“Oh, I see the bigger picture all right.” Olivia scowled. “You never liked Spencer. You hated seeing me with him, and you never gave him a fair shot.”
“Now just wait a minute!” Ally pointed an angry finger at her, but Olivia continued, spurred on by her anger.
“No, I won’t wait! Spencer’s a good man, and he deserves some damn respect!”
“He just walked out on you. Again!”
“Because he thinks he’s not good enough for me!” Which was so ridiculous, it was laughable.
“Did you ever stop to consider that maybe he was right? For god sakes, Liv, the man sunk nearly every penny Jami owned into gambling and then he stood back and watched as his so-called brother took his penance.”
For someone who always claimed she didn’t hate Spencer, Alyson’s words spoke for themselves. Olivia’s fury deepened, but she was no longer sure who she was more upset with. Despite everything Alyson said being true, she hated hearing it. She knew Spencer had a lot to atone for, but when would people stop throwing it back in his face and let him move forward with his life? Her heart was tied to his, and the longer he remained in a rut, the longer she stayed there with him.
“Clearly your feelings for him have given you the ability to forgive, but it’s just not that easy for the rest of us.” Alyson hitched her purse onto her shoulder. “I’ve tried to forgive him. I really have, but you don’t know what it’s like to see the man you love struggle every day just to tie his shoes. Or how frustrated he gets with himself when he can’t make his fingers work the way they used to. That night is with him all the time and no amount of surgery will ever make it the way it used to be.”
Ally’s voice shook as she marched toward the door. “And do you know what really kills me? The one thing he said that I can’t get out of my head?”
Olivia swallowed, verging on tears at the pain in her friend’s eyes.
“He fears being able to hold our child without dropping him. He wonders what kind of father he’ll be if he can’t even teach his son or daughter how to tie their shoes or throw a ball.” She hiccupped as her emotions consumed her. “That, Liv, is why I can’t forgive him. Why I think you could do so much better.
“So, I hope you can understand me when I tell you that, no, I don’t like Spencer. I used to think he just needed a chance to get back on track, but every day that I watch Jami struggle is like a knife to my heart. And now he’s doing this with you?” She shook her head, laughing sadly. “I don’t see him changing. In fact, I think he’s a piece of shit who doesn’t know how to love anyone but himself. But because you love him, I hope to God that he can learn.”
The door slammed shut behind her, once again leaving Olivia gasping for air. The blows just wouldn’t stop coming. She crumpled under the weight of it all.
Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and began rocking.
***
“Dude, is that you?”
Taking a final draw on his cigarette, Spencer flicked the dying butt away. He stood on the rotting porch of a nineteenfifties’ rambler looking at his old dealer and former friend through a torn screen. Even standing outside, smoke and cheap booze saturated the air through the open door.
As he looked through the torn screen, he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. He’d walked out on Liv, but as he stood here now, staring his past in the face, he wasn’t too sure how good an idea that had been. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he was hurting himself in the process.
Whatever. He could handle himself. Forcing a light attitude, he said, “Yeah, man, it’s me.”
Bud, who’d earned his nickname from his choice of alcohol, held the screen door open. “Come in, man. You need a place to crash?” he asked, catching sight of the pack Spencer carried on his back.
“A couch if you have it. Just for a couple of nights,” he added quickly, taking in the state of the place. It had never been nice, but it was downright cruddy now. Liv’s place was a Hilton compared to this, which was barely a step below a roadside motel.
Empty bottles littered every surface and were layered on top of ashes and discarded butts. There was dirty laundry everywhere, empty food packages, a used condom. He shuddered, again asking himself what the hell he was doing here.
“You can have the couch, man,” Bud offered, indicating the tattered yellow sofa covered in garbage and burn marks. “Long as you need.” Placing a cigarette between his lips, Bud struck a match on the wall and lit up. Taking a deep inhale, he squinted as he blew out the smoke. “Your old lady kick you out?”
Spencer shook his head. “Nah, man. I walked.” It sounded callous, but he had a reputation that he needed to maintain. In this neighborhood, it was all about who people thought you were.
“Right on, man. Bitches are always trippin’.” Taking another draw off his cigarette, Bud spoke through the smoke that rolled past his lips. “Listen, I have some business to tend to. You’re welcome to tag along. I could use another man on deck, ‘specially one who knows his shit.”
A frisson of unease slithered through him and Spencer asked, “What kind of business?”
A wicked smile creased Bud’s cheeks, causing the scar from an old knife wound to create a deep crease from the corner of one eye to his chin. Bud motioned for Spencer to follow him. Leading him through the kitchen, Spencer stepped carefully to avoid slipping on more trash. They stopped in front of a wooden door covered in filthy cracked white paint that was so old it curled at the edges.
When Bud opened it, sound poured out. What Spencer had thought was music from a neighboring house was actually coming from the basement. As they descended the stairs, the cloying smell of pot, mingled with an acrid scent he vaguely remembered, burned his nose and throat as it climbed up to meet them.
