His eyes scan my face, and heat starts to build in my neck and my cheeks, but he nods as we carry on past the cemetery. I let out a long, slow breath. Suddenly, we’re at the corner where Jamaica Houses start.
“Did you do this walk on your own every night after you joined us?” he says, looking around.
“Uh … yeah.”
His jaw tightens, and he glances back up the road. “It’s kind of deserted.”
I follow his line of sight. “I guess I’m used to it.” I give him a small smile. “Let’s go to my mom’s.”
We take a right and head down 159th Street to the familiar apartment building, through the downstairs door with the busted lock. James raises his eyebrows at the elevator, but I shake my head as we walk up the battered tiled stairwell with its yellow and blue paint. A familiar smell of urine and something sickly, like pot, rises as we pass the familiar beaten-up doors, the blare of a television, and the sound of a couple arguing. I don’t dare look at his expression. Shit. What must he think of me? Five stories up, we’re at number 52: I slot my key in the door.
“Hi, Mom!” I shout.
“Hey, Sadie.” My mom appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dishcloth, and her eyes widen when she spots James right behind me.
Crap. In all my panic about him coming along, I didn’t warn her.
“This is James, from work,” I blurt out. “He’s come to help me move some stuff.”
“Oh, Sadie!” she exclaims. “You should have said something! I would have tidied up.” Her eyes dart over the hallway as she presses her palms to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry—this apartment …” She trails off as she gazes around. “I’m being rude.” Her hands land on her apron as her eyes lift to James’s. “It’s lovely to meet you, James.”
When I turn to look at him, his eyes are twinkling behind his glasses. “Likewise, Mrs. Turner.”
My eyes sweep over the clean but battered walls and carpet. “It’s fine, Mom. This place is spotless.”
“Less so now I’ve lost my helper,” she grumbles.
I step forward and pull her into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you,” I murmur, and when I move back, her eyes are a bit glassy as she blinks at me. I peer into the living room. Shit, I didn’t think about Jake coming back here after I saw him outside the office. “No Jake?”
“No, he went to work.”
“Work?He got a job? Where?”
“Security. Downtown,” she says.
Was that why he was outside the office? He thought he’d come and hassle me first? Aside from that text and turning up today, I haven’t heard from him for a couple of weeks. I was hoping that meant he was fixing whatever the problem was with that debt of his.
She nods, fiddling with the dishcloth as her eyes flick to James. “Would you like something to drink? A hot tea? A coffee?”
“A coffee would be amazing, Mrs. Turner.” And my mom turns and we follow her into the kitchen as she fills the kettle with water, placing it on the stovetop.
“I messaged Jake about why he turned up at your office today, and he said it was nothing to worry about; he just stopped by on his way to work.”
I snort. What a load of hogwash.
She stretches to take a cup out of the cupboard. “I’ve told Jake that he can’t stay here no more, that he’s got to move out, or I’m going to report him to the cops for touching you.”
Jesus Christ, Mom, don’t tell James that!
James’s eyes go wide and swing to mine. “What?”
This is going from bad to worse. “We’ll talk about it later,” I say through gritted teeth.
My mom’s gaze flits between the two of us and comes to a rest on me. “Are you going to press charges?”
Christ, what is James going to make of all this? His eyes are fixed on the side of my face. I can’t talk about money, whatever the hell this debt is, or what Mom has found out about Jake being involved in anything more nefarious, now can I? Never mind what the threat might be to her. I look down at my hands. “No, I’m not.”
James sucks in a noisy breath next to me, and I don’t dare look at him. How does it help my mom if I press charges? Jake’s still living here; he couldtake it out on her. He’s on a bank account with both of our names on it. She could end up paying in all sorts of ways.
