“Says him.”
“And you believed that load of crap? All he’s done is lie.”
“It’s the truth. Maybe the only truth he told me.” Diem chucked the phone on the counter. “It’s fucking locked.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Diem had made up his mind, and I wasn’t going to change it. My aches and pains were getting worse, not better, and I was tired. Fighting with Diem was never worth it.
The shower cut off.
“All right. He’s your problem, but for the record, I’m not on board with this. You should have asked me how I felt. I live here too.”
For the first time since our stakeout that afternoon, Diem looked ashamed. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, and his shoulders fell. “I’m sorry.”
“Is this because you’re convinced that he has answers?”
“No. I mean, he does, but that’s not why… I just… I have to do this, Tallus. I can’t explain it.”
He didn’t have to. I’d always had a keen ability to hear everything Diem didn’t say. He felt connected to Darcy, and Diem rarely connected with anyone.
“You’d better keep an eye on him. Maybe you trust him, but I don’t.” With that, I aimed for the bedroom, doing all I could to walk properly and ignore the pain in my hip and ankle.
I failed, and Diem noticed. “You’re limping.”
Shuffling to a stop, I braced a hand against the wall but didn’t turn around. “I fell chasing after you two. My shoe slipped on the wet pavement.”
“How bad? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
I smiled to myself. His concern was hours too late. “No, D. I’m fine.”
Hobbling, I continued down the hall and closed myself inside the bedroom. I wasn’t as angry as I pretended, but I was uncomfortable with a stranger under our roof, no matter how sure Diem was that Darcy wouldn’t be a problem.
17
Diem
Arguing with Tallus wasn’t anything new. In the beginning of our relationship, disagreements seemed endless and cataclysmic. They had bothered me to my core, each one leaving me with a sense of doom, certain that the best thing in my life was ending.
Dr. Peterson helped me understand that expressing uncomfortable feelings was healthy.People don’t always get along, he’d said.Relationships aren’t perfect. We were allowed to have different views, different likes and dislikes, and different opinions. None of that meant we had failed as a couple. Learning to blend our differences made us stronger. Lately, we managed our disagreements and each time came out the other side.
If I could have explained my reason for bringing Darcy home, I would have, but I didn’t know how to describe something I didn’t understand. Seeing his living situation had triggered somethingvisceral—primal—and I’d reacted without thought. Poorly, I admit, but something had to be done.
Tallus’s concern was valid, and I should have consulted with him before making a decision that impacted us both, but dragging Darcy out of the apartment happened in the heat of the moment, and I couldn’t take it back.
I saw his future in vivid technicolor, and it made me physically sick. I didn’t know where Darcy’s family was or if they were part of his life, but if he’d spent time in a boys’ home, chances were, they weren’t worth knowing.
I doubted the kid had much of an education. If I cared to look, I would likely find a buried juvie record. A boys’ home meant he was once part of the system. Kids didn’t end up in places like that for no reason. Ejection from that system at eighteen would have called for a level of independence Darcy likely wasn’t ready for or taught to handle.
Boys in that situation scrambled. Independence meant a desperation to survive. A desperation to survive often led to poor choices simply to make ends meet. Poor choices led to criminal behavior because getting a job and making an honest living when you were a troublemaker was next to impossible.
The world revolved around money, and if you couldn’t earn it, you stole it. Criminal behavior inevitably circled back to life in the system, only worse. It meant jail time. Prison sentences. Drug and alcohol addiction. Suicides or overdoses. Death.
Darcy hadn’t fallen through the ice yet, but the ground was a spider’s web of cracks under his feet. One wrong move, and he would plunge below the surface. I’d been on thin ice enough times to know how sickeningly vulnerable it felt. I’d made poor choices. I’d takendrugs. I’d done all it took to survive. I knew the taste and texture of desperation firsthand.
Somehow, despite the odds, I’d made it. Beaten. Battered. Bruised.
But alive.
Did I know what I was doing? Fuck no. Most days, I made it up as I went along, but I was here.
