“Sorry,” she says drowsily, gathering herself to sit up against her headboard. “I didn’t get much sleep in the clink.”
“I can go. Come back later.”
“No. Stay.” She draws her knees up to make room for me. “I take it the whole town knows by now?”
She doesn’t look so bad, all things considered. A bit groggy and pale from exhaustion, but otherwise unscathed. It doesn’t help the lump of guilt stuck in my throat, though.
“You okay? He try anything with you?” Because throwing a Molotov cocktail through Randall’s bedroom window might go a long way to improving my mood.
She shakes her head. “It was fine. Not much worse than the DMV, honestly.”
“That’s what you’ve got? A night in the slammer and you’re doing ’90s sitcom humor?”
A weak smile curves her lips. It breaks my fucking heart. “I’m thinking about touring the prison circuit with some new material.”
“Have you heard from Trina?”
“Nope.” Gen shrugs. “I wish her well. If she’s smart, she’s well into Mexico by now.”
When I open my mouth to speak again, she cuts me off.
“Can we not talk about it? Later, fine. Right now, I don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Taking my hand, she pulls me to sit beside her against the headboard. “Hey, I never said this, but the house looks great. You guys did a stellar job on the renovations. I’m almost sad it’s over.”
“I am gonna miss you wandering around the house in skimpy silk nighties, watching me work up a sweat.”
Gen snorts. “You have an active imagination.”
“Oh, were you not there for that? Must have been some other leggy brunette with nice tits.”
Her elbow jabs my ribs. “I meant now that it’s over, Dad’s going to put the house on the market. This won’t be my room for much longer. And the place is so nice now, it’s a shame to leave.”
“A lot of good memories in this room.” Climbing in her window after everyone’s gone to bed. Sneaking her out of it.
“Kellan and Shane tried smoking some old pot they found hidden under the floorboards in Shane’s closet.” This time when she laughs, it reaches her eyes. The sound is comforting and debilitating all at once. “They were throwing up for hours. Shane swore he was going blind.”
I want to laugh with her and reminisce about all the stuff we got away with in this house. Every time we held our breath under the covers having sex while her entire family slept a few feet away. Constantly in fear for my life that one of her brothers would barge in and break my dick off if he found me on top of her.
But all I can think about is that if circumstances were different, she might’ve been facing serious jail time because of me.
Only now does it occur to me that some of those memories—running from cops or whoever we pissed off that night, stumbling in drunk at fifteen, getting high and blowing off class—aren’t as cute as they seemed in high school.
“Dad wants me to look at houses with him. With Mom gone, he’s feeling a little overwhelmed with the decisions.”
The words barely reach my ears. A thought spiral drops like a heavy blanket on top of me, my mind weighted with all the ways I haven’t conceived of yet that I’ll ruin this girl. She was happy when she came back. Maybe not right away, thanks to the funeral and everything. But when I compare the person who showed up at that first bonfire to the person sitting next to me now? She looks burnt out. Dried up. A couple months around me and I’ve already sucked the life out of her.
And no matter what I do to think my way out of this, I come back to one undeniable conclusion: I did this to her. And if given the chance, I’ll do it again.
“Actually, a couple days ago I drove by a house on Mallard. That blue one with the palms. It’s a newer home. I looked it up on—”
“Gen.” I launch to my feet. “Look, you were right.”
“Huh?”
Agitated now, I pace the room. How do I do this? I don’t want to come off as an asshole, but maybe it’s well too late for that.
“Evan?” Her voice ripples with worry.
“I should have listened to you.”
Fuck, why didn’t I listen? She gave me a dozen opportunities to respect her wishes and keep my distance. I ignored every one of her warnings and went straight off a cliff. Slowly, I turn to face her, all the guilt and regret bubbling up and spilling over. What did she ever do to deserve me?
“I’m sorry, Fred.”
Alarm grows in her expression. “About what?”
“You were right. This can’t work. You and me.”
“Evan.” A wary look of disbelief sucks the color from her face. “This is because of last night? You didn’t put the coke in Trina’s purse. You didn’t sic Randall on me. None of that is your fault.”
“But I talked you into going. That’s on me.” My voice rises of its own volition. It feels like I don’t have control of my own mind. The frustration running away with me. The anger at myself that I let this happen. “I’m no good for you. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.” I swallow. It hurts to do so. “You need to stay the hell away from me.”
“You don’t mean that.” Gen jumps off the bed. “I get that you feel responsible, but it was not your fault.”
“Don’t do that.” I pull myself away when she reaches for my arm. “You’ve been making excuses for me my whole life.”
She rolls her head in frustration, huffing out a breath. “That’s not what I’m doing. I was only nervous about going out with Trina because I didn’t think I could resist getting trashed around her. You had more faith in me, and you were right. I didn’t drink at all last night. She offered me some of her coke, and I didn’t take it. The rest of the night was my choice. I stuck around. I let her leave her purse with me. At any point I could have said no and gone home.” Fight flashes across her face. “You’ve been taking bullets for me my whole life. But I’m all grown up now, Evan. I don’t need a martyr.”
I appreciate what she’s trying to do, but I can’t let her. This is how habits start. She forgives me this time, and the next. And the next. Until inch by inch, she backslides into all the self-destructive patterns she’s worked so hard to break. She always was the best part of us.
I love her. I’d rather never see her again than be the reason she hates herself.
“You should stick it out with your cop,” I tell her, my voice cracking slightly before hardening with resolve. “He’s a decent guy, and he’ll bend over backward to make you happy. Better influence than I’ll ever be.”
“Evan.”
I watch the realization cement in her eyes. Watch as she grasps for some lever to pull to make this stop. Then I turn my back on her.
“Evan!”
I’m out the door and down the stairs. Practically running to my bike. I have to get out of here before I lose my nerve. I know she’s looking at me from her bedroom window when I speed away from the curb. The ache begins before I’ve reached the end of the block. By the time I get home, I can’t feel anything. Not sure I’m even awake.