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Sucking in a breath, I start down the hallway toward him. “You okay?”
He unevenly inhales then lifts his head and faces me. “Yep, just great.”
“You don’t look great.”
“I look how I always look.”
“Then maybe you always don’t look great.”
“Wow, way to kick me when I’m down, Hadley,” he tries to joke but misses the mark.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I prop my shoulder against the wall. “I just meant that maybe you always look stressed out because you’re always stressed out.”
He laughs hollowly. “Stressed out? Is that what this is? Because I thought this constant helpless and irritated feeling festering inside me meant I had the best fucking life in the goddamned world … Shit.” He turns away from me and lightly bangs his head against the door again. “I don’t know why I keep telling you stupid shit. It was probably a really stupid idea to bring you here.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “But since I’m here, feel free to tell me stupid shit. It’s nothing I haven’t heard, or probably haven’t said or thought myself.”
He aims a skeptical look at me. “You’ve told a girl who hates your guts that you’re stressed out all the time and secretly wish you lived alone instead of taking care of your brothers?” He whispers the last part.
“Not exactly.”
He gives me a see-I’m-right look before lowering his forehead to the door again.
I drum my fingers against the sides of my legs, feeling restless and sorry for him. It’s kind of annoying how much I want to make him feel better. I don’t know why I feel this way. Maybe because I secretly wish I had someone to make me feel better? Or maybe I’ve just lost my damn mind. Who knows?
I stare at the cracked wall straight ahead of me that reminds me of so many of our old homes. “Hey, Blaise?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
A shaky exhale escapes my lips. “I’m stressed out all the time. And I have these rules that … that are going to help me get the hell away from this life the moment I graduate, which is pretty shitty because that means I’m going to leave my sisters behind with our alcoholic, drug addict, con-man of a father who can’t even take care of himself.”
He gradually turns toward me, moving his head away from the door. He searches my eyes for an unnerving amount of time, so much so that I start to regret my confession.
“Rules?” he questions curiously. “What sort of rules?”
I shrug. “Nothing that interesting. Just keeping my grades up, keeping myself out of trouble, no dating—stuff like that.”
He straightens, facing me fully now. “You have a no-dating rule? How does that help you with your plan?”
“Because guys are trouble.” I shrug when he blasts me with a joking, dirty look. “What? They are.”
“And you’re not?”
“I never said that.”
He shakes his head, gaping at me. “You’re a really odd girl.”
“You’ve said that, like, six times,” I tell him. “It’s starting to lose its dramatic effect.”
He chuckles, his muscles loosening a bit. “Thank you.”
My brows dip. “For what?”
“For …” He scuffs the tip of his boot against the carpet. “For making me chill out, I guess.”
“This is you chilled out?” I tease. “Wow, I’d hate to see you when you’re really worked up.”
He laughs, then faces the shut door again. “So damn weird.” He plummets back into silence as he stares at the door. “I’m not sure what to do.”
I push away from the wall and move up beside him. “With Alex?”
He nods, his gaze flitting to me. “I’m pretty sure he locked himself in there to shoot up again, which means, even if I pick the lock, he’ll be passed out.”
“Yeah, so? Just carry him out to the car.”
“I would, but …” He blows out a stressed breath. “I just feel like sometimes I’m enabling him by helping him.”
“I can understand why you’d feel that way. I feel that way about my father sometimes.”
He chews on his bottom lip. “What would you do in this situation?”
“Honestly?” I ask, and he nods. “Well, if it was my dad, I’d probably just leave his high-ass here. But only because he’s really starting to wear on my nerves lately. Plus, he’s been pulling shit like this for almost a decade, and we can’t get him to get some help. If it was one of my sisters, though, I’d take them home, let the drugs wear out of their system, and then do whatever I could to either get them in rehab or get them some sort of help. But I love my sisters.”
“You don’t love your dad?”
“That’s a complicated question.”
