

Dawson looks down at the mess he made before his eyes go to the hallway, where loud music is thumping from the living room. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. A little unfinished business.”

We both know that’s not true. During one of the counseling sessions he invited me to, he admitted to the group he’d almost gotten knifed by somebody who was in withdrawal and needed another hit. Did he really want to risk his life like that again? “You got a second chance, man. Why risk it for somebody else’s gain?”

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