Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2

by S. R. Grey

  She shakes her head and focuses back on the baby clothes.

  “Missy?” I prompt, squeezing her hand before releasing. “Are you ever going to tell him? I think it might be better to get it over with as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah,” she says on a sigh, “you’re right. And I’ll talk to him soon. I guess I’m still just not quite ready.”

  Something is off with Missy. But since I have no clue what all she’s going through, I let it drop.

  The rest of the afternoon flies by. Father Maridale stops in to check on our progress. He, of course, gives Missy the green light to keep the baby clothes she’s picked out. And since we’re pretty much done sorting and pricing, he tells us we can go home for the day.

  I text Chase to let him know I’m done early.

  Great, I’m outta here too. Meet you by your car in five.

  Missy and I walk out to the parking lot together. I offer to help her carry the baby clothes she’s stuffed into a big plastic bag, but she insists she’s got it.

  As we near my Neon, I notice Missy’s car is only a few spots away. I then notice Chase has arrived. He’s leaning against the driver’s side door of my car, looking delicious.

  Damn, Chase is exceptionally hot in his faded jeans and snug black T-shirt. And working over in the rectory all day must have involved some heavy lifting, because the muscles in his arms bulge, all hard and ripped, as he fidgets with his phone.

  Chase pays no heed to our approach—or my perusal of his body. He’s too preoccupied with texting or something.

  “Hey,” I call out, garnering his attention.

  He lifts his head and slips his phone into his back pocket. He then starts to smile but falters when he notices Missy is with me.

  “Hey,” he says flatly when Missy and I reach him.

  Missy places her bag of baby clothes on the ground and quietly mumbles, “Hi, Chase.”

  She crosses her arms, while Chase squints and looks up at the sky.

  “Oh, Lord,” I lament.

  This is the first interaction the two of them have had since the night at the carnival, the night I overheard them arguing and, consequently, found out they’d hooked up. But if I can get past what happened between them—which I have—then they surely can, too.

  I go on to state those exact words, eliciting two surprised expressions. But I get my point across. The tension begins to lift, and soon enough, the three of us are chatting about the rummage sale.

  When the conversation falters, though, Missy says softly, “Well, I guess I better get going.”

  I catch Chase’s eye and nod to the plastic bag on the ground.

  He catches on quickly and says to Missy, “Hey, you want me to carry that over to your car? It looks kind of heavy.”

  “Oh, okay.” She appears genuinely surprised, but also pleased. “Thanks.”

  Chase hoists the bag up with ease and heads toward Missy’s car. Missy hangs back, and when I glance her way, she suddenly throws her arms around me.

  “Whoa, what was that for?” I ask, taking a step back when she finally lets go.

  “Sorry.” She giggles. “I get a little carried away with the pregnancy hormones and all, but I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything, Kay,” Missy says, sighing contentedly. “For being so nice to me, for forgiving me”—she lowers her voice—“for getting Chase to forgive me.”

  Before I can respond that there’s no need to thank me, Chase turns around and yells over for Missy to pop open the trunk. Two minutes later, Chase is back. Missy says good-bye and walks over to her car, and Chase and I take off.

  When we arrive back at the house, to both my surprise and Chase’s, Will is up and about. He doesn’t appear to be sleepy or hungover—at all. In fact, he’s downright lively for a kid that, by all rights, should be recovering from his night of hard partying.

  But, no, Will is seated at the kitchen table, earbuds in his ears, husking fresh cobs of corn while his foot taps to the beat. He adds an ear he’s just shucked to a huge pile of husked corn that covers the entire surface of the table. He then promptly picks up another.

  Chase and I skid to a stop in the entryway to the kitchen, and when Will catches sight of us, he takes out his earbuds and says loudly, “Hey, you’re home.”

  Before either Chase or I can respond, Will continues to talk, his speech rapid.

