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“You should. You know that, right?” I cautiously combed my fingers through his hair, hoping he didn’t find it too weird.
“I can’t be around pills,” he said hoarsely. “Last time, I ended up flushing a bottle of Klonopin.”
He didn’t need to tell me why. I was just glad they’d gone down the toilet instead of somewhere else.
He should still take something, though, and I wanted to see his face for this.
I nudged him upward gently and brushed away some tears from his cheeks with my thumbs. He looked absolutely heartbroken, and it tore at me.
“I need you to tap into that shrink brain of yours,” I murmured. “What would you recommend to a patient in your situation?”
“No opioids or benzodiazepines,” he rasped.
“All right. I get that.” And I did. I knew why they were popular on the streets. I knew who sold them too. And who the biggest suppliers were. I had some myself, hidden in my bedroom.
“I sleep too much,” he muttered and inched away. He reached for his cigarettes on the table and sparked one up. “I don’t sleep well, but I sleep a lot. I’m constantly fatigued.”
“Okay. So something…I don’t know, is there an antidepressant that doesn’t make you drowsy?”
He shrugged slightly and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He’d shaved last week, but it was growing back. “I suppose I would suggest bupropion for the depression and… I actually took a sedative in Dublin last year when I couldn’t sleep, but it helped with anxiety too. Problem is, it’s not approved in the US.”
“That’s not what I call a problem. Tell me the substance, and I’ll get it for you,” I said. “Are you kiddin’, Shan? Have you forgotten who we are?”
He mustered a little smirk. “I think it’s available in Canada too. I’ll ask Viv for the name. I don’t remember it at the moment.” He spoke of his sister, which reminded me that she could probably get the antidepressants for him. If he’d cut ties with his own contacts, that was. Either way, I didn’t see him going to an actual shrink to get a prescription.
I could get him all kinds of shit—Xanax, Valium, Ativan, the works—but those were the drugs he wanted to stay away from.
Antidepressants had no street value.
“All right, there we go,” I said. “You get whatever meds you need, and I’ll make sure you don’t take too much, too little, or at the wrong time. Deal?”
He exhaled some smoke through a chuckle and patted my leg. “You’re too good to me, boy. At some point, you have to remind me—and perhaps yourself—that you’re not my caregiver.”
I shrugged and stole a smoke from his pack. “Some other day, maybe.” And this was the perfect time to add to the good news or whatever I was supposed to call it. Just spit it out. Fuck. Yeah, I had to do it quick. Before I chickened out again. Funny how fast the nerves formed a fist around my gut. “By the way, uh…” I cleared my throat. “I found you a hookup who was willing to agree to your terms.”
A bit too willing.
Shan looked my way with surprise in his eyes, and it mingled with some apprehension. “You did?”
I nodded.
It’s me, Shannon. I’ll be there.
Just thinking those words caused my throat to close up.
Holy shit, I couldn’t back down now. It was going to happen.
We were gonna fuck.
“I’ll have more details tomorrow, but yeah. Whenever you wanna start.” Good thing I didn’t have a glass within reach, because I would’ve filled it to the brim and chugged until Shan got suspicious.
“You’ve met with him?” he pressed.
“Yup.”
He sat back with a silent “huh” and appeared to have more questions. “I don’t want to know anything about him,” he settled for saying in the end. “Is it possible to get the first meeting arranged before the holidays?”
Heat started rising within me, and for a panicked moment, I wondered how quickly I’d blow my cover. Would he know it was me? I had to drive over to Camden tomorrow and talk to Evan—see the room with my own eyes—and make sure there’d be no surprises.
“Sure,” I managed to get out.
So within the next few days, I was gonna have sex with Shannon O’Shea.
I suddenly felt sick with nerves and anticipation.
Evan’s club, The Warehouse, across the river had its name for a reason. He’d moved it countless times, due to police raids and certain permits missing, and always to a new warehouse in areas that were dead at night. He could set up shop in a few hours and disappear before dawn, only to pop up in a new location a couple days later.
It’d been smooth sailing for several months now, though. The club area was below ground in a massive basement, so the ground floor worked as a second story, Evan’s cover, in case the authorities showed up. And on that floor, he had offices and eight private rooms, one of which would be Shan’s and mine for the foreseeable future.
