“Who is she?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure I could do that question justice. I could write a love song that would make grown men cry, but I’d never be able to find the words to explain who Robin Clark was to me.
When I’d told people that I was going to be famous one day, they’d all laughed. And then, a few years later, they’d nearly blown my phone up. Some called with genuine congratulations, but most greeted me with their hands held open. Whether they were asking for money to buy shit they refused to work for, a shout-out on my record to give them five minutes of fame, or me to put in good word with my recording company so a talentless, lazy asshole could get a deal, they all wanted something.
It didn’t matter that they hadn’t supported my relentless climb to the top or that they discouraged me at every turn. Seven degrees of separation was all that was required for them to feel entitled. People I barely knew scurried out from the woodwork.
With Levee at my back, I donned a steel spine and told almost all of them to fuck off. And lost not a wink of sleep over it.
But it was the “almost” percentage of that equation that kept me up at night for the majority of the following five years.
I adored my life, but if I could turn back time, I’d be willing to accept a dead-end job teaching guitar lessons at the local music store if it changed her path.
Staring down at the picture of her wide smile flashing on the screen of my phone, I replied into his neck, “She’s my sister.”
“Shit,” he breathed just as the ringing fell silent. Using my shoulders, he gently shifted me away so he could catch my gaze. “What’s going on?”
There was no point in trying to explain. He probably would have just laughed at me if he’d known how many times I’d gotten that exact call over the years. I could only imagine his face if I told him about the hundreds of thousands of dollars I’d spent supporting her, sending her to rehab, or, in cases like this, paying some dealer who no longer accepted her word as credit. The money didn’t matter. However, the hollowness in my chest that expanded each and every time she used me was embarrassing. After all of this time, it shouldn’t have hurt anymore, but a pain like that never went away. And, one day, when I inevitably lost her, it would devour me.
I decided to give him the abridged version. “She’s an addict and needs money. I refused to put it in her bank account, and she refused to tell me where she was.” I pointed to my phone and tried to crack a joke. “Tough love. Doctor Phil would be proud.” My voice was the only thing that actually cracked though.
“Come here.” He tugged until I was once again against his chest. “It’ll be okay.”
I barked a humorless laugh. “I don’t know anymore. This might just kill me.”
“It won’t kill you.”
My breath caught as I choked out, “But it might kill her.”
His hands froze on my back as he bit out a curse. But, besides that, the talking portion of my breakdown was over. For several minutes, Evan remained kneeling on the ground and silently holding me. He was the only thing keeping me together.
I was trying to collect myself when the phone started ringing again, and before I had the chance to stop him, Evan yanked it up.
“Where are you?” he greeted, standing up.
“Evan, no!” I jumped to my feet after him.
He extended an arm to stop me from advancing. “Don’t worry about who I am,” he told her. “Tell me how much money you need and where you are.” He walked to his bar and found a scrap of paper and a pen. His blue eyes lifted to mine before he turned away. “No. I understand. Don’t worry. He’s not coming.”
The hell I’m not.
I kept my objections to myself because he started writing something down. I could argue with him later as long as he got her fucking address.
“Right. Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m about twenty minutes out.” He hung up. Turning to face me, he shook his head—and read my mind. “You’re not going with me.” He stomped past me to the door, where he grabbed his keys off a metal hook.
“The hell you say! She’s my sister!”
“And she sounds high as a motherfucking kite, but she’s right. You show your face in the middle of that neighborhood, the only thing people are going to see is dollar signs.”
“For fuck’s sake, it’s San Francisco, not South America. I’m pretty sure we aren’t dealing with the Cartel here.”
“Which only makes them more dangerous. They’re desperate and stupid. And, if you want to talk about ‘for fuck’s sake,’ your fingernail clippings are sold for a cool grand on eBay. You’re a liability, Henry. Let me go pay this bastard and bring her back here. We need a good night of sleep so we can figure out how to deal with the rest of this in the morning.” He paused and pulled his wallet out. “How much cash you got on you?”
I blinked. Then I swallowed hard and blinked some more.