Chapter 6
Samantha
The Kyle was lying to me.
I'd been doing this job long enough to know the signs. The way he wouldn't make eye contact. The constant fidgeting. The excuses that came too quickly, too rehearsed.
"I'm clean, Miss Richards. I swear."
"Kyle." I kept my voice steady. "Your hands are shaking. You've lost weight. Your hygiene is a mess. And you're wearing long sleeves in eighty-degree weather."
He pulled at his collar. "I've been sick. Flu or something."
"Roll up your sleeves."
"What?"
"Roll them up. Let me see your arms."
He stood abruptly. "I don't have to do this."
"You're right. You don't. But if you walk out that door right now, I have to report to your probation officer that you refused a visual check. You know what happens then."
He sat back down, jaw clenched. Slowly, he rolled up his left sleeve.
No track marks. That was good, at least.
"The other one."
He hesitated, then rolled up the right sleeve. Still clean.
"Thank you." I made a note in his file. "I'm not trying to catch you in something, Kyle. I'm trying to help you."
"I know." His leg bounced up and down. "I'm sorry. I'm just stressed."
"About what?"
"Work stuff. Money. The usual."
Another lie. His tells were getting more obvious. The way his eyes darted to the door. The sweat beading on his forehead.
"Kyle, if something's going on, if you're in some kind of trouble, you can tell me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out."
"I'm fine." He stood again. "Can we be done? I have to get to work."
I wanted to push harder. Wanted to make him stay until he told me the truth. But I'd learned the hard way that you can't force someone to accept help.
"Okay. But I want to see you again next week. Same time."
"Yeah. Sure."
He was out the door before I finished writing up my notes.
I stared at his file, a familiar helplessness settling in me. This was how it had started with Jake. The lies. The excuses. Me wanting to believe him because the alternative was too terrible to accept.
By the time my last session ended at five thirty, I had a headache building behind my eyes. Three other clients, all with their own struggles, their own demons. I gave each of them my full attention, but Kyle's session kept replaying in my head.
I was missing something. Some piece that would tell me how bad things really were.
My phone buzzed as I was locking up. Text from Brandon: How was your day?
I smiled despite my mood. Long. Yours?
Same. Want me to pick up dinner on my way over?
Yes please. Surprise me.
You got it.
The walk home felt longer than usual. My feet hurt, my head hurt, and I kept thinking about Kyle's hands shaking when I'd asked to see his arms.
When I got to my building, Mrs. Kim was in the lobby.
"Samantha. You look tired."
"Long day at work."
"You work too hard. You need to take care of yourself." She patted my arm. "That nice young man in 3B, he's coming over tonight?"
"How did you..."
"I see things." She winked. "He's good for you. I can tell."
I didn't have the energy to explain that we'd only been seeing each other for a few days. That it was too soon to know if he was good for me or not.
Although it felt right. That was the scary part.
Back in my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and went straight to the couch. Pepper jumped up immediately, kneading my stomach with her paws.
"Ow. Careful with the claws."
She purred and settled on my chest, her weight oddly comforting. I closed my eyes, just for a minute.
The next thing I knew, someone was knocking on my door.
I sat up, disoriented. Pepper meowed her protest and stalked off. The clock on the wall said seven fifteen.
"Coming." I went to the door, running my hands through my hair. Checked the peephole.
Brandon stood there holding takeout bags, looking unfairly good in jeans and a henley.
I opened the door. "Hi."
"Hey." He took one look at my face. "Bad day?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"You've got creases on your cheek."
I touched my face. Sure enough, there was a line from where I'd been sleeping on the couch cushion. "I fell asleep. What time is it?"
"Just after seven." He came inside, setting the bags on my kitchen counter. "I texted but you didn't answer. I got worried."
"Sorry. I was just so tired when I got home."
He pulled containers out of the bags. Thai food, from the smell of it. My stomach growled.
"When did you eat last?" he asked.
"Lunch. Maybe." I tried to remember. "I think I had a granola bar around three."
"That's not lunch." He handed me a plate. "Sit. Eat."
I sat at my small kitchen table while he dished out pad thai and spring rolls and some kind of curry that smelled incredible. He joined me with his own plate, and for a few minutes we just ate in silence.
The food helped. The headache started to fade, and I felt more human.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much. Thank you."
"You want to talk about what made today so bad?"
