Page 8 of Turning Tides
I tried to look unaffected by his outburst and I wasn’t sure if I succeeded. To buy myself time to answer, I drained my drink and set the empty glass on the table.
“I have time before my savings run out.” My statement did nothing to improve Cyrus’s mood.
“You’re impossible.”
“Thank you.” I grinned at him and popped a fry in my mouth. “These are excellent fries. You should try them.”
“I could co-sign a loan for you.”
“You could, but I won’t let you.”
“Why not? Archer, we could have you up and running in no time. If you won’t let me loan you the money, you should at least let me help you get the loan from somewhere else.”
How did I tell him that I’d reached for my dream once only to have it snatched from me and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to try again. Losing not only my livelihood, but someone who was supposed to be my best friend had sucked the life out of me. It had taken something amazing and turned it into ashes. I wasn’t sure I had the inner strength to rise like the phoenix, but I didn’t know what else there was for me.
If Ishrugged one more time, Cyrus would probably rip my arm off and beat me with it. Instead, I chewed an uncomfortably large bite of burger before swallowing. I was saved by having to respond to the appearance of Shane, the owner of the bar. Cyrus’s boss was also, from what I heard from Cy, his friend.
“I thought you boys could use a refill.” Shane set our drinks down and I liberated my straw from my old cup and thrust it into my new one, stirring the ice. Yes, it annoyed Cyrus. Yes, I knew it did. Thus the basis of its appeal.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Archer.”
Cyrus had been defeated, for now. I’d won the battle, but not the war, or whatever. And Shane was still standing there, lurking. I looked at him and arched my eyebrow, waiting for him to get the hint and leave. He did, and watching him go wasn’t a hardship. The man was fucking built. I’d give anything to sink my teeth into his peach of an ass.
I turned my attention back to Cyrus. Guilt had been a good friend of mine lately, and looking at him only made it swim to the surface and thicken in my throat. Before my life had gone tits up, Cyrus had a lot less stress. That furrow in his brow hadn’t been a permanent gully on his face. He was probably going to crack a few molars if he kept grinding his teeth.
“Why won’t you let me help you?” Cyrus asked.
“You are helping me. I’m literally living in your house.”
Cyrus snorted, his lip curled the way it did when he was gearing up for a good rant. “Do you? Because I never see you. Marshall never sees you. We don’t know where you are and what you do all day.”
“I’m out robbing banks and getting high. Knocking over liquor stores and lying dead in ditches. Fucking hell, man. I’m sitting in the library—drawing. Or thepark—drawing.”
It was all I had and fuck Cyrus for making me feel guilty about that too.
“I’m going home. Thanks for dinner.” Standing up, I yanked the money Marshall had given me out of my pocket and tossed it down on the table.
Cyrus didn’t try to stop me. I wouldn’t have listened and he still had to work. I hated fighting with him even more than I hated not seeing him. Which was why I had been avoiding him. I couldn’t avoid Marshall, though. I still had to fucking sleep somewhere and, after the fight we just had, skulking off to a hotel would only make shit worse between Cyrus and me.
I grabbed an Uber back to their place. All the walking I was doing was starting to wear me down. The early mornings and the lack of proper sleep didn’t help. And, yeah, my diet sucked. Fuck you, Cyrus.
Marshall was watching television in the living room when I used my key to unlock the front door. He was in the recliner by the window and had a lap full of knitting. His gaze flicked to me and he offered a gentle smile.
“How’d it go?”
“About as shitty as I expected, so thanks for that.” I flopped down on the couch, too tired to move. Or think.
There was silence except for the low drone of the TV and the sound of knitting needles clicking softly. When Marshall spoke, it startled me.
“Cyrus is at work for a few hours yet. We could watchSpaceballs.”
“Hell, yes.” Cyrus did not share our love of cheesy movies. I’d been busy avoiding everyone and hadn’t been around to indulge in a movie night. Maybe I was being a dumbass. My presence didn’t seem to bother them. Hell, if I listened to Cyrus, it was welcome.
Marshall put his knitting down and disappeared into the kitchen. He came back seconds later carrying two bowls. “Popcorn. White cheddar for me. Dill pickle for you.”
He sat on the chair, reached for a remote, and started a DVD.
“You had this well planned. What if I’d said no?”
