judge you, Sawyer, if that’s what you’re waiting for. You’ve been doing something incredibly stupid, but you realize that you have an addiction and you’re getting help. For me to come down on you would be the same as someone getting mad and disappointed in me for having a tumor.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It is,” she says. “There’s something in your genetic makeup that makes this a struggle for you. Same as there was something in my genetic makeup that made me sensitive to whatever chemicals that company poured into the ground near our home. That doesn’t mean you give in to the cravings, but it does mean that it’s a fight that you have that not many people will ever understand.”
“But my fight and your fight are different. You didn’t choose the tumor.”
“And you didn’t choose the addiction.”
My throat’s tight and I can’t look at her, only at the cracks along the sidewalk. She’s too nice, too forgiving, and she’s wrong. She has to be. I’m the one who’s weak, and I’m confused how she doesn’t see it. “I promise you, no more cliff jumping.” For her, I’ll do it.
“What if you do?” she asks. “Will you tell me?”
I don’t like her question, it eats at me wrong, but it’s an honest one that deserves an honest answer. It’ll suck if I let her down, but … “I’ll tell you.”
Veronica holds out her pinkie. “Swear?”
I chuckle yet link my pinkie with hers. “I swear.” Then roll my neck because while she’s been understanding about this, I’m not sure she’s going to be on the board for the following. “I have more bad news.”
“You’re a vampire?”
She’d probably like that better. “No, Sylvia and Miguel asked to join our group and I told them they could.”
And that’s when Veronica gets pissed.
* * *
“You kissed her,” Mom says the moment I close the door to our apartment. She says it as a statement, a fact, but the look she gives me from the couch is full of accusation. “I saw it myself, from Lucy’s window, so please don’t deny it.”
“
It’s late—ten at night. Veronica finally stopped being angry over the additions to our group by me pointing out I’d accept Kravitz and Lachlin if the situation was reversed. I get why she doesn’t like it, and I’ll admit to being hesitant, too.
Then, after a few minutes of kissing on the porch, the two of us went to her apartment and sorted through the photos I had taken of the bridge. We then went through the audio until I had to head to the Y for an evening staff meeting. To top it off, after the meeting, I did a few laps.
During our research, I’ll admit I heard, “He’s hurting,” and I’ll also admit that there was a strange ball of light in some of the photos, but I’m still not convinced about ghosts. Not like Veronica clings to the hope. To me, there’s probably some scientific reason. Some logic that I’m not smart enough to know.
“Yes, I kissed her,” I answer.
Mom has weekend-bloodshot eyes. She had more than a few too many last night at Sylvia’s and she’s been drinking by herself again tonight. Thank God tomorrow’s Monday and I’ll get at least four evenings where our conversations aren’t alcohol induced.
I walk past her and check on Lucy. She’s sound asleep in bed. I head to my room, dump my clean clothes from my basket onto my bed then pull the wet stuff out of my duffel bag and place that in my basket to wash later.
My hair is wet, it seems like my hair is always wet now. Since meeting with Knox, I swim. All the time. Before and after practice in the morning, after my shifts as a swim coach and lifeguard at the Y. In the evenings, I bring Lucy with me and do more laps. Knox calls it trading one addiction for another. A new addiction that’s less likely to get me killed.
Knox’s preferred addiction over drinking is long-distance running and painting. He laughed when he told me he sucks at painting. Knox’s theory is if we stay busy, we’re less apt to do the thing that brings us down.
“Are you dating her?” Mom stands in the doorway of my room, and I start folding clothes and placing them in my dresser.
Mom not saying Veronica’s name works under my skin. “Did Sylvia tell you that?”