Believe (True Believers #3)(54)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Chapter Seventeen

Phoenix

It took everything I had not to just deposit Robin in her car and go running down the street in a hard sprint to expel all the anger and frustration from my body. Did she have any clue how close to dying she had come? I had expected tears, apologies, sad Robin, but aside from looking like she needed a nap, she didn’t look upset. In fact, she acted like she had done nothing different the night before than any other night.

Well, maybe it was easy for her to pretend like it hadn’t happened since she didn’t even remember it, but for me? Not so f**king easy.

And she had screamed at me. And said f**k, which she almost never said.

Leaning against the window, she had her eyes closed, which was basically a “don’t talk to me,” which didn’t help me from being pissed off.

Because getting pissed was what I did when I was scared and damn it, she had terrified me. I had thought she was dead for a second there. And then just when I was starting to catch my breath, she turned her back on me and acted like she wanted to break up with me.

So yeah, I was in a bad place, and when I’m in a bad place, I lash out.

Jesus. Just like my mother.

That was not a good thought to be having.

But how could Robin be mad at me? How the f**k would she feel if she’d had to watch EMTs rushing her to the hospital? Watch the doctor examine her while she mumbled weird shit incoherently . . . It had been awful, and I couldn’t help it if I wasn’t able to just be like all casual over her almost drinking herself to death.

“Where are we going?” I asked her. “What is your parents’ address?”

“Take 75 north to 275 west,” she said, voice tired. “Mt. Healthy exit.”

“Okay. Do you want anything?” I asked as I started driving. “We can stop at the store.”

“No.”

Silence.

“I want a coffee so I’m going through the drive-thru.”

Silence.

That was worse than her shrieking at me. “Baby, talk to me.”

“I’m tired,” was all she said.

“I know.” I felt like a dick for yelling at her earlier, for not leaving it alone until she at least had some time to recover. But hell, was I really the best person to take care of her for the next day or two? What did I know about being nurturing or whatever? Nothing. Maybe her being with her mom was the best thing for her right now, and when she was feeling better, we could talk. We could work all this out and be back to where we should be.

I couldn’t imagine going through this again, but I also couldn’t imagine not being with Robin. Both hurt. It all just hurt so much that there was a tight knot in my gut and a pain in my chest and I wanted to punch a wall until those loosened up and I was breathless and my fists were bloody. Until the pain was concentrated in sore muscles, burning lungs, and bleeding, broken skin. Not in my heart.

“Do you want me to pack up some clothes for you later and bring them out to you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Her voice was calm, passive.

It made me crazy. Desperate. I wanted to get some kind of reaction from her. I wanted to both take care of her and shake her.

Twenty minutes of silence stretched out as I drove and she pretended to sleep. I knew she wasn’t actually dozing because her foot went up and down in a rhythm that she never seemed to notice but generally made me want to put my hand on her knee to stop it. It was like an agitated bounce that made me tense, because it meant she was tense.

By the time we got off the exit and she gave me terse directions to her parents’ house, a seventies split-level with overgrown bushes, I was on the verge of explosion.

Unfortunately, right then the garage door went up and I saw movement. Her parents and a tiny woman I took to be her grandmother came out onto the driveway, looking surprised. Robin opened her door and got out, so I did the same.

“Robin, are you okay?” her mother asked, barely even glancing at me.

“I have the flu,” she said, and the lie didn’t sound convincing to my ears, but her mother seemed to buy it. “I was sick all night and I just wanted to come home.” She burst into tears. “I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Her mother pulled her into a hug. “We were just going to church, but I’ll stay home with you. Daddy can take Nona.”

Those tears were what I had been waiting for. The fact that she saved them for her mother didn’t sit well with me. I stood there, feeling unwanted and unneeded, tossing the keys around my finger.

Her grandmother was staring at me, and I was aware of her dark eyes assessing my tattoos, my hair, my clothes.

“Is this your chillo, Robin?”

“Nona!” Her father shot his mother a glare. Then he stuck his hand out to me. “I’m Juan, Robin’s father. Thanks for bringing her home.”

“I’m Phoenix. Nice to meet you.” I didn’t know what a chillo was, but apparently no one was supposed to ask that.

“Well, for heaven’s sake, let’s go in the house,” her mother said. “I’m Julia, by the way. And this is Nona.”

Nona glared at me.

Juan and Julia. Robin’s mother had delicate features and hair that might have been dark brown, but that she now dyed a deep red. Her father had black hair shot with silver, and they were both of average height and average build. They were attractive and looked like they belonged together, exchanging glances that showed they knew what the other was thinking or feeling at any given moment. The fact that they were sixty only added to the contrast between their stability and my mother’s hot mess of a life.

“Do you need me to move the car so you can leave?” I asked her father.

“We’re not going,” Nona declared. “I’ll watch mass on TV. Take Robin in the house, Julia.”

Her father gave me an amused look. “I guess we’re not going. This was a waste of a dress shirt.”

I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t quite make it happen. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to leave or go in the house with them, and I felt uncomfortable. This whole normal family thing was something I both envied and hated. I didn’t know how to do this.

But Nona came up to me and wrapped her arm around mine. “Help me into the house.”

That didn’t leave me many options but to walk with her back through the garage.

“Is Phoenix your real name?”

Again with the name. Thanks, Mom. “Yes.”

“Was your mother a hippie?”