He rubbed a hand over his grizzled jaw but shook his head. “I’m really sorry to hear that. I am. But I can’t help you. I have a good life now. I sold enough shit to buy this place, but now I’m out. I don’t plan on getting back in.”

A sluggish sort of fear wormed under my skin. I set the scripts down on the counter in front of him.

“Gabe, you have to help me.”

“Why?”

“He’s your son.”

Gabe stared at me, his face a mask of shock that was quickly replaced by anger. “Fuck.” He wrenched his ponytail out, smoothed his beach-blond hair, and retied it. “Are you sure?”

“I did a paternity test. I’ll show you.”

He swore again, looking irate. “When?”

“Remember right before Christmas six years ago? It was my first year of residency.”

I could see him doing the math in his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were still dealing! I didn’t want that for my child.”

“Why didn’t you…” He hesitated.

“What, get an abortion?”

“Well, yeah. You were all stressed out about medical school shit.”

I looked away. “I didn’t get to grow up with a family. Josh was my chance to have one.”

“I want to meet him.”

“Absolutely not. I’m married now. I’m not asking you to give financial support or do anything else. I met my husband right after that night. He thinks Josh is his, and I don’t plan on telling him otherwise. I just need your help selling these prescriptions so I can save my son’s life. Our son’s life. Please.”

“Em—”

“We can split the profits, fifty-fifty.”

“No!”

I opened my mouth, but the bell on the door jangled. I glanced over my shoulder.

Cop.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, a chill racing down my spine.

The cop was massive, well over six feet, and probably almost as wide. He had a buzz cut, with dark hair curling over his bare arms and sprouting from the collar of his uniform.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Gabe quickly sweep the prescriptions to the floor behind the counter. He looked like he was going to be sick. I casually hitched my purse higher on my shoulder, letting the rest of the prescription pads drop to the bottom.

The cop’s presence filled the small space. He wandered from aisle to aisle, picking up junk food as he went, a pack of Hostess cupcakes, a bag of Doritos. The refrigerator made a thwucking sound as he grabbed a Coke, then let the door slam shut. His footsteps sounded magnified in the confined space.

And then he was right behind me, his breath lifting the hair at my neck. I squeezed my hands together to hide their shaking.

“A pack of Marlboro Golds, please,” I said loudly to Gabe.