I took another bite of pad thai, considering. Client confidentiality meant I couldn't give him details. But I needed to talk to someone.
"One of my clients," I said finally. "He's using again. I'm almost certain of it. But he won't admit it, and I can't prove it, and I feel like I'm watching a train wreck in slow motion."
"That's hard."
"The worst part is, I've been here before. With Jake." I set down my fork. "All the same signs. The lies, the excuses. And I keep thinking, what if I push too hard and he runs? What if I don't push hard enough and he dies?"
Brandon reached across the table and took my hand. "You can't save everyone."
"I know that. But I have to try."
"You do try. Every day. But at some point, they have to want to save themselves."
I knew he was right. I'd said the same thing to dozens of families over the years. But knowing it intellectually and accepting it emotionally were two different things.
"Jake didn't want to be saved," I said. "He told me he was clean. He looked me in the eye and lied, and I believed him because I wanted it to be true."
"Addicts lie."
"I know." I squeezed his hand. "It’s still hard.”
“Yeah, you can’t take that on though.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
We finished eating, and Brandon cleared the plates while I went to change into something more comfortable. Sleep shorts and one of his t-shirts that I'd stolen last time he stayed over.
When I came back out, he was on my couch with the remote.
"Movie?" he asked.
"Maybe in a bit." I curled up next to him, tucking my feet under me. "Can we just sit for a while?"
"Yeah. We can do that."
I leaned my head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around me. We sat like that for a long time, not talking, just being. This was what I'd been missing. Not just the physical stuff, though that was incredible. But this quiet comfort. Someone who didn't need me to be okay all the time.
"Brandon?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for being here."
"Where else would I be?"
I looked up at him. "I don't know much about your work. But I get the feeling you're busy. That you could be doing other things with your evening."
Something crossed his face. Too quick for me to read. "There's nothing more important than being here with you."
"You mean that?"
"I do."
He kissed me, slow and sweet. Not pushing for more, just connecting. When he pulled back, his expression was so intense it made my breath catch.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just looking at you."
"Why?"
"Because you're beautiful. And because I like looking at you."
Heat flushed through me. "Brandon..."
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his jaw tightened.
"You need to get that?"
"No. It can wait."
But it buzzed again. And again.
"It's okay," I said. "If you need to deal with work stuff, I understand."
He pulled out his phone and checked the screen. Whatever he saw there made his expression go blank.
"I'm sorry. I have to make a call."
"Go ahead."
He got up and went into my kitchen, his back to me. I tried not to listen, but my apartment wasn't that big.
"What's going on?" Pause. "When?" Another pause. "No, don't do anything yet. I'll handle it."
He hung up and stood there for a moment, staring at his phone.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. Just a work thing." He came back to the couch, but the easy intimacy from before was gone. He was tense, distracted. "I hate to do this, but I need to go deal with something."
"Now?"
"Yeah. I'm really sorry."
I tried to hide my disappointment. "It's fine. I get it."
"I'll make it up to you. I promise."
He kissed me quickly and headed for the door.
"Brandon?"
He turned back. "Yeah?"
"What kind of emergencies require you to leave at eight o'clock on a Friday night?"
"Client emergencies. Server crashes, security breaches. That kind of thing."
It was a reasonable answer. But something about the way he said it felt rehearsed.
"Okay," I said.
He left, and I sat on my couch alone, trying to figure out why I felt so uneasy.
It was the lying, probably. My brain was stuck on Kyle and his obvious deceptions, and now I was projecting that onto Brandon.
Which was unfair. He'd been nothing but good to me. Attentive, caring, honest about his feelings even if he was vague about his work.
I got up and went to my bedroom, intending to read or watch something on my laptop. Instead, I ended up staring at the wall I shared with Brandon's apartment.
I pressed my hand against it, listening. No sounds from the other side.
Because he wasn't there. He was out dealing with whatever work emergency had come up.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Miss Richards? It's Kyle."
I sat up straight. "Kyle. Are you okay?"
"I need to talk to you. Can you meet me?"
"Now?"
"Yeah. Please. It's important."
His tone made my skin prickle. Fear, maybe. Or desperation.
"Where are you?"
"The parking garage. At your building. I'm here now."
"Kyle, if you're in trouble, maybe we should meet at my office. Or I can call someone to help you."
"No. Please. Just you. I can't... I need to tell you something, but I can't do it over the phone."