Trust(78)

That was critical.

Whatever his uncle’s views were on teen sex, the thought of doing anything with someone else in the house was a big no.

John jumped off his board at the top of the half-pipe, landing easy on the flat concrete surface. The boy had to be part acrobat or something. Meanwhile, I could barely touch my toes without falling over. One of the fangirls approached him and he smiled, nodded, and turned away. Then he flipped the board up to his hand with a foot and walked over to us. Another girl stepped up to the edge of the pipe, her board beneath one sneaker. Whoosh, she was off.

Maybe one day I should take up a sport besides shopping. Maybe.

“Hey,” he said, a line of sweat trickling down the side of his face. I passed him the cup of beer and he gulped some. “Thanks.”

“Ever think about going professional with your skateboarding?” I asked, curious.

With a broad smile, he nodded to the girl currently riding. “Watch her.”

“All right.”

We all did, soon understanding why. The woman had mad skills; the jumps and stunts she did were nothing short of amazing.

“Wow!” said Hang.

Mind blown, I could only nod in agreement.

“That’s what pro looks like,” John said. “She’s heading up to Seattle for a big contest next week. Be surprised if she sticks around here much longer.”

“You’re still my hero,” I told him, leaning in for a kiss. Because kissing John topped my list of favorite things to do.

“I’m sweaty,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

Black nearly swallowed the blue of his eyes. “Ready to get out of here?”

I nodded, turning immediately to my friends.

“See you later.” Carrie saluted me with her flask.

“Later,” I said.

“I won’t even ask if you have protection,” joked Hang.

“You’ve seen them, huh?” asked John.

“The small mountain of condoms she’s trying to hide in the back of her car? Yes.”

“It’s not a mountain,” I said, suppressing a smile. “And don’t act like you didn’t take some.”

“You wanted to share. Who was I to say no?”

John just laughed, handing me the last of the beer and dropping his board so he could put his shirt on. I downed it quickly for the extra courage. With my hand in his, he led me around the crowd.

“Johnny!” a voice yelled, a man cutting through group. “Hey.”

Beside me, John swore.

“There you are.” The stranger was tall and thin. His face pale and wasted, despite the pleased smile. “Good to see you.”

“What are you doing here, Dillon?” asked John, tone of voice less than welcoming. Subtly he moved to stand in front of me.

“We’re brothers. Thought it’d be good to catch up.”

“Last time we tried catching up it didn’t end so well.”

Dillon frowned, scratching at the side of his face. “Brothers fight. It’s no big deal.”

Around us, the party had paused, people watching. Shit. And John still held my hand, just had it tucked behind his back.

“Who’s the girl?” asked Dillon, craning his neck to try and see me.

“No one.”

“A blonde, huh?”

“I repeat, she is no one you need to know. Now what do you want?”

His brother laughed. “You always were a randy little bastard. Anyway, we need to talk, so . . . get rid of her. Let’s get away from here.”

“This is all the talking we’re doing, right here, right now.”

“Johnny.”

“I’m serious.”

Dillon heaved out a sigh. Hard, sunken eyes glared at the nearby onlookers, and some people in the small crowd backed up.

“Come on, don’t be like that. We’re family, you and me. We need to be looking out for each other, not fighting like this. What do you think our folks would say?”

John hung his head, shaking it. “Christ. I’m quickly losing interest, so what do you want?”

“I need your help.”

“Say the word and I’ll get you into rehab. I’ve got the money; we can sort this shit out. I already told you that.” John’s grip on my fingers tightened, his feet shifting. “Uncle Levi heard of this great place—”

“I don’t want fucking rehab!” Dillon bared his teeth, visibly fighting for control. “But I need the money.”

“No.”

“Johnny . . .”

I fished my front door key out of my pocket, ready to start stabbing at the meth-head’s eyes if he took so much as a step toward his brother. Christ, this was so much worse than John had described. Or at least, worse than I’d imagined. His brother was all wired and strung out. The same as Chris had been at the Drop Stop. Just the memory made me want to puke or hit something. I gripped the key hard.

“Sell your fucking vehicle, do something, I don’t care. But I am not giving you money for drugs, Dillon,” said John. “I know you’ve still got your car—I saw it parked down the street from Uncle Levi’s the other day.”

“I just wanted to talk. That prick, he’s coming between us. Can’t you see?”