20. TWENTY
TWENTY
TWO WEEKS LATER...
At this rate, I’m likely to end up in jail again.
The thing is, I just don’t have a fucking option.
What else was I supposed to do after leaving Hunter’s car with a duffle bag full of crap, a new phone, and hobbling around with a leg brace ? The targets were taped to every inch of me along with a neon sign pointing at my head saying: mug me.
I did what I had to.
Harry, the not-so-friendly cashier at the 2nd Street gas station, gave me the boot after two nights.
Whenever his shift rolled around, I would dread it, hoping like hell the fucker didn’t take his smoke break by the dumpster.
After threatening to call the cops, I hightailed it out of there, and that’s how I ended up begging One Tooth Ray to let me push some product.
One of his regular customers happens to be Tammy down at The Pines, so we worked out an arrangement. I get to crash at her place two nights a week when I bring her a new supply of pot.
That first night she tried to hook me up with one of her regulars, and I’m proud to say that I did not lose my shit. I kept my thinly veiled panic at bay, declining as nicely as possible.
Tammy says I have ‘fuck me lips,’ whatever that means.
My new arrangements aren’t perfect by any means. Most nights, I’m freezing my balls off and sweating through the pain in my healing leg because I’ve resorted to selling the pills so I can eat.
It turns out Norcos make me extremely nauseous when I take them on an empty stomach, something I hadn’t realized when I was with Hunter. It wasn’t like the guy hand-fed me, but he ensured I didn’t go without.
Whenever I know I won’t have access to an outlet, I turn off the phone he gave me. Getting around town to the coffee shops that are okay with that sort of thing is hard. Not to mention, I’m really strapped for cash, so I’d rather get a bite to eat than pay the bus fare.
The first week I was back home, I had to keep it off for three days, and when I finally got to turn it back on, the thing vibrated so much that I thought it was broken.
It’s probably a bad idea to keep in contact with Hunter like I have been—nothing too deep, casual texts that took a hot minute to figure out—but I’m obviously not stopping it either.
Truth is, I’m worried about the guy.
Our parting words had me thinking about him more and more.
How much of his life would be ruined if he came clean about who he is? Does he even want to? There’s an ominous energy clinging to him, foreshadowing and desolate.
I’m worried he’ll hurt himself if push comes to shove.
So, I keep in touch and entertain whatever the hell we are doing.It has nothing to do with missing him.
Not one fucking bit.
Pushing my wet hair out of my face, I reach over Tammy’s cluttered sink for her toothpaste. Not willing to risk any toothbrushes, I squirt a nice-sized dollop on my finger and scrub my mouth.
I’m not supposed to remove the brace, but I have been the last two times I showered here. The thing looks like it’ll rust or grow mold if it gets wet. By that logic, I should’ve been wrapping my whole leg, considering how much rain we’ve gotten lately, but whatever.
As I lean over to spit, someone bangs on the bathroom door.
“Be right out!” I call.
Tammy’s house is a constant revolving door.
Being a Madam, her place is always full.
Whether it’s customers coming for a quick fuck, or her employees needing to get patched up or high.
I mean, anything and everything goes down here.
I try to keep my head down so no one pays me much attention whenever I'm here.
After getting my brace back on, I grab my duffle and open the door.
A woman around my age rushes past me, streaming mascara on her cheeks, and she throws up. “Oh, come on, baby! It ain’t that bad!” some dude calls from the bedroom.
Not wanting to get in between either of them, I start to leave, but the woman whimpers, gagging some more. “Fuck.” She spits into the toilet.
I have nothing to offer her, and I certainly can’t help. She is probably in the same boat as me if she's here. Broke as fuck, doing what we gotta. “You good?” I ask.
Dark blue eyes framed with long, clumpy lashes glance up at me. “Do I look like I’m good?” she growls. “Close the door.” And then she stuffs her fingers down her throat, purging the rest of the load she swallowed.
Shuddering, I leave quickly, letting the door shut. The urge to get out of this hellhole is strong now that I have what I came for—a nap and a shower.
When I’m in the kitchen, I find my phone is thankfully still hooked up to the charger, and Tammy is smoking a blunt at the kitchen table. She’s in her forties, keeps her face painted with makeup, and greying brown hair up in one of those fancy buns. I don’t know what the style is called.
“Dan’s looking for you,” she says casually. “Heard about your deal with One Tooth Ray.”
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, powering on my phone and stuffing the charger in my duffle.
Honestly, I’ve been waiting for it to get back to him.
Dealers are two-faced fucks most of the time, so it’s not surprising that Ray coughed me up.
As I stare at the lit screen, my stomach knots uncomfortably.
I haven’t eaten today, and the pills are long gone to help with my leg pain.
Standing up like this also isn’t the greatest sensation while I try to devise a plan.
“If you stay here, he won’t touch you,” Tammy tells me.
I glance at her, thick clouds of pot smoke rising to the ceiling. “Staying here means working here, Tam. I’m not doing that.”
“You wouldn’t be hungry.”
True, but at what cost? My ass is finally healed up. And I’m not trying to be like the woman hurling in the bathroom. No thanks. “I’ll figure it out,” I blurt, not even knowing what figuring it out looks like.
The phone vibrates in my palm, several texts pour in, and my heart rate kicks up. It always does when I see Hunter’s name on this thing.
Wetting my lips, I nod to Tammy and head out. As soon as I’m outside, leaning heavily on my crutch as I hobble through her complex, I read over the texts.
Hunter: Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m bored to tears.
Hunter: What are you doing?
Hunter: Shit. You’ve got your phone off again, don’t you?
I've noticed that he likes to text me while he’s at work. The next couple are from last night.
Hunter: I hate this house. I know plenty would kill for it, but I hate it. It’s so damn empty all the time. Me and the damn walls.
Hunter: I don’t want to live here anymore. Just want to fly away. Stupid, right?
And the following are from 3 am.
Hunter: Whenever I can’t reach you, I can’t sleep. Every horrible thing my mind can conjure up involves you in it.I can't stop thinking about how I never should've let you go back.
Hunter: Sorry. I…drank a little more than I should have. I have work in four hours.
Hunter: Hope you’re safe, Gray.
I stop walking.
He got drunk and texted me?
I frown at the phone, my grip tightening on it.
See, this is what confuses the fuck out of me.
I talk to him—through texts—more than anyone else, and whenever we go back and forth, it’s like talking to a distant friend.
You aren’t exactly close , but it’s friendly enough to be pleasant.
It’s only when I have this thing off that he starts this, almost like a weird neediness.
Like I’m the only person he knows.
He knows Brent. Why isn’t he texting Brent at 3 am?
In my head, I’ve imagined his secret lover as some twerp with an annoying voice.
Someone who doesn’t realize that Hunter would never risk anything for someone like them.
Fuck, that’s a nasty train of thought, but one I’ve ridden many times over the past two weeks.
Brent might get to fuck Hunter, but that’s all it is.
Right?
Blowing out a breath, I type out a text, press send, and then pocket my phone. I need to put as much distance between Tammy’s and myself as possible.