“I might not be a therapist,” he calls from the other room, “but I do know addiction. The way it sucks and bleeds me dry, yet I keep going back for more. And I know you.”
Mid-sip, I almost choke. The man’s delusional if he thinks he knows me.
“You, my son, don’t have to be afraid of suffering from the same disease.”
“Disease, huh?”
There’s a pause, brief but heavy. “All I’m saying is, it’s not the same thing. Yes, you have issues to work through, thanks to me. But that’s all they are: issues. They can be solved. Heck, just look at you. Already ten times the man I ever was.”
My fingers dig into the glass, and I take a second to breathe through my nose. I’m already falling into the trap, having a conversation as if we have anything to talk about. But this is what he does. He wants something, and suddenly, he’s taking an interest in you. Maybe he even has a few twisted ways of complimenting you. It’s the same shit he used to pull on Mom. Must be some hole he’s dug for himself this time around though. A few years ago, he would’ve been way smoother than this.
When I finally feel calm enough, I set the glass down and walk back into the living room.
His chin lifts, eyes tracking me.
I lean back, propping a foot on the wall. “I’m not giving you money.”
His head falls to his chest. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t—”
“No.” My voice is hard, cold. Almost unrecognizable.
“Christ.” He shuts his eyes and rubs his face, fingers trembling. “The guys who did this to me ... they’re bad men, Hunt. On a whole different scale than the bookies I’ve gotten mixed up with in the past. I don’t even know how they tracked me down way out here, but they did. And they’ll do it again.”
I glance away. “So get it together. Get a real job.”
“But I am.” His swollen eyes lift, hope sparking through them. “I am. That’s how I got into this mess.”
My eyes narrow.
“I swear. I’m so tired of it. All of it. Hell, I’m exhausted. I told them I’m through. That I wanted out and wanted to get back on the right track, maybe even figure out a way to get my architect business up and running again. I proposed a payment plan, but they said I owe them too much and came back at me with fifty percent interest.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Fifty percent!”
He doesn’t even hear the irony. After he just finished ranting about what addiction does to him, the way he keeps going back for more no matter what, I don’t know what he expects me to say. I’ve watched him put Mom through this too many times to count, and just listening to the déjà vu now makes my gut twist like someone’s reaching inside me and squeezing.
“Look, I’m not asking for you to pay my debt.” He shakes his head. “That’d be ridiculous.”
“That’s when this will get ridiculous?”
“Please, son. Just listen. I have a plan. Some connections back in Vegas who can help me. I just need a little help getting back there. You know, enough for a flight, maybe a motel for a night or two.”
My fingers tap against my jeans, the motions erratic.
“What do you want from me?” he whispers, staring at his hands in his lap. “You want me to beg? ’Cause I will.” Before I can register the movement, he’s falling to his knees and crawling toward me. Literally fucking crawling. Wincing with every step.
Disgust, thick as bile, rises up my throat as I stare down at the man slumped at my feet. But there’s something else too—something banging on my chest hard enough to pierce straight through. What the hell is he doing? Conway Hunt might be a liar, a cheat, a man without morals or loyalty. But he neverbegs.
My jaw tight, I drag my eyes up to the white wall opposite me. “Get up. Please.”
“They’re gonna kill me,” he whispers through shaky breaths. “You know that, right? The next time they find me, they’ll—”
“I’ll give you some damn money. Just ... please, get up.”
“Y-you will?”
Still staring at the wall, I nod, and he exhales. After a second, he stumbles carefully back to the sofa bed, and I make my way to the kitchen again. My sore legs throb as I bend to open the cabinet beneath the sink and reach past the pipes. Ears pounding, I pull out my safe just enough to dial the code. When it pops open, I count out a thousand bucks with shaking hands, leaving the other three that I haven’t deposited yet inside. I’ll bring four hundred to Mr. Everest later today to cover next month’s rent, set aside a couple hundred for other bills and minimal grocery shopping, then deposit the remainder later today to go with the rest of my savings.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, especially when I know it’s just enabling him. But I can’t stand it, seeing him like this, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep the emotion from showing on my face.
With a stack of cold cash in my grip, I tuck the safe back into the far corner of the cabinet and grab a bag of green beans from the freezer, suppressing a grimace at the sharp sting that tears through me at the movement.
