All I keep thinking as I walk back to the shop to talk to Murph is that if I get arrested for this, then I deserve it. Not because I sold anything bad to Tyler, but because I had intentions to sell at all.

In my mind, it’s just as bad to almost sell a kid a shit-ton of drugs as it is to actually do it.

When I reach the shop, it’s quiet, and Murph is waiting in his office at the back. It’s just a small storage room with a desk, but it has a chair big enough for Murph. He’s leaning back with his arms crossed, waiting for me.

“Spill it,” he bellows as I walk in. Murph has seen enough bullshit in his life to be able to see right through it.

“I didn’t sell that kid shit.” It feels good to speak the truth, even if I’m not entirely guiltless.

“Then why are the cops showing up at my shop?” he asks.

Any other boss would fire me. I’m too much trouble, even when I’m innocent. But Murph isn’t any boss. He’s my brother’s best friend. And when my brother pulled Murph out of trouble, he promised to return the favor.

They had a pact. As close to family as any of them ever got.

“Because some punk kids thought it would be fun to give them my name.”

“Are you using?”

“No,” I answer as softly as I can. Again, it feels good to be honest. I haven’t gotten high in four days.

“Are you selling?”

Here’s where I hesitate. Murph notices because he leans forward and lets out a long exhale, balancing his elbows on his knees.

I pull up a black folding chair and straddle it backward, letting my head fall into my hands.

“I’m in debt.”

“To that little fuck?” Murph bites out, referring to Hale. He knows it all without even having to ask.

I nod.

“So he’s making you take the fall for him, Logan.”

“I realize that.”

“As long as he keeps you in the red, he controls you.”

I nod along. I’m not one to be lectured, but Murph gets it. He says all the things I already know, but I let him chastise me because I fucking deserve it.

“I can’t get out of the red this time,” I say. Looping my fingers together, I press them against the back of my head and look up at the ceiling. This is the part that hurts.

“Why not?”

“Because I lost the stash I was supposed to sell.” It comes out with an exhale, and Murph’s eyes go wide as saucers.

“Jesus, fuck, Logan.”

“Ten grand. Because I know you’re about to ask.”

“Shit.” He stands from his chair and paces the room.

“I’m going to sell my bike,” I answer.

“I can help you…” he says, letting his voice drift.

“No way.” Standing up, I put my hands up to stop him. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m not a kid anymore, and you’ve already done enough for me. This is not your problem to fix.”