Page 107 of Resist

“Dramatic as always.” He rolls his eyes. “And I’ll have you know I haven’t been high in a while.”

“What, a few days? Is that a new record for you?”

But I know the answer. It’s always been the answer when it comes to Brian.

“Fucking barrel of laughs as usual.”

“You have ten seconds to tell me why you’re here, or else I’m slamming the door in your face.”

“You afraid the people on the street are going to start rumors about how their neighbor with the stick up her ass is finally letting loose with a hot guy like me?” He asks the question, but I can see the signs. The constantly scanning eyes. The violent twitching of his body. The stained fingertips. He’s going through withdrawal.

“Does Priscilla know you’re using again?” I ask, ignoring his question as I picture Lucy having to live with this, like this, again when it was hard enough worrying about her with my sister. But at least I knew my sister worshipped her. Brian, on the other hand . . .

“Fuck Priscilla.”

Please, tell her that. It’ll make this process easier.

“I took a hit from a friend. It’s the first time I used since . . . since Sammy died.”

My laugh is instantaneous. His lie is that funny. But it doesn’t matter that he’s coming down from whatever it is he took; it only matters if Priscilla sees it. It only matters if he screws up enough that social services deems him an unfit father.

“Ten. Nine. Eight . . .” I begin the countdown.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“I figured.”

“Two hundred thousand dollars, and I give up all rights to Lucy.”

I sputter out a laugh, and then it slowly fades to disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

On one hand, this is all it takes to get the jackass out of the picture? On the other hand, that’s all he thinks that precious little girl is worth?

And I’m not stupid enough to think that even if I had the money to pay him off, he’d ever stop coming back for more.

But still, if I had the money . . .

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You look like a junkie desperate for his next fix and more than willing to sell his daughter for it.”

“Hey”—he flashes me a smile that reminds me of what a handsome man he used to be before the drugs ravished his features—“a man has to do what a man has to do.”

Tears of anger burn in my eyes as my hands fist, and I fight every inclination I have not to swing out and deck him.

“You know what, Brian? If I could, I would, but I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Ah, I doubt that. You still work in that fancy club? Can’t you get one of the sugar daddies there to front you the cash?”

“You need to leave.” My fingers grip onto the sides of the doorframe.

“A fancy place like this, you’ve got to have some kind of cash lying around.”

“A fancy place? I rent it, Brian. I rent it because I’m so busy trying to pay down all of the debt I incurred while trying to keep Samantha alive.”

He snorts. “You were the stupid bitch who lifted your credit card up and offered to pay for her.”

“It was either that or let her overdose,” I shout at him, remembering the frantic calls to facilities to get her into a rehab program after she finally begged me for help. Her confession that she forgot about Lucy and left her at the park alone while she went and got high. How scared she was when she couldn’t find Lucy until a neighbor walked her back home. The required up-front fees to even get her admitted. The daily counseling afterward. The medications to combat the urges, the depression, the hepatitis B she’d contracted from sharing needles.