Page 29 of Truck Up
As soon as I step outside, a rush of cool air washes over me. It’s almost fall and the days are cooling off. It’s a sad reminder that my motorcycle days are coming to a close until spring.
I stare at my truck, and my skin crawls. I need my bike so I can ride off and disappear into the hills. That would give me the peace I desperately need right.
So would holding Amelia, but I’ve fucked that up. That’s what I always do when good things come into my life.
I’m too much like my mother. It’s bad enough that I’ve already ruined my life. Now I’ve gone off and ruined Amelia’s life.
If Amelia knows what’s good for her, she’ll never speak to me again.
“Christian, where are you going?” Chase calls after me. I make it all the way to my truck before he reaches me. He grabs my arm and forces me to face him. “What’s wrong with you? You’re white as a ghost.”
“Just let me go.” I push him away, but he doesn’t budge.
“No. Not until you talk to me.” His tone is firm, making it clear he’s not backing down. I either talk or he’s not letting me out of his sight.
We’ve been down this road too many times. He knows my tells, and I’m about to lose it. When I lose it, I use.
“Bro, I can’t.” My chest tightens and I feel the start of a panic attack coming on. I haven’t had one of those in months. Maybe even more than a year.
I squeeze my eyes closed and focus on my breathing, taking slow deep breaths the way my therapist taught me to do. Usually this works, but right now, it’s not doing a damn thing to calm me down.
“Christian, talk to me.” Chase’s hands grip my shoulders, and that’s when I realize I’m sliding to the ground. My anxiety is winning, and I’m losing control.
I don’t know how long I lean against my truck hunched over before I look up at my twin. When I do, the look on his face has me wishing I could erase this entire day.
“I’m fine,” I say in a rush. “Promise.”
Then I push to my feet and dig my keys out of my pocket. But Chase is faster, and he snatches them from me before I can catch my footing.
“You’re not running. Talk to me.” Somehow, he sounds both authoritative and caring.
“Just let me go.” I grab for my keys, but he jerks his hand out of my reach.
“Are you using again?” he asks.
His words are enough to snap me back to the moment. I stare at him like I don’t know who I’m looking at. I understand why he’s asking—I would too if the roles were reversed—but it still pisses me off. I’ve been clean for over two years with no intention of backsliding.
“No.” I knock my shoulder against his as I push past him. Digging into my jacket pocket, I grab a cigarette before I take a seat on the step outside Mom’s apartment door. After lighting it, I take a long drag. The nicotine instantly calms my pounding heart, and my nerves settle. It’s nowhere near the same effect I get from taking a hit, but it helps.
“Please tell me what’s going on.” Chase takes a seat next to me. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I know you. I sense turmoil.”
I meet my brother’s worried gaze. As much as I don’t want to say the words, he will not find peace until I talk to him. He understands me too well. We’re too connected.
“She’s pregnant,” I whisper.
His brow furrows. “Who’s pregnant?”
“The girl I’ve been seeing.”
His eyes widen and his shoulders slump. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” I take another drag from my cigarette before I drop my head and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m not sure that’s even the worst part.”
“Worst part?” Chase raises a brow as if to say how could it possibly be worse than an unplanned pregnancy for a recovering addict like me.
I take another drag from my cigarette and brace myself for his response. Chase will always support me no matter what, but this is huge. So huge it’s going to cause problems for everyone.
“Christian, you’re scaring me. Will you please just say it?” He squeezes my shoulder. I lift my eyes to his and the worry I see makes my gut wrench. He’s only ever looked at me like that when I was using.