Page 37 of Wasted Memories
Emerson could handle herself, but part of me didn’t want her to have to. I wanted to be there for her if she needed someone to talk to, my shoulder to be the one she cried on, my house to be the place she felt safe.
I gathered the paper towels I’d thrown on the shop floor throughout the day and brought them over to the trash can by Jim’s office. Jim was sitting at the computer with Ray, who was scrolling through his phone, perched on the chair on the opposite side of the desk as they talked.
Pulling out my headphones, I shoved them in my pocket and acted busy gathering up the trash bag to take to the dumpster.
“He’s just got a grudge that’ll fizzle out. He’ll get over it and be back to his usual self in no time,” Jim said as he typed something into his computer.
“His ego is too big to let it go. You know that better than anyone. Man’s got a temper even I wouldn’t want to cross,” Ray mumbled.
“Maybe if he’d quit mixing shit, he wouldn’t be so damn bipolar.”
Ray snorted. “He’s a kid dealing with things way bigger than him. He’s lucky the shit hasn’t killed him yet.”
“If the drugs don’t, you know who might.”
Drugs? What fucking drugs?
A cup fell off the top of the trash as I was trying to tie the strings together. A silent curse slipped out of my mouth as it landed on the ground and bounced a few times before rolling a few feet away. Ray and Jim looked up from what they were doing, staring directly at me.
I cleared my throat, trying not to be captain fucking obvious about the eavesdropping. “Taking out the trash and then I’m heading out.”
Jim tipped his chin at me. “Sounds good. See you Monday.”
I nodded and retrieved the runaway cup before heading to the dumpster to toss the bag. I got in my truck and started the engine, rolling the windows down. Sixty five degrees was the new warm, I guess.
Did Emerson know about these supposed drugs? Was it possible she partook in it, too? I doubted she did. Even though she gave off the persona that she liked to party and have a good time, that was something even I didn’t think she would get involved with.
Regardless, Jett doing that shit around her could put her in danger. I didn’t have to be a genius to know that drugs got your hands dirty more often than not.
Was that why Jim didn’t have Jett pay for our services at the shop? At least not in cash. I got the feeling he paid Jim in other ways under the table.
That led me to believe the issue between Jett and Elijah also had something to do with his extracurricular activities, which meant at the time of the game, Emerson didn’t know. I couldn’t rule out that she was still unaware, though. For all I knew, that could have been what their fight was about.
I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it was hard not to when my mind was spinning. I’d talk to Emerson once I got home and get answers about what the fuck was going on.
Speaking of Emerson..
Why thehellwas she walking two blocks away from my house right now?
I leaned my elbow out the window and pulled up next to her. “Going to the gym?” I eyed the duffel bag.
She jumped, slamming a palm to her chest. “Cheese and rice. Do you enjoy scaring the shit out of me?”
“You should be glad I’m the one who found you.”
She shot me a glare. “There’s no reason he’d be on this road. I’m not stupid.”
I leaned across the passenger seat and opened the door for her to get in. She tossed her bag on the middle seat and slid in, slamming the door.
“Never said you were stupid.” I glanced at the duffel bag as I eased my boot on the gas.
“You don’t have to say it.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“Clothes.” Straight to the point for once.
I squeezed the steering wheel as I pulled onto my street. “Stores don’t give out plastic bags anymore?”
