Page 38 of Drive
“Allow me to call bullshit on that,” he said as he ripped his eyes from me and looked out the window.
“Okay, maybe I care about the fact that you can’t pay your rent and never have shit to eat and you just sent two weeks of tips to your alcoholic mother!”
“She needs it,” he said simply, his eyes still on the passing human traffic outside the window. I cranked up theACas the dry heat filtered through the cabin.
“Why? Why does she need it? To buy more booze?”
“Hey,” he said as his head snapped back in my direction. “Chill out. This isn’t a discussion you get to have with me. Take the fucking hint.”
He was right. One hundred percent. And it meant nothing.
“What the hell, Reid? Does she know you’re going through a hard time and can barely lift a tray with a broken arm to work? Does she know you have no furniture in your house and sleep on a mattress top on thefloor?”
His pride moved front and center as he glared at me. “Again. None of your damned business, Stella. I can take care of myself. What the hell do you care?”
“I just told you, I do. And I know what you told me about them. So, now, I’m wondering why you’re here wasting away in that apartment to support your deadbeat parents!”
“It’s for my father’s fucking insulin, okay? He’ll die without it. They don’t have insurance and it’s fucking expensive. She’s working and she can’t do it alone, all right? It’s life or death, Stella. He doesn’t get that medicine, he dies!”
I shrank in my seat as I looked over at him. He was fuming, his chest heaving as he clenched his fists.
“I’m so sorry. Reid, I’m sorry.”
“Fine, whatever,” he said, opening the truck door. I gripped him by the waist of his jeans and yanked him back in. Frantic to make it up to him, I grappled for words as he stared at me as if I’d grown two heads. Utterly clueless as to how to make it right, I pulled him to me in the most awkward hug imaginable, and he froze at the contact. Body twisted, I wrapped my arms around him as he blew my hair out of his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked through a mouthful of my hair.
“I’m hugging you,” I said into his neck. Irish Spring drifted through my nose and caused a flood of the warmth I was growing used to, and had started to crave. “I’m sorry. I’m really,reallysorry.”
It took a few seconds, but I finally felt his arm circle my waist, his cast at my back. Wrapped in his hold, his chest moved against my cheek. “God, you’re insane,” he said on a chuckle as he let me hold him.
“I know.”
“You’re a grenade,” he whispered at my temple.
“I know.”
“It’s okay, Stella,” he said softly as he ran his fingers through my hair. I was sure he was doing it on instinct, and my initial thought was proven positive when he stopped himself. “It’s okay, Stella. This is just the way it is. This is my life.”
“Your life sucks.”
He laughed loudly as I pulled away and saw we wore matching smiles. Our lips were close. I could practically feel his stubble against my cheek. Even though he was stiff with hesitation, we lingered there, eyes locked. I pulled away and righted myself behind the wheel.
“I’ll take you home, okay? It’s too far to walk. Unless you want to come with me?”
“It’s not a good idea. You know that, right? This won’t make you feel any better.”
“So, you’re coming?” I asked, ignoring his warning.
“To watch this train wreck?” He widened his eyes. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
We made good time to the club and actually managed to find rock star parking. The dive was off of 6th Street and was a total shit hole. I could tell it had new owners by the month because the marquee was littered with do-overs.
“This place is a joke,” Reid said as he looked over to me. “You need to be careful where you go down here.”
“Yes, Mom,” I muttered as I locked the doors to the truck and we looked at the place. A few girls wandered in ahead of us, and I couldn’t help the sinking feeling that Reid might be right. For every dropout groupie, there were ten more to take their place. I knew I wasn’t a groupie. And I didn’t have to prove shit to Dylan.
“Let’s go,” I said, pulling the keys back out of my purse.