“I can understand that. My dad’s a real piece of work, but I’m sure you already know that.” He doesn’t wait for me to comment as he stares at the door again, drifting into silence. Then he mutters something under his breath, crouches, and examines the lock. “You have a hair pin or something that’ll pick this?”
“Actually, I do.” I reach up, remove a hairpin securing one of my braids, and hand it to him.
“You come prepared, huh?” he teases as he wiggles the pin into the lock.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help someone break into a room.”
“Again, I’m not surprised.” He twists the hair pin counterclockwise.
“You know, I feel like maybe I should feel insulted by your lack of surprise in my knowledge of criminal activities,” I tease, slanting back with my boot propped up against the wall.
“But I doubt you will.” The lock clicks, and then he pushes open the door and straightens.
“Nah, I probably won’t. If I did, then I’d spend almost all my time feeling insulted.” I reach to take the hair pin from him, but he tucks it back into my hair. Then he offers me a small smile before walking into the room.
My chest feels sort of weird in that moment. Fluttery. It makes me feel oddly unsettled and restless. Makes me want to smart off to him just to regain control over my body. But watching him cross the small room toward Alex, who is already passed out on a stained mattress with a band wrapped loosely around his arm, a needle beside his hand, I decide to keep my lips fused together.
“You need help carrying him out?” I ask as I step over the broken glass and garbage littering the room.
He shakes his head as he stands beside the mattress, staring down at his brother with pain, anger, and hurt crammed in his eyes. “Nah, I can get him.”
“What can I do to help then?”
He casts a quick glance at me, his eyes searching mine, then he rubs his lips together and looks back at his brother. “Open the doors for me?”
“You got it.” I kick the garbage and glass covering the floor out of the way with the tip of my boot as Blaise crouches and picks up Alex.
Alex’s eyelids flutter, as if he’s coming to. He mumbles something incoherently then stills again.
Blaise adjusts his weight then hikes across the room to where I’m standing. Neither of us exchange a word as I back out, head back across the living room, and open the front door.
Sunlight spills into the dusty room, along with fresh air. I breathe it in
as I step out, realizing how damp and murky the air had been inside.
“Can you get the car door for me, too?” Blaise asks as he exits the house, squinting against the sunlight.
I nod then hurry to the SUV and open the back door.
Blaise gently sets Alex down on the back seat, shuts the door, and then we climb in. Again, quietness stretches between us as he starts up the engine and drives back the down the bumpy road.
“He’s been through a lot of shitty stuffy,” Blaise abruptly says as he pulls out onto the highway. “Alex, I mean.” He flips down the visor then his guarded gaze lands on mine. “I know it’s not an excuse for anything he does, but sometimes I wonder, if some of that shitty stuff never happened to him”—his eyes travel to the rearview mirror, to the reflection of his brother lying down in the back seat—“maybe he wouldn’t be a drug addict who gets in trouble all the time and does crappy things to people who probably don’t deserve it.” His attention returns to the road, his shoulders stiffening. “Then again, maybe he’d still be the same. Who the hell knows?”
Just what sort of stuff has Alex been through? I won’t ask, and not just because he probably won’t tell me, but because it’s none of my damn business. Not this. No, this is deeply personal, and I can respect his vagueness.
“Are you going to try to get him help?” I ask instead. “Maybe try to get him into a rehab facility?”
“I want to, but me wanting him to go and actually getting him to agree are two entirely different things.” He cranks up the air conditioning. “But yeah, I’m going to try. My brothers and I, and even Scarlett, have been saving up money so we can give him an intervention and hopefully convince him to go.” He hurriedly explains, “Scarlett’s our half-sister. Have you met her? She doesn’t live with us, but she stays over some weekends. You may have seen her around school.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her around a few times.” I try to be as vague as possible, uncertain if Scarlett would want me confessing to Blaise that she was the one who told me about the dual. “And I think it’s good that you’re all working together to try to help Alex. I hope he does get help. Not just for his sake, but for you and your siblings, too.”
