“Sell your fucking vehicle, do something, I don’t care. But I am not giving you money for drugs, Dillon,” said John. “I know you’ve still got your car—I saw it parked down the street from Uncle Levi’s the other day.”
“I just wanted to talk. That prick, he’s coming between us. Can’t you see?”
“No.” John shook his head. “All that shit you take, that’s what came between us. Uncle Levi had nothing to do with it.”
A tall shadow appeared beside me, moving into place beside John.
Dillon smiled, or tried to. The mix of his barely suppressed anger and his thin, haunted face. “Anders. How you doing, man?”
“Shouldn’t be here, D.”
“You too? Jesus.”
Anders said no more.
“Little brother,” said Dillon. “It-it shouldn’t be like this. We should be helping each other, you know?”
“You don’t want help,” said John, stepping to the side and taking me with him. “Come near me again, it’s not going to end well.”
“You threatening me, you little shit?” Dillon scoffed. His hands were by his sides, but they were curled into fists.
John didn’t back down, not even remotely. All of the lean muscle in his arms seemed pumped, ready. “I won’t stop next time and I’ll break more than your nose. Stay away.”
Anders stepped forward, hands stretched out. “All this fucking tension. How about a beer, D? Why don’t we just chill out and get a beer, yeah?”
For a moment, Dillon glared past him to John. Then his eyes flickered up to Anders, and around to the crowd watching the pro skater strut her stuff. “Sure,” he said, uncurling his fists and pasting the sick smile back onto his face, as if the whole standoff was no big deal. “Okay. Let’s do that.”
Meanwhile, John moved, taking me with him. Walking fast, we headed back out toward the main parking lot. The lumps and bumps in the dirt path at night kind of sucked.
“John?” I asked.
He didn’t slow down. “Let’s just get to the car.”
Being blessed with grace, I almost tripped on a tree root and landed on my face. Strong hands grabbed me, halting my fall. “Shit.”
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “Can we just calm down a little? Please?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Still okay to come to my place?” he asked, fiddling with his car keys. He opened my door, ushering me in. “You don’t have to.”
“No. I want to.”
“Okay.” A muscle in his jaw shifted, barely visible in the moonlight. Carefully, he shut the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and jumping in. “I’m sorry, Edie. I didn’t want him anywhere near you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
He slammed a hand against the wheel, swearing low and furious. Then he started the engine. Not good.
“Are you okay to drive?” I asked.
For a second, his head slumped back against the seat and he glared at the ceiling. Then his shoulders dropped and he exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’ll calm down.”
“He’s in bad shape, your brother.”
John rolled his head to the side to meet my eyes. “He’s a fucking mess. What am I going to do?”
“You’ve done all you can,” I said. “He won’t accept the help he needs. That’s not on you.”
“I know,” he said. “I just . . . shit.”
“Did he throw the first punch that night you fought?”
“Yeah. He started it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “None of this should have touched you.”
“It hasn’t.”
“Yet.” His fingers caressed the side of my face, his gaze tortured. “Maybe I should just take you home.”
“Maybe we should go to your place like we planned to. Mom and Matt are having a sappy candlelit dinner,” I said. “I doubt she’s even thinking about what we might be up to just yet.”
He gave me a grim smile. “Okay. Let’s go.”
A couple of cars were coming in the opposite direction on the narrow road. I almost resented them for slowing us down. The sooner we got away from his brother, the better. But also, I wanted to be alone with John, no distractions. I wanted to make him smile properly. Perhaps this was what addiction felt like, the constant need to get close to him, to feel that high. He put my hand on his knee and I fidgeted with a small hole in his jeans the whole way back to his place.
Normalcy started to return. Each mile the car put between us and Dillon let him fade farther into the past.
“My mom loves this song,” I said, humming along to Blondie’s “Heart of Glass.”
“Yeah?” He smiled. “It’s a good song.”
Up next came “Get It On” by T. Rex. He had to help me out with that one.
When we arrived, the house lay in darkness, only the porch light on. John pulled up in the empty driveway and I hopped out before he could even offer to open the door. Manners were nice, but alone time mattered and the clock was ticking. He turned on only a small lamp sitting on the entryway table. Inside, nothing had changed since the last time I’d been there. Books, potted plants, huge TV, a bit of mess.
“Would you like a drink or anything?” he asked.
“No. Thank you.”
“I stink. Let me grab a quick shower,” he said, heading for the stairs. “Come on up if you want. Hang out in my room.”
I wanted.
Dark gray sheets covered the bed, the same shade as the walls. At least, where they weren’t covered with posters. An old Led Zeppelin poster had joined the Ramones. Which made me wonder . . .
“I don’t think that cassette is stuck.”
“Huh?” He rifled through a laundry basket full of clothes all neatly folded. First came boxer briefs, followed by a fresh pair of jeans and a faded green T-shirt. Though really, who needed clothes?
“The cassette tape you claimed was stuck in your car stereo,” I said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I don’t think it is. I think you just like the music and don’t want to admit it for some reason.”
Half facing away from me like he was, I almost didn’t catch his smile. “Honestly?”
“Always.”
“The tape was in there when I bought it,” he said, rubbing at his chin with the pad of his thumb. “The car used to belong to this guy who did security, touring with bands back in the day. But he got some disease that messed with his eyesight, so he couldn’t drive anymore. That’s why he sold it to me.”
“How sad.”
John nodded. “He gave me the posters, too. I left the tape in as a kind of show of respect. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got another to replace it.”
Interesting. “You could hook up your phone, get a system so you can play other music.”
“I could.” He just watched me.
“Though, honestly?”
“Always.”
“I kind of prefer the tape.”
“Me too.” He smiled.
Not smiling back at him was physically impossible. “You know, I was looking into places that offered those certifications you said you were interested in.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my hands on his sheets and gripped the edge of the bed, nervous. “There’s a place that offers Landscaping near Berkeley.”
“Really?” He leaned against a closet door. “That’s where you want to go, huh?”
I shrugged, staring at his Chucks. Much less pressure than meeting his eyes. “John, it’s . . . it was just a thought. You know. If you were still interested.”