“Yeah, she is. She’s helping me with my problems.” Which is true. I see my therapist every week, and we go over all my mom trauma.
“Exactly how much more do you owe?”
“Another twelve. I didn’t want to worry you,” I say in a rush. “I thought if I told you the full amount, you’d freak out. I gave the man half, thinking that would get him off my back until I saved up the rest.”
“You owe a hitman another twelve grand? What the hell, Mira? What were you thinking, spending that kind of money at the casinos?” He grabs the back of his neck.
I lean my head against the glass, staring at the dumpster beside the carport. “Loan shark. And yes, I’ve stopped.” No way can I give my mom any more money.
“So the men who hurt you were sent by that man? Why didn’t you tell me the truth? Do you realize how dangerous this is? My parents and I would have paid it off, Mira. We need to tell the police. And I’m giving you the rest of the money.”
“Lewis, stop. You need to give me a chance. I have a plan on how to pay the rest back.”
Well, the seed of a plan, anyway.
He stares at me. “You don’t get it, Mira. You could have died last night.”
I close my eyes for a beat, because he’s right. That doesn’t mean I can keep depending on Lewis to fix my problems. Yes, I’m making changes when it comes to my mom, but I’m also working on not relying on Lewis and his family for everything.
“Just give me a couple of weeks to look into some things. A job opportunity just opened up. I’ve wanted a normal schedule for a while. This position pays better and it’s a total nine-to-fiver. If I cut down on expenses and find a better job, I know I can get these guys off my back. I don’t need much, and I’m good at saving money.”
“When you’re not gambling,” he grumbles. “You’re frugal as hell. Which is why this entire thing makes no sense.” He looks at me. Really looks at me, and I wonder if he sees the truth.
I avoid his eyes.
“In fact,” he continues, “you hardly have any expenses as it is. I don’t know how you think you can cut back.”
I open the door and step out, meeting Lewis at the back of his car. “The guy I owe is an ass, but he takes installments. He charges insane interest, but it’s worth it. I got behind last time, but I can fix this. I know I can. You can’t bail me out of everything. Even my therapist says I need to stop depending on you.”
Resignation crosses his face. My words hit their mark. Lewis has been asking me to listen to my therapist for weeks. He can’t turn around and tell me not to now.
He rubs the back of his neck again and stretches it, as if our conversation has given him a neck cramp. It isn’t easy for Lewis to allow me to take care of myself. The dependency goes both ways.
He drops his arm stiffly to his side. “Two weeks, Mira. I’ll give you two weeks to come up with a plan.” We start walking toward my apartment building. “If you live at Cali’s, and stay away from your mom, and stick by Tyler’s side. I’ll cover the rent at your studio.”
“You don’t?—”
“That’s it. No exceptions.” We climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment, and I pull out the keys. “You won’t have to pay Cali for the cabin. Tyler texted Jaeger he’ll pay the rent while Cali is away. This is what I’m proposing. Otherwise, I pay off that man, and you’re going into a treatment center—for gambling.”
Huge emphasis on the last word.
Lewis is no dummy. I’m sure he suspects my mom is behind this somehow, but if he isn’t bringing it up, neither am I. Maybe he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe he doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of the truth.
I open the door to my apartment and we walk inside. It’s not much. A love seat and end table. A small bookshelf with more knickknacks than books—a vase that held flowers from my high-school graduation, a small Washoe woven basket my mom gave me before she lost her home.
I turn to him. “But living with Tyler…”
Lewis shrugs. “Your choice. Those are my conditions.”
I’m not sure how he thinks he can throw me in a treatment center without my consent, given I’m an adult, but I can tell he’s at least trying to give me space to do the right thing. It goes against Lewis’s instincts not to bail me out.
“Okay, agreed.”
He looks around. “Where’s your suitcase?”
I point to the closet by my bed, and Lewis pulls my suitcase from the top shelf while I grab clothes out of a drawer.
He stares at the broken handle and wheel, and shakes his head. “Frugal girl…You need a new one of these.”
