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My eyes nearly bug out. “Yeah?” I ask, knowing it’s pitiful that I’m getting permission as a twenty-four-year-old man from my stepfather.
“Yeah. The more you’re paid, the faster you can pay me back for your student loans.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask to see the information myself, so I can figure out a better payment plan to move out, but it’s not worth the fight when I just got the okay to go. “Thanks.”
I turn to leave when he says, “I’ll get Fallon or Conrad to accompany you. Keep an eye on you. Let your boss know.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I say, “I have to pay for my own lodging. Will you pay for an upgrade if one of the boys comes with me? I can only afford a rundown motel at the edge of town.”
If there’s one thing about James, he hates spending unnecessary money on things that don’t make him look good. Keeping me in check doesn’t make him look good. It makes him look crazy that he has a tight leash on his adult stepson for no other reason than he likes control. He knows how much money I end up with after my paycheck, so he knows what I can afford. Conrad and Fallon are also on an allowance. If he pays for a room for them for two to three weeks, he’ll also have to shell out money for their allowance to live it up while they’re there.
Those two can spend money, that’s for sure.
He seems to think it over, then shakes his head. “That won’t do.” He sighs. “Okay, I’m trusting you to not do anything stupid.” Like I ever do anything stupid. “The only reason I’m not sending one of the boys with you is I don’t have that kind of money to spare.” If I were bold, I’d roll my eyes at that outright lie. “Don’t embarrass me or I’ll send them anyway.”
I nod, not wanting to say anything that will make him change his mind. When he says nothing more and doesn’t seem to want me in his presence, I spin on my heels and beat feet from his office.
It’s not until I’m in my room that the enormity of the situation hits me. I’ll be gone. Away from home. Alone.
I’m afraid.
Chapter 9
Michael
Aftertwodays,Ican’t take it anymore and text Damon. I haven’t heard from him since the night he told me he got home from the club safely. I wanted to give him some space, since he had a lot to digest from seeing me, then the video from Abel.
When he texted me and told me he was home, instead of hounding him with how he was doing, or tell him to sleep well or some insane shit like that, I just sent him a simple goodnight text.
Besides, I didn’t need to know if he was okay. I watched over him while he was in the club to make sure he was. Some douchebag kept sending him to the bar to cart back trays of drinks, but that stopped after a while and he just sat there, looking sad and dejected. I could tell he didn’t want to be there. So why did he go?
It took everything in me not to go and, keep him company. Something held me back, so I sat and watched him until last call. I thought he spotted me once when he was going to the bar, so I moved closer to the DJ booth—my ears paying the price for a few hours after leaving.
Today, I can’t wait. I have to check on him. I’ll be leaving tomorrow and want to see him once more before I go.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I shoot off a text before I lose my nerve.
Me: How are you?
The three dots pop up at the bottom of the screen, then disappear, then start up again. My heart pounds, wondering if he’s sending a long message or if he’s wondering if he should be texting me at all. I get my answer a few minutes later and I’m glad it’s the former.
Damon: I’m good, I think. Still a little confused, but not in a bad way. I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that my best friend is still alive and thriving. I’m also trying to figure out where you fit into all this. I’m trying to change my mind about you, mostly. You didn’t hurt Abel and I know that. I have to give my mind time to catch up to that.
My finger hovers over the keyboard, wondering what to send back, when Damon sends another message.
Damon: How are you?
Just those three little words make my heart soar. I know it’s a standard question, one most people ask when you ask them. But to me, it says Damon cares. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
Me: I’m okay. I leave tomorrow. Can we have lunch before I go? We can talk more and I can answer some questions.
The reply comes quickly and my heart leaps.
Damon: I have lunch in an hour. Can you meet me somewhere?
Just as soon as it leapt, my heart plummets to my stomach. I can’t. I can’t meet him in public here. Not when I’m supposed to be dead.
Me: I’m sorry, Damon. I can’t.
