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“Because why, Bright? Because you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing could ever go wrong?”
“This isn’t about me. Lay, I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From someone who took Brax for double what she was making with the team just to come to Texas.”
“Don’t bother.” I can’t have this argument. I don’t have the energy and I definitely don’t have the headspace. My sister—my person—questions one of the most fundamental facets in my life.
She wouldn’t know if my body weren’t the train wreck it is. I’d be in Florida working and fucking whomever I damn well please without the assumption that I was mentally unable to make a decent decision when it comes to either.
She would know when I told her and what I told her and wouldn’t get a fucking opinion.
Sounds good right about now. All of it. Her knowing what I choose to share, when I choose to share it, and keeping her mouth shut in the meantime.
“Take me home.”
“Don’t be like that, Layton. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you.”
“I won’t say it again.”
We spend the rest of the drive in silence. The songs on the radio blur into one long wall of avoidance. When she pulls to a stop at my house, she kills the engine.
“No need. I’m not inviting you in.” I hop out but can’t ignore my protector for the past several weeks. “Looney, be a good girl. See you soon, okay.”
I stride away from the car and into my house, wishing like fuck I had thought to put a pill in my pocket before I left. What’s with me thinking I won’t need them?
FORTY-TWO
IN THE TRENCHES
LIVY
Istare down at the bottle in my hands. I’ve been staring at it in disbelief for several long minutes.
Oxycodone.
Large, unlabeled, easily two-thirds full.
I’ve counted. One hundred and eighteen pills.
My butt is on the rug, and my back is to Layton’s side of the bed, but my eyes are glued to the amber bottle in my hands.
The front door slams with a crash, and I jump. I whip open Layton’s nightstand drawer and stash the bottle back in its home.
What the heck do I do now?
It would be different if I weren’t frozen to the spot and stunned into immobile silence.
Layton strides through the house from the sound of his footsteps and stops dead directly in front of me.He strides. How did I not recognize the considerable leaps in progress he’s made? Why have I not questioned the healing that I thought was physical and mental improvement that might very well be numbness to reality?
Oh hell.
I want to question him. I want to bow up, but I don’t have any fight in me after that slap of reality. Not until I have time to think. And my thoughts are way too scattered.
“What are you doing down there?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I push up from the floor, struggling to meet his gaze. “Good drive with Brighton?”