Sitting on the edge of an old futon among a pile of wrappers, loose pot, and used needles was a whip of a woman with stringy arms and ratty bleach blonde hair. Folded over a table she appeared to be rolling her own blunt. The position made her appear old and frail, her spine jutting out in sharp points through her thin, dirty white shirt—the average looks of a hard core addict.
This was the central hub of the drug community in this neighborhood. Bud did all of his business out of his basement, using girls like this to do the grunt work in exchange for a portion of the product to support their own habit.
“Babe,” Bud called out as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “You won’t believe what the cat dragged in.”
Expecting one of Bud’s typical girlfriends—the kind that never complained as long as he kept them in a steady supply—Spencer pasted on a customary smile.
It vanished in the next instant.
Spencer’s jaw dropped as the girl turned her head to peer over her shoulder at him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Even though she was about thirty pounds too light and was in desperate need of a shower, she wasn’t just some random druggie. He’d recognize those caramel brown eyes anywhere.
Haley…his stepsister.
She scowled at him, and then turned back to her work. Her chapped lips parted and a pale pink tongue poked out to run along the edge of a wrapper. In a raspy, tired voice, she asked, “What the hell is he doing here?”
Spencer watched in stunned disbelief as he watched his younger sister roll up the blunt with long, boney fingers. Her yellowed fingernails were frayed and broken, and he couldn’t miss the scabs covering her arms. The shirt she wore had long sleeves, and he’d bet money that fabric hid a slew of track marks.
Impotent fury rose in him, making his heart beat wildly. Bud was a piece of shit on a good day. Spencer had never lied to himself about the kind of people he hung out with, but he’d expected better for his sister.
When they were kids, he’d always looked out for her. Their parents were usually too stoned or wasted to give a shit how either of them spent their days, but Spencer cared. He was the one who made sure that Haley was dressed and fed properly before personally seeing her to school each d
ay.
He’d already been heading down the wrong path by the time she was born, but he had been determined that she would have a better life.
Just because their circumstances weren’t promising didn’t mean they both had to fall into the gutter.
But just like everything he touched, she hadn’t fared well in his absence. If he’d stuck around to see her through high school, would she have gone off to college? Made something of herself?
He would never know. As he stared in horror at what had become of her, Spencer felt a sick knot form in his gut.
He’d failed her. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He had tainted the lives of everyone he cared for. It shouldn’t be a shocker that she’d fallen victim to his poison touch.
Plopping down on the tattered couch beside Haley, Bud kicked his boots up on the table and motioned Spencer over. “Cop a squat, man.”
Reluctantly, Spencer moved forward. It felt as though he was wading through quicksand, his feet heavy and his legs weak. As he rounded the sofa and took his first really good, up-close look at his younger sister, all the oxygen fled his lungs.
Strength abandoned him and Spencer dropped his ass on the matching love seat. “You’re pregnant.”
“Seven months along.” Bud grinned widely, looking every bit a proud father-to-be as he sunk back against the cushions. But the look was all wrong. The scraggly beard, sunken eyes, and thin frame screamed of the hard life these two led. And they were adding a child to the equation.
Holy. Fuck.
Her stomach was barely the size of a soccer ball. The only reason he noticed it at all was because of how thin she was. Emaciated was more like it. There wasn’t enough meat left on her bones that could hide it.
Never in his life had Spencer wanted to cry as badly as he did now. Sitting across from his drug addict sister and her dealer boyfriend was too much to stomach. His eyes stung sharply, whether from the cloud that hung over them or his overwrought emotions, he wasn’t sure.
With a curl of her lip, Haley glanced up at him. “Congratulations, you’re going to be an uncle.”
Her words were spoken with a harsh edge, telling him that she wasn’t happy to see him. Hell, maybe she blamed him, too, for where she was now.
Clearing his throat, Spencer lifted his chin. “What are you working on?”
“Haley here is a fucking wizard with the papers, man.” Draping his arms over the back of the sofa, Bud beamed. “She’s the fastest roller and bagger I’ve met. Keeps me in business.”
“Keeps me valuable,” she muttered, and licked another paper.
“That, too,” Bud chuckled, giving her shoulder a shake.
Such a happy little picture these two made, Spencer thought bitterly.
So, Bud was keeping her around because she could do something for him. Again, he couldn’t say he was surprised. Without her little skill, Spencer had no doubt he would have dumped her on the curb by now.
Turning the topic back to the baby, Spencer asked, “So, what is it?”
It took them both a moment to grasp his meaning. “Don’t know. Haven’t been to the doctor to check.”
Spencer stared at his sister. “You haven’t been to the doctor?” he asked quietly.
“Docs are expensive,” Bud interjected. “I don’t have to tell you that. And besides, who the fuck needs a machine to tell us if it’s a boy or girl when we can wait a few months and get the answer for free?”
“What about general checkups?” Spencer questioned. “There could be something wrong and you wouldn’t even know it.” Especially considering their lifestyle, which was likely the real reason they weren’t keen on going to the doctor. If they did that, the secret would be out.
