Page 27 of Truck Up
I can’t lose her. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel of my truck and let out a deep growl. What the fuck am I doing?
Lia tells me she’s pregnant, and I run? What an asshole.
How the hell am I supposed to keep her if I act like that? I have to get my shit together—and fast—before it’s too late.
Lia’s the strongest person I know. She doesn’t need me for this. She doesn’t need anyone. There isn’t anything she can’t do on her own. And if I don’t prove to her that I can do this with her, she’ll abandon me. Just like everyone else who decides I’m not worth fighting for.
If that happens, the only person to blame will be me.
Falling back on the seat, I take a deep breath. I really wish I were on my bike. I’d take off and ride until I outran my troubles. Though that’s not likely. My troubles follow me wherever I go. They taint and destroy anything good and beautiful in this world. Which is why I never should have given into my desire for Lia. One taste of her, and I was hooked.
The door to Mom’s apartment opens, and Chase steps outside. He stares at my truck in confusion. He’s probably wondering why I’m just sitting here and not unloading the groceries. Knowing him, he’s eager to get this visit over with and get as far away from Mom as possible.
Taking a deep breath, I grab the bags sitting on the seat next to me and slide out of the truck. I don’t make eye contact with Chase, but I feel his eyes on me. He’s probably worried I slipped and took a hit. I can’t say I blame him. I have a shitty track record with addiction.
“You okay, man?” Chase asks as I pass him and enter the apartment. I nod in response.
I wrinkle my nose when I take a breath. Despite Chase’s efforts to clean, it still smells like a filthy bar after a wild night of partying. The smell of rotten food, stale beer, and vomitstill linger behind the thick layer of pine scented cleaner and disinfectant.
Visiting Mom is a great reminder of why staying clean is so important. I don’t want to live like this. Because this isn’t living. I’m not even sure it’s surviving.
“Where’s Mom?” I call out to Chase.
“Still in the shower.” Chase says as he enters the kitchen with several bags of groceries in hand. “She’s in a shit mood, so prepare yourself. I know she’s always nicer to you, but today her mood is special.”
“Great, can’t wait.” I mumble.
“You’re in a mood too, I see.” I still feel Chase staring at me as I unload the groceries. He’s not wrong, but I don’t want to get into a discussion about my mood right now. It’ll only lead to a fight.
I shrug instead. “I got stuff to make Sloppy Joes. Hope that’s okay.”
He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. If I turn around to face him, I’ll probably find him with his arms crossed over his chest with a hard look on his face. That’s how he always looks at me when he knows I’m keeping a secret from him. Our twin connection makes it hard to hide things from each other.
“From a can or from scratch?” he asks.
I shoot him a glare. “You know me better than that.”
His lips turn up into a huge grin and I internally celebrate that he so willingly let me change the subject from my mood to dinner.
He knows I hate the shit from a can. But Sloppy Joes from scratch is one of my favorite meals.
“Do you want to cook, or do you want me to do it?” he asks.
“I’ve got it if you want to unload the rest of the groceries.”
I finish unpacking the groceries I carried in with me before I get the pan out to fry the ground beef. Thankfully, it’s alreadyclean. Chase probably had to scrub all the dishes before I arrived. Mom hasn’t cleaned her own dishes in years. Hell, she can’t even clean her apartment, which is why it smells so bad in here.
“How bad is she today?” I ask Chase once he finishes unloading my truck.
“Man, I think she’s getting worse.” He sighs and leans against the counter next to me. “Found her passed out in her own vomit. A needle was still stuck in her arm.”
“She’s shooting again?” I whisper. That’s not a good sign. Not that anything she does is good, but needles worry me the most. There’s some seriously bad shit being sold around here, and Mom is not picky about her suppliers.
“Looks like it,” Chase says. “She’s also lost—”
“There’s my favorite son,” Mom mumbles as she stumbles into the kitchen.
I suck in a breath at the sight of her. Her shirt is hanging limp off her shoulders and her pants are sliding down her waist. Her face is sunken in and every bone in her body is sharp and defined like her skin has shrunk tight around them. She looks more like a skeleton than a living person.