“It means just as much to Mia,” he counters, ignoring that his friend is falling apart because of some selfish pride or something. I can’t figure him out.

He won’t sell it to Lark, so I know he won’t sell it to me. There’s no point in asking, at least not tonight when everyone’s heated. Instead, I say, “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Back at ya.”

Amanda steps in the middle of us. “Stop. This is too much.” Facing Dane, she says, “Look at Lark. Look at your friend. Are you really doing this? You’re going to keep it from her?”

“Don’t get involved, Amanda.”

“I’m involved because my best friend is involved, and I’ll always have her back.” She embraces Lark again. “This is your chance to do the right thing,” she says. “if you’re capable of it.”

I think they can ask and beg all they want, but he’s already decided. If he won’t give it to her because of the sentimental value, then nothing will change his mind.

Lark looks up at me. “I want to go home.”

Hearing her pain threaded through her tone, breaks me. I glare at him. “I’m starting to think you’re the one who stole it, asshole.”

Ignoring her altogether, he flips me the bird as he heads for the truck. “Fuck you.” He stops before he steps into the street and taps his truck. “You want to know where I got it? Fine. I’ll tell you, but remember, I tried to protect you, Lark.”

“Protect me how? You’re the one who’s betraying me.” She doesn’t have enough anger to hold on to now that hope has been dangled like a carrot in front of her.

I hate that fucker for giving Lark hope when I know she’ll only be disappointed. “This isn’t over,” I warn, a roar inside me itching to come out through my fists.

“Fine. You want to know how much it cost?” He looks me dead in the eyes, and a slimy grin appears. “A quarter bag and ten Oxy pills.” His arms go out like he’s getting the final laugh. “Your fucking cousin traded it for drugs.” Dane lands his final blow, hitting me right in the gut.

34

Lark

“I don’t understand.”

Water pours on me, soaking my hair, my skin, all of me as steam billows in the air. Tears fall like the rain in the shower, blending in and streaming over me to the drain. It doesn’t matter how wet my body is, I’m desperate to wash the betrayal of my friend down the drain. I don’t understand.

I reach for the body wash, but I have no energy for such tasks. I should have taken a bath where I sunk under the water and disappeared. But Harbor needs my help, so I clean myself and wash my hair at his insistence. His theory is that showers always make you feel better. I’m not convinced.

I finish and dry off. With the towel wrapped around me, I hold the pieces together and open the door. Harbor’s lying on the bed in his underwear. Resting with pillows under his head and shoulders, he has one leg bent while an ice pack covers some of his ribs on the other side of his body. His gaze goes from the TV to me, and he asks, “How was the shower?”