“Women have been doing this shit since the dawn of time, man. It’s just wasted money, and frankly, I don’t like the idea of stuffing some rich dick’s pockets. Meanwhile, I’d have to double my output just to break even. I’ll pass.”
“Dude, this is my sister we’re talking about here.” Growing agitated, Spencer jammed his fingers through his hair. “Tell me you’re at least going to go to the hospital when the time comes.”
He looked between the pair, seeing the indecision in his sister’s eyes. The cool, uncaring glint in Bud’s. He hated the way she deferred to him, because Spencer had absolutely no confidence that Bud had anything but his own best interest at heart.
Bud shrugged and said casually, “We’ll have to see how it goes.”
Darting a heated look at his sister, Spencer said, “Are you seriously going along with this?”
Her slender shoulders lifted and fell. He could almost feel her disinterest in the subject. And then it struck him.
“You don’t care do you? You don’t even want this kid.” If she did, she wouldn’t be sitting here now, doing what she was doing.
In a brief moment of stunning clarity, Spencer looked back on his childhood and realized that his mother hadn’t tried. Whether she cared for them at some point or not, she’d given up. She’d chosen drugs over her own flesh and blood.
Looked like it was true about the apple not falling far from the tree. To turn your back on your own child…he couldn’t comprehend that.
He didn’t want kids because it would be just another person he would fuck up. But if he ever did, he knew for damn certain that he’d be there for them. He’d protect them, care for them. The same way he took care of Haley once.
Did he feel responsible for the way her life had turned out? Without a doubt, yes. But he’d done well by her while he was around. She had to know, somewhere in that drug addled brain of hers, that this wasn’t right. That she was this callous about the health of her own child disgusted him. It pained him on a level so deep, Spencer had to get up and leave before he lost his shit and did something he’d regret.
Haley didn’t even spare him a glance as he approached the table. Leaning down, he took one of the papers she used for rolling, then used the tip of an old roach to smudge out his cell number.
“You need me, call me,” he said, shoving the paper at her. Their eyes met, and he willed her to understand what he was saying. He was providing her with a lifeline. Whatever it was, whatever she needed, if she reached out, he would do whatever he could to help.
But she only glared at him. He held it out a moment longer, but her refusal to take it said everything.
Crumpling the paper in his fist, Spencer marched toward the stairs. She didn’t want his help, and that meant there was nothing he could do for her.
“Where are you going, man?” Bud called to him from the couch as Spencer stormed back up the basement stairs. “I thought we were going to go over some business models.”
“I’m outta here,” Spencer threw over his shoulder.
“You coming back?”
Not if he could help it. When he reached the top of the stairs, Spencer didn’t even pause on his way out the door. It had been a mistake coming here. He thought he’d be able to handle it, but stepping back into his old life was too much. If he stuck around too long, he’d be right back in the thick of it, and there wouldn’t be any coming back.
He knew his limits, and he just wasn’t willing to risk it.
THIRTEEN
Alone. So alone.
Dark thoughts spread through her head like a virus, slipping through every crack. Olivia sat on the cold bathroom floor. Fresh from a bath, she wore only a towel, loosely cinched around her breasts.
She’d been useless since Ally left. And depressed. Very, very depressed. She knew she needed to get up, call someone, ask for help, but she was too tired to move. Besides, who would listen? There were only two people who knew her shame, and neither were available.
The terrible ache in her chest was unbearable. Inescapable. Unless…
The only way to release the pressure was to let it out. She’d only ever found one way to do that. It—the sense of pressure, an uncomfortable feeling of expansion that made her skin feel too tight—started when she was in junior hi
gh. Trying to please everyone—make the right grades, be the perfect daughter—was a lot to handle.
She reached the breaking point in her junior year of high school, when her parents announced that they were getting divorced. The news was a shock. They’d spent her whole life traveling the world together. She’d just assumed they were happy.
She could still picture the way her father stood over her, his pristine navy suit and platinum cuff links conveying the cold, unbending man beneath. His dark, unyielding eyes bored into hers as he gripped her shoulder and told her he was leaving and wouldn’t be coming back.
She hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even begged him to stay. Her father had always been a very rigid man, and he’d taught her the value of never showing the outside world your true self. Emotion was the ultimate weakness in his eyes, so she’d learned how to hide it.
Custody was never an issue, because neither her mother nor father wanted the responsibility of caring for her. As she had only ever experienced care at the hands of a live-in nanny, the indifference was something Olivia was used to. By then, she knew how to look out for herself. She was an adult without the legal backing of actually being one.
When she’d started acting out, breaking the rules, running with the wrong people, a part of her had hoped that they’d finally show some interest in her. Maybe they’d even get back together. Maybe things could be different.
Then she’d been arrested.
That day her parents sat her down and told her—over a lunch of tuna salad—that they were sending Olivia to military school. She had two days before the officers came to get her.
The pressure that had been building inside Olivia for longer than she could remember finally boiled over.
With deadly calm, she’d traveled to her second floor bedroom and locked herself in her en suite. It wasn’t a conscious decision to cut herself. Not at first. She’d seen the razor, still moist from her morning shower, sitting there, and she reached for it.
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