“You think you got a concussion?”
“No,” she answered quietly.
“You sure?” I chuckled, then playfully shook her leg. Yale was deep in thought, and I needed to know where her mind was. This shit with Grant was fucking with me, but I couldn’t move forward until I knew she was good. “Because if you do, I've got you.”
“I’m good,” she replied, then turned her attention to the window. “I just want to shower and go to bed.”
“Same,” I agreed. “I smell like sweat, burnt rubber, and something else I refuse to acknowledge.”
“Death,” Yale softly said. “We smell like death.”
I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but I couldn’t. That wreck was bad, from my point of view. I could see the shit, but Yale was in the car. When she turned the corner, I knew something was wrong. Yale was a good ass driver; she knew cars, but the wayshe was driving was erratic. It was like she didn’t have control of the car and couldn’t slow down. The black Chevy she hit came out of nowhere, and it was legit not her fault, but I knew my best friend. She was going to blame herself no matter what. The sound of the car flipping and then exploding would sit with her forever.
I parked in my assigned parking spot, and then we got out of the car. The walk to my apartment was quick. I lived on the first floor, and even though it was a ten-unit building, only two apartments were occupied, which I loved.
“You want me to fix you something to eat while you shower?” I asked Yale, and she shook her head. “You sure?”
“I just want to shower then sleep,” she answered as she walked through the dark apartment.
I turned on the light in the living room, then dropped onto the couch. When I heard the shower start, I picked up my phone from the table, powered it on, and waited. I had a million voicemails plus a million more texts from my family. They knew I didn’t take my phone with me to shit like that because the phone could be tracked. I wiped my hand over my mouth and called Citrine, since he was the least likely to spazz out.
“What’s good?” he answered on the second ring. “I've been trying to call you for the last two hours.”
“Shit went left,” I said, getting straight to the point. “Can you slide through?”
“Yeah, give me thirty,” he said, then hung up.
If he said he needed 30 minutes, it would take him closer to an hour. I dropped my phone on the couch beside me and took a deep breath. Shit was fucked up. I pushed myself up from the couch and made my way into my bedroom. Yale stepped out of the bathroom just as I opened my dresser to grab some ball shorts.
“You use all the hot water?” I joked, and she shook her head. I didn’t like how she was moving at all. I closed the dresser, threw my shorts over my shoulder, and approached her. “Sunshine, talk to me.” I lifted her chin to make her look at me, and instantly her eyes filled with tears. “Tell me how to fix it.”
“You can’t,” she sadly replied. “It’s on me, Am.”
“Nah, it ain’t,” I said, then pulled her into a hug. “I stole the car; it was on me.”
“I was the driver,” she cried. “I killed whoever was in that car.” She broke down, and all I could do was hold her. That was what was hurting her. She was hurting for the person her car hit.
I picked her up and walked over to the bed. Yale cried on my chest until she cried herself to sleep.
“I didn’t think she’d ever stop crying,” Mama softly said, standing in my doorway. I heard them come in, but I appreciated that they respected me enough not to come back here until they thought it was okay. “What happened?”
“Give me a minute,” I requested, and she nodded. I gently laid Yale in the bed, covered her with my blanket, and walked out of the room. I made sure the door was cracked open, just in case she woke up.
“You look like shit,” Pop said as I hugged him. He palmed the back of my head when I tried to move back and shook his head. “The fuck happened? Why was my daughter in there crying?”
“Long story,” I said, shaking my head. My parents and brothers treated Yale like family, even though I only called her my best friend. They knew how I felt about her and were just waiting for me to step the fuck up.
“We got time,” he said, and I nodded. He let me go, and I greeted my brothers, then dropped a kiss on Mama’s head before taking my seat. “Talk, Amethyst.”
“You heard about that wreck downtown?” I asked, looking around the room. Everybody nodded. “That was Yale.”
“What?” Mama’s face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean by that was Yale?”
“She was the driver,” I answered. “We did a run for the Kilmores.”
“Here we fucking go,” Pop sighed and dropped his head. “I told you to stop fucking with that nigga after the last run you did, Amethyst.”
“I know, Pop,” I sighed. “This was our last run. The bag was half a million apiece. It was going to give Yale a nice nest egg.” I wiped my hands over my face.
