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My eyes automatically narrow as I down the cold drink and hand her the glass back. “How do you know my brother’s name?”
“I plugged in your phone and he kept calling, so I answered.”
Great. “What are you doing? What day is it?” I add as an afterthought.
“Thursday. You’ve pretty much slept since I found you yesterday.”
Thursday? Last I remember, it was Monday. I actually slept, and bits and pieces of my memory surge forward as I recall more drinking, munching on whatever I could find in the cabinets, and watching TV. Everything else is pretty much a blur. My stomach twists in pain and roars with hunger. The corner of Olivia’s mouth lifts.
“I’ll fix you something to eat and then explain.”
Without waiting for an answer, she leaves me alone. My mind swirls with the news. I pretty much blacked out for four days, and Olivia is in my apartment, about to cook me food. And she’s talked to Patrick, which means he probably knows.
Shit.
I have to work tonight, too.
Sighing, I close my eyes and relax into the mattress. After a while, Olivia returns with a plate full of food. Chicken, green beans, rice and gravy, and corn. I want to eat it all and it doesn’t take me long to inhale it. While I do, Olivia starts talking.
“Monday, I came by to apologize for overstepping before. I figured if you’re going to be my neighbor, we should be friendly. But you didn’t answer, so I left and tried again Tuesday. I knew you were here because I could hear you moving around, but you never answered. Wednesday, I was concerned because you obviously hadn’t left. Snow only left wet footprints coming to my door. I, um,” she looks a little nervous and a bit ashamed as she continues, “found your spare key under the mat. Genius hiding spot, by the way.
“And then I found you.” Olivia frowns and shakes her head. “Your apartment was a mess. Vomit seemed to be everywhere but the bathroom, which was gross too.” She makes a gagging noise from the memory and I start to feel sick myself. “You were passed out in the kitchen. I was pretty sure you were half dead,” she whispers, looking down at her hands in her lap.
“Anyway, I, ah, took most of your clothes off because you were covered in vomit too, cleaned you up a bit with a wet rag, and then cleaned your apartment. I’ve been keeping an eye on you and bought some groceries. You owe me fifty bucks for that, too. Like I said, Patrick kept calling, so I answered. He came and helped me, which is how you ended up in the bed, but he had to leave. So, here we are.”
I stare at her. My mind is completely blank. My lips part from—amazement? Wonder? Shock? Finally, I find a word. It’s only one, but it’s enough.
“Why?”
Her mouth dips again. “What do you mean, why? Why what?”
“Why did you do this?”
Realization dawns on her and she shrugs. “It was the right thing to do. Plus, you helped me when I was locked out of my apartment. I was returning the favor.”
From the sounds of it, it was the crazy thing to do. “You were right.” She looks confused, so I add, “About what you said. There wasn’t a need to apologize.” Before she can answer, my phone vibrates on my nightstand, plugged in like she told me.
“It’s Patrick,” she says as she peers at it. My groan amuses her, judging by the quirk of her lips. “You should answer.”
“You answer. Tell him I’m sleeping.”
Her brows raise, disappearing beneath her side-swept bangs. “Seriously?”
I nod. There’s no way in hell I want to talk to him. Not if he came here and this place was as bad as she said it was. Olivia watches me for a beat longer before answering my cell.
“Hey, Patrick. Yeah, he’s still knocked out.” Her head bobs in a nod, even though he can’t see her. “Sure, I’ll have him call you first thing.” She pauses. “You’re welcome. Bye.” Olivia places my phone back on the nightstand.
“Thanks.”
“You should have talked to him. He’s worried about you.”
“He shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” The words come out of my mouth without a second thought.
Her head tilts to the side. “Yeah, I can see that.” The anger I saw the day I told her to get the fuck out reappears. “You’re right. You’re completely fine, Corey. You nearly drank yourself to death, but that’s nothing serious, nothing to worry about!” Her arms flail around with her gestures. “What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously. You need help! Are you really in denial? Because I can go show you the trash from where I cleaned up your mess!” She pokes me hard in the chest. “You need help,” she repeats.
Her outburst has silenced me. Help doesn’t exist, unless she has magical healing powers to get me back onto the field, and there’s no need to burst her bubble that there is. I know, deep in whatever fucked-up soul I have, that if I could play again, I could find a way to make this go away once and for all. It’s not possible, though, and now things are worse than before. Despite my apparently sleeping for such a long time, I’m exhausted and tired of fighting.
“There’s two hundred-dollar bills in the top drawer of my dresser under the socks. You can take it for the groceries and for your trouble. Then, you can go back to your own apartment,” I tell her without any emotion at all, which isn’t hard to do because I’m numb again. For once, a small part of me wishes I was
