Addicted (The Addicted Series, #1)(69)

"Gee, thanks," I said, crumpling the can. I sat forward to get up when Randy started talking again.

"I was only in college when it happened," he said slowly, in a contemplative voice. "I was living in Atlanta at the time, and working in a gym down there. I was young, but I struck up what I guess I could call a friendship with a guy there. We all knew who he was, I mean shit, most of us watched him on TV at least once a week. Off screen though, he seemed like the most quiet, normal guy you'd ever know. Then he got even more quiet, and he started brooding. Some of the older guys had seen him do this before, and dismissed it. They figure he'd snap out of it. Then when we found out he died, and how he took his wife and seven-year-old son with him, it stirred us up. Afterwards, we kept wondering why we'd overlooked the warning signs, and why we'd not done something beforehand. They said a lot of it was due to the drugs and the headshots he'd taken, but I knew regardless of the reason, he was in that cycle, and none of us did anything to stop it."

I sagged back into my chair, stunned. "Who was it?"

Randy looked at me sadly, and licked his lips. "His name was Chris Benoit."



* * *



Julian





So here I was, sitting in a dirty taxi, on my way towards Canal Street. In my head, I kept telling myself over and over just f*ck her, get it out of your system. Just f*ck her, get it out of your system. But my heart wasn't in it. I honestly didn't know what I was doing in Chicago.

"Yo buddy, you know you could have just taken the El train just as close," my taxi driver, the stereotypical Chicago white guy with a Polish look to him said from up front. "Not that I mind the fare, of course."

"Of course," I replied. "First time in Chicago, didn't want to get lost, you know?"

"Yeah, I heard that. Listen, if you got time, check out a Cubs game. I know the Cubbies are terrible, they always are, but Wrigley . . . ah now that's a beauty for all time. There's nothing quite like sitting in the bleachers at Wrigley and munching on some hot dogs, especially when you've got your girl with you. You got a girl, my man?"

"Eh? No . . . no girl," I replied. I looked out the window and watched as the downtown area moved closer. "No girl at all. I don't like to tie myself down."

"Shame. Well, I'd say find yourself a good Chicago girl, but there aren't too many in this town. But still, if you find one, hang onto her. Trust me on that one."

I didn't reply, and the cab driver soon let go of the conversation. About ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of a high rise and flipped his switch. "Here you go, my friend. Left Bank at K Station. Whoever you're visiting that lives here has some good money, let me tell you. I'd love to have lived here when I was younger. But I got a wife and kids now, this area's too crowded for me. The commute sucks, but I like living in the suburbs more."

"Yeah . . ." I said, not really listening. "Uh, how much?"

"Forty-eight dollars," the cabbie said. "Pretty light traffic today."

I pulled three twenties out of my wallet and handed it over to him. "Keep the change. Thanks for the tip on the Cubs game."

"No problem. Enjoy Chicago."

I grabbed my duffel bag, an old style military model that I had used for years, and looked up at the building. Part of me wanted to just turn around and go. If I was going into a self-destructive spiral, who the f*ck cared other than me? But a deeper voice, I wasn't sure if it was selfish or noble, instead said to call Krystal. I reached into my hip pocket and pulled out my phone.

"Yeah, Krystal? I'm downstairs."

"Oh, really? Okay. See you in a second."

I hung up my phone and went inside the lobby. About thirty seconds later, Krystal came out of the elevator, along with a cute little blonde that I didn't know. "Hi Julian," she greeted me, with only a hint of uncomfortable formality. "I'd like you to meet my best friend Kimberly. Kim, this is my stepbrother, Julian Castelbon."

"It's nice to meet you," Kim said, holding out her hand. I shook, and was surprised at how strong her grip was. Taking a closer look, I could see the short nails and hints of callus on the edges of her fingers that told me she wasn't the dainty type. Interesting. "I was just stopping by to drop off some books I'd borrowed from Krystal, and she said you were coming to visit. I figured I just had to wait a few minutes to meet you."

"Thanks," I said, feeling more at ease. I'm used to people going out of their way to meet me, it's been rather routine since I graduated high school. "So you and Krys know each other well?"

Kim rolled her eyes and glanced over at Krystal, which shook my confidence. "You could say that. We've known each other since her first day of college."

"So you're in the culinary field too?" I asked, somewhat surprised with myself. Normally I wouldn't have given a damn. I'm the epitome of the Internet meme and not a single f*ck was given that day.

"No, we actually met at a martial arts class. We were two of the very few women there so we kind of became friends. I'm . . . into computers," Kimberly replied, giving me a knowing smile. I didn't know what the smile meant, but it rattled me again. What was going on? "I'd love to hang out with you two sometime, but I've got to get going. Client meeting at four I need to get to. Krystal, we'll talk later?"