And before tonight, I didn’t think Joshua Bassett could take anything more from me. But now I’m afraid he may have cost me the only thing that matters.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ZACH
“Dis my truck.”Josh blinks lazily at the F-150. He’s clutching a plastic grocery bag full of clothes under one arm and a case of beer under the other.
Other than Josh’s dad Isaac, who always looks just like this, I’ve never seen a sorrier sight.
I tug open the truck’s passenger door. “Get in.”
He doesn’t argue, but it takes him so long to negotiate the climb into the vehicle, I lose patience, yank the beer from his grip, set it on the floor of the cab, and heft his ass inside.
“Thhhanks, man.”
And the way he says it strips years away. Fuck, how many times have I taken care of his ass when he’s had too much?
Too many times to count.
And I could have choked him to death less than an hour ago.
I move around to the driver’s side and fire up the truck. I grip the steering wheel and clench my jaw. I’ll have to admit to Greta that I was wrong about this. I get now that she couldn’t just turn him away. I’m pissed as hell at him. For so many things.
And I still can’t just dump him on the side of the highway.
Nope. We’re headed to a motel.
Just not the Days Inn for $45 a night. I, for one, don’t want bedbugs.
Instead, I pick the La Quinta on Highway 90 in Broussard. It’s in a newer development with a Taco Bell, an Albertsons, and a Waffle House, in walking distance.
I leave Josh in the truck while I go inside and book us a double. He needs a fucking babysitter? Well, he’s got one.
I’m glad no one else but the desk clerk is in the lobby when Josh and I come through. I’m carrying an open case of beer and dragging my soggy rolling suitcase, and Josh is weaving as he walks, cradling his grocery bag of clothes.
Pathetic.
We’ve hardly spoken a word since we left Camp Bliss. It’s late, and I started the day at my parents’ house. I feel like I’m in a time warp, and I could use a good night’s sleep, but I don’t know if that’s possible here.
With him.
When I unlock the room door and set the beer on the desk, Josh reaches for one.
“Whoa.” I step in front of him, and he eyes me with delayed focus. “You’re officially cut off for the night.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You start to have withdrawals, you’ll get another beer. In the meantime, you can chill the fuck out.”
He narrows his eyes to slits, and I put up my hands. “Hey, you came to us, remember? You still want help?”
It’s as though my question weighs too much. Josh practically collapses into the desk chair, the slit-eyed look replaced by one of hopelessness. He drags a hand through his hair.
“Idid.”His voice is a mere croak.
“Youdid?”I scoff. “Does that mean you don’t anymore?”
Josh’s gaze falls to the industrial carpet. He shrugs.
