“Unbelievably helpful,” he corrects, smug. Then he exhales smoke like a dragon, eyes glinting with the satisfaction of someone about to deliver a story. “Turns out Chloe Ashford’s been transferred here. Communications major. Should technically be in second year, but she’s picking up some first-year classes to catch up. And—you’ll love this—she listed her address at East Pointe.”
I straighten, brows lifting. “East Pointe?”
He nods, clearly enjoying the way I lean into every word.
“That’s… not exactly the neighborhood for spoiled rich girls.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jamie flicks ash onto the ground, passes me the blunt again. “I had someone check on the net. Turns out Daddy Dearest had himself a hell of a scandal. Embezzled cash in Chicago Gold Coast and the whole damn Pointe. Now he’s rotting in prison. All their assets? Frozen. Wiped clean. The family went from penthouse to—well—Pointe apartments.”
I drag on the blunt, the smoke harsh this time, like it’s scraping truth down my throat. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I exhale. “I didn’t see that one coming.”
Jamie smirks, proud of himself. “Nobody did. That’s why it was all over the papers. The scandal was huge. A lot of folk are pissed.” He shrugs, like it is nothing. “Anyway, that’s why she’s here. Her little princess castle crumbled, and now she’s just another broke kid trying to get through college.”
I lean my head back, stare at the sky through the smoke. My chest loosens, just a fraction. This is what I needed—answers. Something real instead of my own paranoia chewing me alive. “So that’s it. She’s not here for me. She’s not a problem.”
“Nope.” Jamie takes the blunt back, sucks in, his lips curling around it before he exhales, smoke drifting between us. “She’s been offered sessions with the school therapist, by the way. Declined them. Apparently she’s just here for school. Wants to keep her head down.”
I exhale hard, smoke leaving my mouth in a slow stream. Relief settles into me, heavy, like a weight dropping. “Good.”
“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, a smile tugging his mouth as he hits again. “So you’re all clear, brother. No ghosts coming back to haunt you. Although…” His grin slides wider, wicked. “I think I’ll keep an eye on her anyway.”
I laugh. “You mean you’ll keep an eye on her tits.”
Jamie smirks, not even pretending otherwise. “Can you fault me? They deserve admiration. Some things in life just do.”
I shake my head, amusement pulling at my lips despite myself.
I take the blunt, dragging deep, feeling the haze spread heavier in my limbs. The world slows just enough that I can breathe again.
“I’ve been called for another meeting with my uncle. Six sharp.”
Jamie exhales, nodding. “It’s only four now. And I don’t have to leave for the bar until five-thirty. So why don’t you take a nap in the back seat? I’ll wake you up before you gotta go.”
“I can’t sleep.” The words are automatic, my jaw tightening. Sleep has not been kind to me in years.
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Then pop a pill or something, dude. You look like death warmed over. I’ll work on our assignments while you knock out for an hour.”
I hesitate, then reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out the orange prescription bottle. The white label glares in the light.Diazepam 10mg.
Jamie whistles when he sees it. “Going strong tonight, huh?”
I twist the cap off, shake one into my palm, and swallow it dry. “You said nap. I’m trying.”
“Good man.” He grins, settling back against the hood with his phone in one hand, blunt in the other. “Go on. I’ll keep watch.”
I nod, too tired to argue. The backseat of his car is warm, the upholstery smelling faintly of leather and smoke. I stretch out, my body sinking into the worn cushions, the haze of weed mixing with the slow slide of the pill in my bloodstream.
The hum of Jamie’s voice outside drifts faint, his laughter carrying over the music he’s put on low. My eyelids grow heavy, the tension in my chest loosening by degrees I hadn’t thought possible. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I let myself go.
And sleep takes me.
I’m standing in the middle of the rink, but it’s not the rink at all. It’s my room, my bed, the sheets pulled back. Chloe is bentover, her tiny skirt barely covering anything, the pleats flaring as if even the fabric knows how much I want to see underneath. A cheer uniform, red and white, with her ponytail bouncing as she shifts. I’ve got my hand pressed between her shoulders, my palm firm, the other hand raised. She looks back at me over her shoulder, lips parted, daring me. Begging without saying a word.
I bring my hand down. The sharp crack echoes. Her skirt flips up, the bounce of her ass so perfect it makes my chest seize. She gasps, but she’s smiling. Another strike. She moans.
I’m about to tell her to count when the scene dissolves like melting ice under a sudden sun.
“Miles. Hey. Wake up, man.”
