Chapter 8
West
“I think you’re dead.”
My eyes flash open and I scramble up when I come face-to-face with hazel eyes and long dark hair. A quick scan of the room and I discover I’m on a couch in a gray concrete unfinished basement. A single bulb lights the area. Behind me are a washer and dryer. In front of me is a bed and to the side, a TV. Last night, I took a hot shower and crashed.
I scrub my hands over my face. This is bad. Last night happened. It wasn’t a nightmare.
“Damn, I guessed wrong. You’re alive.” Near where my head had been, Abby falls back from her knees to her butt. “I can’t decide if that’s good or bad news.”
“Screw you.” My muscles are stiff. Sore. I hesitantly stretch to see if anything’s broken.
Abby presses a hand over her mouth and mock gasps. “Your mother would be appalled by your manners. Tsk. Tsk. I believe pleases and thank-yous are in order.” She loses the fake sweetness. “Even if you are slumming it, Rich Boy.”
She kicks my shin as she stands. “Get up. I’ve got work to do and babysitting is not on the list.”
Memories of last night crash into my mind. More importantly of the girl who possibly rescued me from dying of exposure on the street. “Is Haley okay?”
Being a damned loser last night, I couldn’t muster enough energy or self-respect to drive her home.
“She was the last time I saw her. Are you dating her?”
“No.”
“F*cking her?”
I glare at Abby, but I can’t throw too much anger into it. She also saved my ass. I pop my neck to the side, hoping to expel the annoying insecurity over Haley’s safety.
“Good. Rumor has it she’s decent. She deserves better.”
She probably does. Haley’s probably one of those dinner, a movie, roses type of girls who take a month to work up to the first kiss. Me—not my style. “What time is it?”
“Too early for my clients to be awake, but they will be soon.” Abby pulls a cell phone out of her back pocket. “Get your ass moving. This isn’t the Holiday Inn.”
I’m 30 percent curious over the word clients, then realize I don’t give a shit. “No continental breakfast?”
“How about you bite me?”
I actually chuckle; then I roll my neck and circle my arms. How the hell did my sister get involved with her? The nonmedical assessment says I’m bruised. Nothing more. “Where am I?”
“Isaiah’s foster parents’ house.”
Damn. I reassess the room, searching for the bastard.
“Don’t worry,” she says as she scrolls down the screen. “He stayed with Rachel at the hospital last night since he doesn’t have school today.”
That’s right. Today’s Saturday. “We.”
“What?”
“You said ‘he’ as if you don’t go to school, or did you lie about being a junior?”
“Meh, I consider school optional, but I am a junior.”
“So everything you told Rachel, besides what grade you’re in, was a lie?”
Abby’s lips form a smirk. “I don’t lie to Rachel. But yeah, you can assume anything that comes out of my mouth to anyone but her or Isaiah is a different rendition of the truth. Maybe also to Isaiah’s friend Logan. I like Logan. He reminds me of hot queso and I like queso.”
The veins beneath my scalp begin to pulse. “So you lied about my mother.”
“No, that was the truth. I do know why she goes to the bar once a month. Third Friday of the month to be exact. Comes around seven in the evening. Sound familiar?”
My shoulders slump forward. Shit, Abby does know. “Why does she go there?”
“They sell awesome snow cones. The red one won a blue ribbon in the state fair last year.”
The pounding intensifies. This girl is like one of those damned flies that swarm your head and your food. “Let me guess—you’re lying.”
She winks. “You’re catching on fast, and here I pegged you for stupid.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. I can’t stand this girl, but she did give me a place to crash, so I watch my manners and change the subject. “Did he tell you to bring me here?”
Figures the a*shole would want something to hold over me: help with a bad situation, then he’ll squeeze me for something. Money, drugs. It’s gotta be the type of angle he used to snare Rachel. Why else would she have been around a guy like him?
“Isaiah’s initial response was to let you bleed out in the street, but then he got sentimental and thought Rachel would be sad if you died, so he called and asked me to take care of you. I told him Rachel would’ve gotten over you and that we could make her happy if we bought her a bunny, but he was so damned insistent. See, Isaiah and I have this past. I’ve known him forever because we met each other in a Dumpster—”
“Why here?” I cut her off, not caring about their tragic backstory. Everyone has a tale to sob over. Rich or poor.
Abby looks at me with wide eyes. “Because if I took you to my house that would start rumors. Really, West. I’m a single girl. I’ve gotta protect my image. We wouldn’t want people to think we’ve been doing something indecent.”
Talking to her is like watching a cat chase its tail. “Another lie.”
“I can pretend that’s my answer. I like pretending. You can create anything you want out of the world.”
“You’re possibly the most f*cked-up person I’ve met.”
“That’s not news.” Abby slides her phone back into her pocket. “Now, if we’re done ‘pretending’ to have a conversation, I’d like to go see my best friend. And, no, that’s not a lie.”
She turns on her heel and heads for the stairs.
“Abby,” I call out as I shove my feet into my sneakers. She hesitates at the landing and waits for me to reach her. “Tell me why my mom’s going to the bar.”
A wicked grin spreads across her face. “I could tell you, but there would be absolutely no fun in doing that.” And she walks up the stairs.