“Greta, I don’t have enough money.”
I swear, the floor tilts.
“Josh. What the hell—”
He glances up at me for just a moment, but his eyes look dead.“I,”he says again, stressing the word, “don’t have enough money.”
“You lost it?” I ask, incredulous.
His gaze again drops to his feet. Instead of answering, he clenches his jaw like he’s done talking about the topic. But I’m not done.
“Josh? What happened to the money?”
He lifts one shoulder and drops it with manufactured innocence. Like one of my seventh graders would do. It’s the kind of faux innocence that screams guilt.
He’s not going to tell me. And the fact that he won’t tells me everything.
He’s too ashamed.
I stand stock still for what seems like hours. It’s inconceivable. But like I said, there’s no smooth road to rock bottom. Maybe I don’t want to know how he lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in a matter of months. I just have to accept that it’s gone.
Completely fucking gone.
Obviously, he wouldn’t be back here asking for help if he weren’t at the end of his rope.
“And when I get better, I’ll try to make it up to you.” He’s talking to the floor again, sounding beaten. “To you and Zach.”
But after he speaks Zach’s name, Josh lifts his gaze and looks at me sideways. “Hey. Where is he, anyway?”
I swear, I flinch. “He had a family emergency.”
Josh frowns. “What? You mean he’s not here?”
My instinct is to clam up, but I can’t even explain why. “No, he had to go to Charleston. Sunny and Marco had an accident.”
His eyes bug.“Sunny and Marco?”
“They’re okay. Just minor injuries,” I say, mistaking his look of shock.
He blinks at me. “You’re on a first-name basis with Zach’s parents?”
The question and the hint of irritation in his tone trip my defenses. The baser of my impulses wants to fire back,I’m on a first name basis with his dick!But I check that urge and try to be just a little more mature.
Still, I glare at him when I respond. “They came to visit last month.”
He watches me for a moment, and I can tell he’s debating his next words. This is unnerving. I can still read him, and it’s weird. I hope he can’t still read me.
“So, Zach just left you here by yourself?”
And I can’t help it. My snort is epic. “You didn’t just fucking ask me that.”
Josh throws his hands up. “What do you want from me? I can’t still care about you?”
Oh my God.Oh my God.
The alcohol withdrawal must be messing with his judgment. That’s the only explanation. I should be patient. I should be compassionate.
But I’m no saint. I just shake my head, slack-jawed.
