Jacob hunched his shoulders, and Tyler could see his anger growing. “I’ll figure it out, okay? Just get me more. I need you to get me more.”
And Tyler, who had always been in the shadow of his brother, had had enough. He couldn’t be a part of this for one second longer. He couldn’t be a part of one more shitty thing.
It couldn’t happen.
“You’re done, Lance Armstrong.” Tyler punched his brother on the shoulder playfully. “Good luck in your next meet, though.” He jogged the rest of the way up the stairs.
“I’ll tell Mom and Dad,” Jacob said.
Tyler froze. He turned back to stare at his older brother. “What are you going to tell them? That you’re juicing?”
Jacob met his eyes. “I’m going to tell them that you made me. I’m going to tell them I didn’t know about it at first. I’ll tell them you got me addicted.”
“That’s stupid, Jacob.”
“Who will they believe?” Jacob smiled nastily up at him. “Me or you? Don’t you know all the cops on a first-name basis?”
Tyler studied his brother. Jacob was right. They’d believe his brother over his word any day of the week. They never believed him. If anyone ever, even once, believed Tyler, he would never have gone along with all the Stratford bullshit.
But he knew better.
“Get my shit, Tyler,” Jacob said, his voice unusually high. “Figure it out.” And Jacob ascended the stairs and pushed past his brother.
Tyler resisted the urge to punch him. He resisted the urge to lay him out, right then, and to scream at him. But who was he kidding? His roid-rage dick of a brother would kill him. He was bigger. Stronger.
Angrier.
He let him go.
He swallowed hard.
Kinley would have to wait on her flash drive. And he was going to have to take the car out again. He knew that his guy, Jer, was at home right now. And Jer probably had some.
And before he’d even made the decision, Tyler was in his car, behind the wheel, driving. He was leaving the relatively good part of town and he was going toward . . . if not the bad, then what his mother would call the less fortunate.
He drove slowly. And he hated himself with every mile his car crept forward. He should have told his brother no. Not just tonight, but the first time, when his brother had come to his room, crying, and begged him for help. Any kind of help. Anything.
Now his brother—his perfect, sweet brother, who charmed every old lady he’d ever met and had a secret Pokémon collection—was an addict. He was a mess and he was ruined and he was staking his entire swimming career on a drug that Tyler had gotten him started on because he’d just wanted to help. A drug that—maybe unfortunately—broke down really quickly in the blood. A drug that didn’t show up in standard tests.
He wanted to run away now more than ever. But what would happen if he did?
He pulled up across the street outside of Jer’s house and put the car in park. But he didn’t shut it off. He rested both his hands on the steering wheel and put his head down. He didn’t want to go inside. He didn’t ever want to see Jer again, not even for a joint.
They’d been friends, at first. They’d smoked together. They’d tried new shit together. And then Jacob had gotten involved and it hadn’t been fun anymore.
Tyler put his hand on the door handle. The shitty Jeep was in the driveway with the hood popped. Not surprising. The thing was always breaking down, but Jer refused to replace it.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at it. A text from his mom. Either she was coming home soon, or she already was there, and she’d noticed his car missing. He wasn’t exactly supposed to be driving.
He opened the door, just a crack, and that was when the car pulled up.
Tyler froze, his senses tingling. He very softly, very carefully shut the door. He did not look at the car directly.
“Damn it,” he said under his breath.
It was a light blue car with an extended mirror and state license plates.
A cop.
Shit.
A cop.
The officer opened the door of his car, stepped out, and walked around to Tyler’s door, where he paused. Tyler’s heart went frantic. For a moment, he was sure he was going to die.
In the two seconds it took for the cop to reach his car, he saw it all laid out before him. Being thrown over the hood. Arrested for murder. Charged, while his parents and his brother watched from the back of the courtroom. Jailed for the rest of his life.
The cop pounded on Tyler’s window with an open hand.
Tyler sucked in his breath. His fingers shakily pressed the down button, and the window rolled downward with a quiet hum.
“Can I help you, sir?” Tyler asked. He thanked God it wasn’t a cop he knew, not anyone who’d arrested him or ticketed him before.
The cop eyed him. “What are you doing here with your car running?”
Tyler held up his cell phone. “My mother told me if she heard I was texting and driving one more time she’d take away my phone. So I pulled over.”
“Can I see the phone, son?”