  “Yeah, so you’re probably wondering what I’m doing, huh? See, there was this farmer selling corn at a stand on the side of the road, so I bought a bunch.” He holds an ear aloft. “Can’t get shit like this back in the fucking desert.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of corn,” I say as I realize that, apart from the corn on the table, there are two more bagfuls under the table.

  Chase doesn’t comment on the corn, though I know he notices all of it. Instead, though, he leans against the doorjamb, crosses his arms, and says to Will, “You went out?”

  Will nods as he absently plucks silk off a cob he’s just shucked.

  “You were supposed to stay in today,” Chase continues tightly, “stick around the house.”

  Will returns to the shucking, his fingers working faster than ever. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “But Jared stopped by, and we decided to go out for a while.”

  Chase’s eyes meet mine. There’s worry in his blues. And why wouldn’t there be? Will went out with Jared today, just like last night, and also like last night, Will’s behavior is indicative of being high on something.

  “So, where’d you go?” Chase asks his brother.

  Will’s fingers falter, but his eyes remain on his task. “Uh, just out.”

  When Will resumes shucking, his legs start to bounce.

  Chase whispers to me that he wants to check Will’s room for drugs, see if he can find anything that might help him figure out what Will is on.

  I nod once, and he then comments loudly enough for Will to hear that he’s going up to the bathroom and that he’ll be right back.

  When Chase is out of sight, I head into the kitchen, hoping to keep Will occupied.

  I open the refrigerator door, and say, “Well, since we have plenty of corn, how ’bout we pick out something to go with it?” I grab a package of hot dogs and hold them up above the door so Will can see. “Hot dogs work for you? We can grill them.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he replies. “In fact, I can get the grill started, if you want.”

  “Sure, give me a sec.”

  I cut open the package of hot dogs and put some water on for the corn to boil. After I place the wieners on a plate, I hold them out to Will. When his hand touches the plate, his eyes meet mine. His usually clear green eyes are dark, dilated, and bloodshot.

  Quickly, he averts his gaze.

  I draw back the plate. “Wait.”

  “What?” Will’s eyes dart around the kitchen, all skittish-like.

  I touch his shoulder. He has on a thin tee, and I immediately feel how hot his skin is beneath the cotton. “What’d you take?” I ask. “Were you and Jared snorting cocaine?”

  Will shakes his head. “No.”

  “Please don’t lie,” I whisper. “You know this is killing your brother.”

  “It wasn’t coke, okay?” he huffs. “We took some speed.”

  “Like, amphetamines?”

  “Yeah.”

  “From Kyle Tanner?”

  Will nods. He reaches for the plate of hot dogs again, and this time, I let him have it. He doesn’t say anything else, just heads out to the back porch. After a minute, I hear him messing with the grill.

  I sink down into a chair near the table and pick up an ear of corn.

  Damn. I know in my heart that, when Chase finds out Will was buying drugs from Kyle Tanner again, he will go talk to his former dealer. And I hate that I won’t be able to stop him. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Kyle is bad news—for both Gartner brothers.

  Chase walks back into the kitchen
just as I’m absently toying with a pile of corn silk on the table.

  “I didn’t find anything,” he says. “But I know Will’s on something.”

  I watch as Chase walks over to the refrigerator.

  When he opens the door, I tell him what Will shared with me. “You’re right, Chase,” I say, sighing. “Will is on something. But it’s not cocaine.”

  Chase’s hand on the top of the refrigerator door tightens, but he doesn’t look up. I stand immediately and go to him. I touch his back, rub his shoulders. I’m trying to do anything to make all this awfulness just a little less horrible.

  And it works, a little. Chase relaxes slightly. He turns around, and the refrigerator door closes softly.

  “What’d he take?” he asks flatly.

  “Amphetamines.”

  Chase rubs his hand down his face. “Christ.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “We’ll get through this.”

  I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, but I know Chase needs some kind of reassurance right now.

  And, as I expected, Chase declares, “I have to talk to fucking Kyle Tanner. Will’s in town for two and a half more weeks. I need to nip this shit in the bud before things get out of hand.”

