I accept the card, he leaves, and I drop to the waiting-area couch. The card contains his name, his number. What does Abby sell? Did it kill that kid? Is Abby a killer?
The world was easier when I was able to ignore Abby selling drugs.
“Hate the sin, not the sinner, isn’t that what good people say? Or are you asking yourself at what point does the sin overtake the sinner?” Linus eases into the chair next to the sofa. “I’ve seen that look before. It’s the type people have before they snitch.”
I’m beginning to understand why Isaiah keeps a safe distance from this part of Abby’s world.
“Since the good detective showed you pictures, I’m going to show you a few of my own.”
“What makes you think I’ll help you?” I maintain eye contact, not at all scared of whatever he has to offer.
“Because Abby’s in danger until we find who shot her.”
“I don’t know who shot her.”
“And you’re full of shit. Even if you don’t, you saw something. I need to know what.” Linus turns his phone to me and on the screen is one of the guys who I spotted running before Abby was shot. Another slide of his finger and there’s guy number two. Neither is the guy I saw leaving Abby’s alley. “Did you see either of them?”
“It was dark and all I cared about was finding Abby.”
Deadpan is the only expression this guy owns. “Real Boy Scout, huh? You don’t want to tell me, then tell Abby. She knows how the game’s played. If you’re bent on being Abby’s savior, do me a favor, get her out of town. Less babysitting on my end.”
Without another word, he gets up and leaves. I stare at the detective’s card. Isaiah asked how solid I am on where I stand on this. I’m firm on Abby, firm that she needs help, but I’m not sure if the help Abby needs is help she’ll accept.
Abby
I lost one week of my life in the hospital. One week of sales. One week of summer. One week of seeing my grandmother. I’ve never been so bored and restless in my entire life.
A quick check of my clothes and I step out of the bathroom. Isaiah leans against the wall next to my bag of stuff I collected throughout the week. Clothes sent in from Rachel, books from Isaiah—the good slutty kind and I would have given another day here to see him walk up to a counter to buy those—and sitting on top of the bag is my state-fair-winning prize for being a good little patient, the bunny Logan bought me. His name is Francis and Francis doesn’t like being inside a bag. He’s very demanding for something with furry ears and full of fluff.
Isaiah gestures to the wheelchair. “They’re pretty serious about you riding in that thing on the way out.”
“Linus has boys watching me in the hospital. I’m pretty set on walking out on my own two feet. I’ve got a public-relations nightmare on my hands and I need to prove I’m strong.” I pause to suck up the courage to eat my pride. “Thank you for watching over me when I couldn’t protect myself.”
“I owe you. Always will.”
“You’ve done well for yourself.” I offer Isaiah a sad smile and the same sad smile is reflected only in his eyes. “You’re a far cry from the boy I first met years ago.”
“You could change, Abby.”
“Oh, Isaiah, you really are cute.” I wink. “Have you considered becoming an inspirational speaker? A guidance counselor, maybe?”
His lips tilt up then fall back down.
“After this,” I say, “consider your debt paid.”
He’s a long way from the hungry boy I met in a Dumpster when I was throwing out trash for my father near the strip mall at his friend’s bar. I shared my dinner and lunch with Isaiah for weeks. Then I convinced my uncle Mac to hire him for the car shop when Isaiah was a scrawny mess still in middle school. He bloomed from the pity of a boy into the man that won the girl he loves and makes bank working on custom cars.
One week in a hospital, a lot of time to reflect. Logan could have been killed because of me and I’m not okay with that. I’m nowhere near okay with that. The idea of him dying creates a black sludge in my veins and constricts my chest and my hand grabs for my throat because I feel like I can’t breathe.
Isaiah pulls on his lower earring, which means something’s eating him—like probably whatever was stuck up his ass that caused him to become all legit.
“Spit it out. Angst pisses me off.”
“Logan thinks he’s picking you up.”
“He does.” I turn to the small mirror over the sink. Should have asked Rachel for makeup. I’m not a cosmetics type of girl, but I look like the leftovers from a vampire feast.
Rachel.
The pain strikes fast and deep and I bend with the impact, holding on to the sides of the sink to stay upright. It’s that internal feeling like I’m falling. Off a cliff, from an airplane, into an abyss. “Have you told Rachel yet?”
“I did what you asked with Logan, but if you want to break Rachel’s heart, you’re going to have to do that.” Isaiah does that damn brooding thing.
I roll my eyes and face him again. “You’re the one who didn’t want me to become her friend. Their friend. If I remember correctly, you told me to back off of all of them—Rachel, West, Logan.”
“I told you to be careful. There’s a difference. I don’t have a problem with you being their friend, I have a problem with you being a drug dealer.”