“What’s his agenda?”Zach asks when we’re seated in the diner at lunchtime waiting for our food to arrive.
“Why does he have to have an agenda?” I inquire, sipping on my water.
“Every guy has an agenda when it comes to women, babe,” he replies, sitting up straighter and propping his elbows on the worn tabletop. “Especially football players.”
“He’s not like most football players,” I say, rushing to defend Adam. “And I’ve been around enough to know.”
“I still don’t trust him.” Zach leans back, slumping in the booth with a sulky expression on his face.
“Don’t trust him or don’t like the fact he’s clearly interested in Em?” Scar inquires, arching a slim brow.
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he glares at Scar for daring to call him on it.
“I don’t know if anything will happen with Adam,” I say, “but if it does, it doesn’t change who you are to me.” I reach across the table and take Zach’s hand. “You’re still one of my best friends.”
He links his fingers in mine, staring at me through a troubled lens. “But for how long?” His eyes penetrate mine. “How long before he asks you to give up your lifestyle and the friends who go along with it?” I avert my gaze, and Zach cusses. “Fuck. He’s already demanded that of you?”
“He hasn’t demanded anything of me. That’s not who he is.” I yank my hand back. “He proposed that we both make changes.”
“And you’re seriously considering it?” Disbelief drips from Scarlet’s tone.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yes, I am.” I tuck my hair behind my ears. “I’m sick of feeling like shit all the time, Scar. I’m sick of feeling alone and lost and afraid. And I’m sick of being a victim. If the guys hadn’t rescued me Saturday night, I’d be in a new hell of my own making. Something has got to change, and maybe, just maybe, Adam is right. Maybe there is another way.”
Two sets of incredulous eyes meet mine, and my temper flares. “If you were true friends, you’d support this.” I stand, grabbing my bag and pulling a five-dollar bill out from my wallet. “But it’s clear I’m on my own with this.”
“Sit your whiny ass down, and shut the fuck up and listen.” Scar glares at me, jabbing her finger in the air.
I’m tempted to storm out of there, but I owe my friends the courtesy of listening to them, so I sit back down.
“If you’ve found a guy worth getting clean for, good for you.”
“That’s not it,” I interrupt. “If I do this, I’m doing it for me.”
“Even better,” she admits, leaning across the table. “But you’ve got to realize those worlds don’t coexist. How can you continue to hang with us if we’re high and you’re not? Can you honestly say you could resist the temptation when it’s right there in your face?” Sadness washes over her features. “If you do this, our friendship will come to an end whether you want it to or not.”
* * *
Scar’s wordsare still lingering on my mind as I make my way home after my tutoring session.I know we’re usually high or recovering when we’re together, but could we not hang out when we’re sober? Does she mean our lunch dates are over too? Do I mean that little to both of them that they only want to associate with me if I’m still adopting the same party lifestyle?Her words have done little for my self-confidence, and I’ve been on a downer since our conversation in the diner, and it’s only getting worse.
Now, I’m rethinking my plan. I mean, I had it all worked out fine. Keeping on the straight and narrow Monday to Friday and letting loose on the weekends. There wasn’t any harm in it. If I stick to my guns and limit my partying to weekends, then I’m fine.
Except Adam throws a wrench in the works. But, honestly, his proposal was never going to work. He needs to deal to earn cash for his sister’s medical bills, so suggesting he go cold turkey with me wouldn’t have lasted.
But I don’t want to cut ties with him.
I like him.A lot.
More than Molly?My inner demon taunts me again, but I push that devil off my shoulder.
I want to spend more time with him. I want to see if this connection between us could go further. Maybe, he’ll accept a negotiation of the terms. We could both cut back and still call it progress.
My spirits are slightly lifted as I step foot into my house. My brow puckers as the sound of voices trickles out to greet me. “Hello?” I call out.
“In here, honey!” Mom hollers from the sound of the living room. She only uses terms of endearment in front of others, so that means we have company.
Great. Just what I’m in the mood for.
I tack a fake smile on my face as I walk into the living room. Instantly, the walls spin, and I sway on my feet, clutching onto the door frame to steady myself as I blink successively, sure my eyes must be deceiving me.
