Page 16 of Wristlocked
We stumble through the doors and into the lounge. Vaya is pulling her tank top back on and talking about dinner in the café, while Ren whispers something in Jules’s ear that makes her blush. I’m still thinking about illicit possibilities, and my eyesdrift inevitably to the couch in the corner where Gale Shepard holds court with his posse. Viktor and Carmen are there, but the demon who haunts my dreams is nowhere to be seen.
Lyot grabs my hand and shakes his head like he can read my treasonous mind.
“You guys go ahead,” he tells the others. “I think we’re gonna eat later.”
The three of them wave us off, laughing and stumbling into each other. Lyot throws an arm across my shoulders and pulls me close. “I wanna see if your pussy tastes like whiskey,” he whispers. “I’m gonna get drunk on it tonight.”
I shudder at his words, my body humming with drowsy anticipation, and I can smell myself on his fingers. Gale Shepard fades back into the dark corners of the monster’s cave, and I let my oldest friend take me to bed.
10
Gale
Call me.
Jamie. Not a conversation I’m interested in having in front of other people.
“Gotta deal with this.” I extricate myself from Carmen’s legs and head for the stairs.
“Booty call,” Vik cackles, and Carmen pouts as I walk away. Whatever. Let them think it’s Celeste. Means no one will follow me. I’ve got one hand on the stairwell door when the front entrance opens and a wave of laughter blows into the dorm.
Gia Laurent walks in, hanging off her pretty boy with her face angled down and a half smile tugging at her full lips.
She stumbles a bit as I watch, and I realize she’s drunk. Having only ever seen her in complete control of her body, the lushness of it is startling, turning her into something softer and deliciously breakable. I’m staring at her, drinking in the blurred edges, when pretty boy dips his head to murmur against her cheek. Nameless, violent thoughts swirl inside me, and I take an involuntary step toward them as my phone buzzes again in my hand.
Get it together, Shepard.
I shove through the door before they see me, stricken and irrationally furious.
Elliot Chace is seriously starting to get on my nerves, stepping into my territory with a straps offer from Cirque and half a lifetime’s lead with Gia. They barely said two words to each other this week, despite all the pathetic longing glances, but apparently whatever was driving the wedge between them disappeared after that show with her mom in the gym today. I should have stayed out of it, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to make an impression.
It had nothing to do with the strange tension radiating from Gia’s body or the possessive way Chace rushed to her side.
In the privacy of the stairwell, I take a deep breath and hit the button to call my little brother.
“Hey, bro, how’s the good life?” The words are casual, his voice the same lazy cadence he’s had since discovering weed, but I hear the unspoken accusation. Or maybe it’s the guilt throwing shade at my mind.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Jamie never calls to chat or ask about my life, only to ask for help, usually in the form of money.
“Zara and I are getting out of the crash pad.”
Zara is his on-again, off-again girlfriend and co-junkie. They’ve been squatting in some shithole warehouse for the last six months or so, ever since her mom got fed up and kicked them out of her basement.
“Did her mom relent, or did you find some other sucker to take you in?” I lean against the wall, suddenly weary.
“Zara got a job working at Smitty’s. Barback. The pay is shit, but the tips are actually decent. One of the waitresses has a room she’s gonna let us rent.”
“Yeah? Does she know what she’s getting into?” I sound like a dick, but I can’t bring myself to dial it back.
“Nah, we’re getting clean, bro. For real this time. I got a line on a legit gig loading trucks for Anton’s brothers, and they piss test. Gotta suck it up.” He laughs like it will make me believe him. Like he hasn’t scammed a dozen drug tests in the last four years. I search for something to say, something maybe even hopeful, but nothing comes out.
“Anyway,” he continues, and I brace myself, knowing what’s coming next. “Think you can help me out with the move in? Zara’s gonna cover the first month’s rent while I get squared with the job, but I gotta fork over four hundred bucks for a security deposit.”
I don’t even have to think to do the math anymore. Four hundred bucks is twenty blues—twenty-five from the right dealer. Enough to keep him high for four or five days if he’s not sharing with Zara. Yeah, it might also be enough for a security deposit on some shitty room in Hayward, but I’ve heard all his stories, and the punchline is always the same. I’m two years past letting myself even want to believe him.
There’s a helplessness that comes with loving an addict. When the last trust is burned away, and all that’s left is the fear of pulling the final safety net in case it’s the only thing keeping that ultimate loss at bay. I’ve lost count of the times he’s called and I’ve caved to the fucked-up knife in my gut that whispers,Your fault. You abandoned him. This never would have happened if you’d stayed.The rational part of me knows it’s bullshit. Jamie’s path was written in blood and tears when he was five, listening to our father bitch about his wasted life, his needy, stupid wife, and his useless sons. By the time we got dumped into the system, it was already too late.