  “I know.” I touch Chase’s chest, the outline of his pecs so defined beneath the cotton. His body is so hard, but his heart is so soft. “Just be careful, okay?”

  Chase catches my hand and holds it tightly. “Don’t worry, Kay, there’s not going to be any violence. But I will be making sure I get through to that motherfucker.”

  Despite his trying to soothe my fears, I have a bad feeling. All I know is that Chase calling on Kyle—violence or not—never results in anything good. Last time he spent time with his former drug dealer, Chase ended up drinking, smoking weed, and coming dangerously close to snorting cocaine.

  But he has to do this. I know that.

  Resigned, I ask. “When are you planning on talking to Kyle?”

  “As soon as possible,” Chase says. “In fact, I think I’ll head over to his house tonight.”

  Chapter Nine

  Chase

  I have no desire to pay a visit to Kyle Tanner, but if I don’t talk with him as soon as possible, who knows where shit may land. Will is spiraling fast.

  Fuck.

  Damn my mother and her selfishness; damn Cassie’s perverted stepfather who can’t control his sick urges; damn Cassie for running to Will every time shit in her own life falls apart. I’m not surprised Will has chosen to turn to the same things I once sought—drinking, drugs. It’s all about seeking fucking oblivion, dude. You don’t have to deal with shit when you’re fucked the hell up.

  But if Will thinks I’m just going to stand around and watch him fall, he’s sadly mistaken.

  In my truck, I tug a flannel shirt on over my T-shirt and then drive away from my house. I travel back to the bad side of town, head down the worn dirt road that leads to Kyle’s house of deeds best forgotten.

  It’s early, dusk, so the party has not yet begun. When I get out of my truck, I notice there’s no one around outside the old dilapidated frame structure Kyle calls home. The screen door is propped open, though, so when I reach the small porch on the house, I push open the front door and let myself in.

  “Gartner,” I hear Kyle breathe out, along with a very loud exhale of smoke, and then a cough.

  I turn toward the living room and find my former dealer reclining on the couch, meth pipe in hand. He lights a flame under the glass bulb, takes a hit, and while trying to hold in his smoke, chokes out, “You want some, man?”

  I shake my head and laugh. “No fucking way.”

  Kyle exhales the rest of the smoke from his lungs. His dark, suspicious eyes meet mine. “Whatcha doing here, then, Gartner?”

  “We gotta talk.”

  Kyle sits up and sets the pipe he’s been smoking from on a coffee table cluttered with other drug paraphernalia. “Okay,” he snaps, “then talk.”

  My former dealer is looking worse than ever these days, skinny and haggard. He’s on his way to becoming used up.

  After my ex-perusal, I get down to business. “I don’t want you selling any more drugs to my kid brother.”

  Kyle laughs. “Little Gartner? Aw, dude, he’s one cool kid. No need to get all bent out of shape. I only sold him some weed, man.”

  “You sold him more than that,” I grind out, my anger rising. “He got pills from someone, and unless the local pharmacy is selling speed over the counter these days, I’m guessing it was from you.”

  “Oh, that,” Kyle mutters. “I forgot.”

  Yeah right.

  Kyle is such a cocky piece of shit that what I’d really like to do is smack the smug look off his fucking face. But I don’t want to make things worse. Kyle knows he has the upper hand in this situation. I have no real way of stopping him from selling whatever he wants to my brother.

  So I take a breath and rein in my rage. “Yes, that,” I sarcastically mock.

  Kyle smirks and I continue to plead my case.

  “Look, Will’s only staying with me the next couple of weeks…and then he’ll be back in Vegas. Don’t sell him anything else, man, or there’s going to be trouble.” I level Mr. Ex-Dealer with an I-am-not-fucking-around look. “After all, Tanner, it’s not like you’re establishing a steady customer here.”

  I may as well appeal to Kyle’s business side. Better than losing it and pummeling the fuck out of his face, right?

  He seems to ponder what I’ve said. Then again, maybe he’s just fading in and out because of the meth he just smoked.

