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“Fine,” I say flatly. I take a step toward where the cars are parked, and I stumble, nearly losing my balance. He immediately comes forward to help me, his hand on my arm, but I snap, “No, you don’t get to help me if I don’t get to help you. Don’t you think that’s fair?”
He doesn’t release me for a second, and when he meets my eyes, his look like pools deeper than time. “Mira, I’m sorry.”
So am I.
ChapterThirty-Three
Danny
Idon’t know where to go, after I gather a few things from the apartment. Mira doesn’t talk to me while I pack my bag. She doesn’t talk to me as I walk out, moving past my armchair and the SAD lamp, past the pink record table…
This apartment was where I belonged for years, but it’s not mine anymore—somewhere, in the last few weeks, it became ours. Now…I guess maybe it’s hers.
I’m in a stupor as I leave, as I walk out on the life I want.
What the fuck am I doing?
I didn’t intend for any of that to happen. I’d decided to give her a choice—to tell her we could hold off on whatever was happening between us until after I had answers about what Big Mike wanted. But it scared me that she’d come out there at two in the morning to find me. Something could have happened to her. Someone could have followed her. RetCon could try to use her to get me to comply with their demands. And then all of my fears and inadequacies seemed to recognize their opening and swallowed me up. Part of my meltdown was prompted by the realization that Ruthie must have told Mira about our parents. How I’d let them push me around for so long.
It made me feel like less of a man. Like the little boy who’d been told so many times that he was stupid and useless…and the teenager who’d carried the weight of his family’s finances.
Still, even though this isn’t what I wanted, a voice in my head insists it was always going to come to this, even if Big Mike and Daphne didn’t exist. So, it’s better if it happens now. And maybe Mira won’t mind so much anymore if I do get arrested. Maybe I’m doing her a favor.
But another voice in my head,hervoice, is calling me a coward.
I don’t consciously plan to go there, but I find myself parking outside of Shane’s little bungalow. I look at the dash. It’s past three in the morning. I can’t go in now. I can’t…
My phone buzzes, and I take it out, the movements mechanical. I’m so tired. So completely exhausted and overwhelmed.
The message is from Shane.
Are you going to come inside or are you going to wait out there like a creepy stalker.
Undecided. I’m surprised you’re still awake.
I’m drinking whiskey. Want some?
I need to sleep.
That’s what the whiskey’s for.
It’s past 3, and you’re still awake. I guess it’s not working.
It’s easy to be a smartass when you’re texting me from my driveway.
I get out with the bag, and when I reach the door, he’s there in the opening. He looks like shit, and the first thing he says to me is, “You look like shit.”
“Thank you,” I say, because the rote response is the first thing that comes to mind. We both laugh humorlessly.
“Come inside and tell me what you did.” He steps back, and I step in, lowering my bag to the floor.
“Would it be okay if I don’t talk about it yet?”
He nods because he understands me. He knows I’m not ready, but I will be, and then he’ll be there for me.
A voice in my head suggests that I’m letting him make accommodations for me, even though I snapped at Mira for it.
I’m too tired to do anything about that. To even give it the thought it probably deserves.
