Page 54 of Wristlocked
“She knows enough.”
The rest belongs to those of us who’ve been in it.
“This is the area.”
We cruise the dimly lit streets in silence, neither of us wanting to admit we might not find anything, both hoping for some sign we might recognize with our shared shame. A few of the houses are dark, though most have lights on and an air of normalcy that could hide any multitude of sins. I check driveways, pretty sure I’ve seen Turner stumbling out of a beat-up quad cab on at least one occasion, but more than that, I can’t dredge up.
It’s a fucking miracle when we find them.
“Stop.” Gale throws an arm across my chest, even though we’re only going about twelve miles an hour, and I give him a bemused look. But he’s already out the door and heading across the street, toward where a group of people are draped haphazardly in the yellow glow of a porch light. I throw the car in park and scramble out after him. Most opiate junkies are mellow, unless you get between them and their fix, but I remember Hunter well enough to know there are always exceptions. No one seems inclined to start any shit with Gale, though, when he prowls up like an avenging angel and hauls one of the figures to its feet.
“Gale!” Jamie throws his arms around his brother’s shoulders, lurching slightly, and turns to his new friends. “This is my big bro. He’s a famous circus star over at Cirque du Soleil.”
Gale doesn’t bother to correct him.
“C’mon, Jamie, you’re coming to my show tonight, remember?” He starts walking him toward me, ignoring the vagueprotests of Turner and his crowd. I take the half-drunk beer from Jamie’s unresisting fingers as they pass me and set it on the bottom step.
“Hey-ey, Lyot,” Turner says, tipping his head back against one of the porch columns to look up at me. “You sure you guys don’t want to stay and party? Everyone here’s a grown-up.”
“I don’t have any money,” I tell him. Lucy tries to hug me, but I push her arms away gently and walk back to the car, breathing hard.
Gale is buckling Jamie into the back seat when I slide gratefully behind the wheel.
“He might puke,” he warns me, getting in and shutting the door. I nod.
He doesn’t puke, even though I’m hauling ass to get Gale back to the theater before the showcase starts. Instead, he and Gale go back and forth, giving each other shit in the way that brothers do, but there’s bitterness underneath the hero worship in Jamie’s voice and tight sorrow at the edges of Gale’s eyes.
Back at the dorm, I watch him wrestle with his torn loyalties, Jamie’s arm draped over his shoulders as we wait for the elevator.
“Go do the show,” I tell him. “You’ve got time, and it’s important. To you and Gia.” Not to mention his career, although who knows what Celeste would let him get away with. “I’ll stay with him.” The moment drags out, and I hold his gaze until he lets out a harsh breath and agrees. “You got Narcan?” I picture the little box still nestled at the bottom of my nightstand at home.
“Bottom drawer in the bathroom.”
“Okay.”
We get Jamie settled on the couch with a blanket and one of Gale’s pillows. I go through his pockets while Gale takes the world’s fastest shower and changes into his costume—tightcharcoal pants that hug his ass and have me swallowing a sudden rush of saliva. He throws a clean hoodie over his bare chest and hesitates at the door.
“He’s clean. I checked.”
“That’s not—” He scrubs a hand through his hair with a grimace. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Give Gia a kiss for me.”
His sudden smile is blinding.
“I definitely will.”
It’s after midnight by the time Gale and Gia return to the room. Jamie is still passed out on the couch, and I’m dozing in one of the armchairs after helping myself to Gale’s shower and a pair of clean shorts.
They enter on a hushed wave of banked excitement, the post-performance afterglow swirling around them, and for a second, I’m hot with jealousy. Then Gia’s eyes land on me, and her radiant smile catches me up.
“Good show, then?” I whisper, taking her in my arms.
“It was amazing.” She glances at Gale, bent over Jamie on the couch. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait.” It’s not quite a lie. I give her a final squeeze and start to pull away, but she tightens her arms around my waist.
“Thank you, Lyot. For tonight. For everything.”
