Here’s my opportunity. I can grab him some meds or a bucket of chicken soup, report back to Mrs. O’Laughlin that West’s got the flu but is otherwise okay, and get on with my day.
“Do you need anything?”
“Nah, I’m okay.” He coughs again, taking a step back. The door swings open a little farther. Over West’s shoulder, a line of bottles is visible on the coffee table. They’re all empty.
He glances over his shoulder following my gaze. When he turns back, he rubs his neck nervously.
“I had a party,” he says.
“You sure you don’t need anything?” I ask, trying to avoid uncomfortable questions. “Some food or—”
“No, it’s good.” He gives me a thin smile. “Just need a shower and I’ll be back on the straight and narrow.”
“Are you off the straight and narrow?” I’m so afraid of the answer. We haven’t talked much about West’s sobriety, but I gather it’s a fairly new thing.
“No.” He glances behind him. “Those aren’t mine. I can handle myself.”
“West. Your grandmother’s worried.” Screw it. We’re adults. I’m not pussyfooting around this.
West stiffens. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” I put a hand on the door when he goes to close it and realize my mistake immediately.
His expression hardens. “Fuck you. What are you, her errand boy?”
“I thought I was your friend.”
He sneers. “Not if you’re spying on me for my family. Just leave me alone, Mason.”
This time, I let him go when he slams the door.
Back in my car, I stare at my phone for a long time. I should call Mrs. O’Laughlin—but tell her what, exactly? West’s struggling, but I have no proof he was lying. And a bunch of empty bottles and the hangover from hell does not necessarily constitute a crisis.
This is why I don’t get involved. Why I keep to myself. You can’t trust people. And most only want you in their lives as long as it’s convenient. If West needs help, it’s going to take some work to convince him, and why should that be my job? We don’t belong to each other.
As I wrestle with what to do, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Of course, Charlie would call now. I stare at his name on the screen, my thumb and brain frozen in indecision. As much as I’d like to see him again, Charlie’s not a hooking up kind of guy. He’s a “sitting under the Christmas tree with his boyfriend and their beautiful puppy” guy. And it’s probably better to step aside before any of this gets complicated.
More complicated.
Still, my heart sinks when the notification about a new voicemail comes up. Further, when a text follows a few moments later.
Hey, I called, but then thought maybe we’d agreed I should text? I guess you can call or text me when you get this?
He makes it sound so simple, but it won’t be. We could be good together, but it will take some work. He’s hiding things, and I’ll have to be patient if I want to wade into the mess, and messes like that are why I don’t do people.
But I do dogs. And Juniper is definitely wondering where the hell I’ve gotten to.
I’ll call Charlie later.
9
Charlie
Mason doesn’t callme back. Or text. I try not to overthink it. I take Athena for a walk, practicing the things that Mason taught us. We do pretty good, but our success only makes me want to talk to Mason more, which doesn’t help my resolution to stop checking my phone to see if he’s called.
We walk all the way to City Park. She nearly yanks me off my feet to chase after a fluffy white dog in a pink sweater, but the new leash and collar I got for her help me get her under control faster than the retractable one, and she doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear on it, so I guess Mason really does know what he’s talking about.