  When he finally replies, he says, “I got an idea that might just make us both happy.”

  The cocky look on his face tells me before he even has a chance to say another word that it’s something I won’t like.

  “What’s your idea?” I ask warily.

  Kyle starts to say, “It’s a business thing—”

  —And I cut him off with, “I am not muling drugs for you.”

  A tense moment of silence ensues. Kyle knows it was his X that sent me away for four years.

  “Don’t worry,” he says lightly, trying to diffuse the tension, “it’s nothing like that.”

  “So, what is it?”

  “Well, the way I see it”—Kyle lights up a cigarette and sits back—“I have a need here. And so do you.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “You don’t want me supplying little Gartner, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  It’s fucking killing me to hear this prick call my brother “little Gartner,” all familiar like, over and over again, but I keep my mouth shut. Best tread lightly.

  “Here’s what I propose,” Kyle says on an exhale as he leans forward and stubs out his barely smoked cigarette. “Next time little Gartner comes a-calling, looking for a little bud or something stronger, I’ll turn him away. But I need you to take care of something for me. Quid pro fucking quo, man, that’s what shit’s all about.”

  “What is this something you need?” I ask warily.

  Kyle chuckles. “See, there’s this guy who owes me a shit-ton of cash. He’s not gonna pay up anytime soon without some, shall we say, encouragement.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I throw up my hands. “Fuck that. I am not your fucking muscle.”

  Kyle leans back and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Fine, it’s your call, Gartner. But, remember, no favor from you, no favor from me.”

  I take a menacing step toward him, and he puts his legs down in a hurry. He cowers back when I growl, “I should fuck you up for even saying something like that.”

  “Be cool, man,” Kyle says, his eyes widening with fear. “Why don’t you use all that righteous anger and just take care of my problem? That way, we both win. I promise, Gartner, you do this for me, and I won’t sell your brother a fucking aspirin even.”

  I scrub my hand down my face. Fuck, I’m at an impasse. This guy who owes Kyle money, I don’t have t
o hurt him. I could just scare him a little. Like what I did with Doug Wilson. I got my point across without laying him out, right?

  I don’t see where I really have a choice, since I’ll basically do anything to keep my brother from following a path that will lead him to problems far worse than the ones he’s currently facing.

  Reluctantly, I agree to “talk” to this customer of Kyle’s who owes him money. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I say quietly.

  Kyle gives me the guy’s address, and it comes as no surprise that he lives in the apartment building Kay used to live in.

  “You could probably find him there later,” Kyle offers, all helpful-like. “He hangs out in the alley next to that building every night.”

  “I know where you mean,” I reply. And sadly, I do. In fact, I know the place all too well.

  “Here’s a picture I got of him.” Kyle picks up his cell phone. “He didn’t know I was taking it when I snapped it last week.”

  He holds out the phone. I put my hand on it but don’t take it right away.

  He glances up. “What?”

  “How long have you been planning on having someone fuck up this guy?” I want to know.

  “Hey, he’s owed me money for a while now,” Kyle says defensively. “I’ve been exceptionally patient, trust me.”

  “Whatever.”

  I grab the phone and take a look at the photo. The guy looks pretty strung out. He’s pale and gaunt, with long, stringy blond hair covering part of his face. Even so, it’s clear he’s hitting a pipe in the picture.

  “He looks like a real winner,” I say to Kyle as I nod to his pipe that’s still on the table.

  “Fuck you, Gartner,” he spits. “Just get this shit done.”

  Kyle starts to get up, like we’re done here. But he’s not calling all the shots.

  “Not so fast.” I shove him back down to the couch. “I’ll do this for you, but we’re doing it on my terms, my timetable.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m waiting till at least Friday night to talk to him.”

  “That’s three fucking days away,” Kyle protests.

  “Too fucking bad. I need to make sure you’re holding up your end of the bargain. I already checked Will’s room, and I know he doesn’t have any drugs at the moment. So, if I see him staying clean the next few days, I’ll assume you’re keeping your word and not selling to him.”