Page 77 of Past the Broken Bridges

Especially after I stormed out of his house last time wesaw one another. He left a few voicemails that included some colorful curse words, which I never finished listening to before deleting.

He calls.

I don’t answer, even though my fingers have twitched over the “accept” button every time his name pops up.

Professor Laramie doesn’t sense my internal tension over the man he works with, not that I would expect him to. I’ve grown used to saving face when I’m on campus. “It’s always nice to see parents involved in their kid’s education. He seems impressed by what you’ve come up with.”

Unless those are the words my father used, I don’t believe it. “He’s always made sure to keep track when it comes to my education,” I answer carefully. “Not hard to do, given where we are.”

My father’s squeaky-clean reputation here has gotten him far. He’s well liked among students and faculty, and that’s in large part because they don’t know who he is behind closed doors. The man they see in front of a classroom is a very different version than the one I see at the bottom of a liquor bottle.

I’ve accepted it. Reluctantly. Defeatedly.

Laramie offers a quiet laugh. “I suppose that’s true,” he replies. “I’ve seen plenty of students come and go without any type of support from home, so it’s refreshing when I experience it firsthand. He’s a good man with a good kid.”

My father must have laid it on thick during their lunch. It takes everything in me not to react negatively, no matter how badly my eye wants to twitch from the false appreciation.

From the corner of my eye, I see Dawson stumbling toward the library. He can barely walk in a straight line, so I decide to cut my conversation with the professor short andgo help the idiot before he gets hurt. “Tell my father I said hello if you see him before I do. I’ll see you in class,” I tell Laramie, walking away before he can reply.

Jogging over to my friend, who I haven’t seen or heard from in days, I swat his arm as soon as I stop beside him. Dawson has always been skinny, but he looks like he’s lost weight that he didn’t have to begin with. When I get a glimpse of his face, I can’t help but flinch. His eyes are sunken in, and there are bags under them like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

“Dude. What the hell happened?”

He jerks his arm away from me. “Nothing.” When he scratches his nose, I know he’s bullshitting me. “What are you up to?” he asks as if everything is okay.

“I tried calling you last night.” I’ve texted him almost every day with no response. It isn’t unlike him to ignore messages, especially since our fight about Sawyer, so I didn’t want to assume the worst. I hoped he was with Dixie or the guys on the team. Someone to distract him from the other people in his life who encourage his bad behavior. “Where have you been?”

Dawson stumbles back. “What are you, my mom?”

I deadpan. “If I were, I wouldn’t be around or concerned.”

His mother was upset that I risked her son’s scholarship by talking to the campus police about Marco. I never pointed fingers or ratted Dawson out for using drugs because that would have gotten him kicked off the basketball team, but enough word spread that it got him on probation. Apparently, taking time to get sober and heal from a near-death experience wasn’t what she wanted her son to be doing.

I’ve never particularly liked her since. As far as I’m concerned, she’s as bad as my mother. Worse, even. I’d liketo think if I almost died, my mom would at least want me to take time off school to get better instead of encouraging me to finish my degree before I was ready.

“Fuck off, Banks. Don’t talk about my mom.”

Dawson goes to move around me and into the library, but I won’t let him pass. “Come on, man. I just want to make sure everything is good. My dad asked about you the other day. Said you haven’t been in class again.”

The six-six twenty-one-year-old in front of me fidgets before rubbing his nose again and then scrubs a hand through grown-out hair that needs a trim. “Needed a break. I’ll pass in the assignments that are due next week.”

That’s not what I’m worried about. “I thought we talked about this. The shit with Marco—”

“Don’t worry about Marco,” he cuts me off, eyes narrowing in anger. “I’ve got it under control.”

His eyes dart around, unfocused. Wary. It doesn’t sit well with me. “You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right? I don’t want to see you hurt, man. I know you don’t like going to meetings, but I’ll go with you. I’ll take time off from the store. Just tell me what you need.”

Dawson looks down before shaking off the hand I put on his shoulder. “What I need is for you to leave me the hell alone for once.”

His attitude has my nostrils flaring. “I’m just trying to help.”

He starts backing up. “Help somebody who wants it. I’m fine.”

He’s not, and it’s obvious to anybody with eyes. “Where are you headed, anyway?”

He gestures toward the library. “Gonna study for my chem class.”

His backpack isn’t even on him. “Where are your things then?”

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