The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(83)

“Troy! I got the football and your medicine!”

“Okay, bud,” Troy nuzzles my neck and steals another kiss before pulling away, drawing his brows. “Wait. My what?”

“What’s he talking about?”

“Medicine? No clue,” he says, his eyes dropping to my love tassels to which he gives separate parting kisses. “See you in six days,” he murmurs to them as I giggle.

“Come on.” Righting my shirt, I push at his chest, and he unlocks the door, sauntering down the hall. Our fingers separate just before he reaches the living room and comes to a jarring halt.

Stopped short, I peek around Troy to see what’s got him tensing and see Dante standing in the middle of the living room, holding up a needle. My heart seizes, the whoosh of blood pulsing in my ears, all life and breath knocked out of me by the sight.

“Is this your shots?” Dante asks Troy, wrinkling his nose. “I hate shots.”

Immobilized by fear, Dante and I jump with the boom of Troy’s voice. “Dante, NO! DROP IT!”

Troy’s within reach in seconds, ripping the syringe away from his hand. Dante’s so stunned by Troy’s reaction that he begins to cry. I’m still standing in the hallway in shock while Troy inspects the needle before turning to Dante.

“Where did you find this?!” Troy roars. Hysterical, Dante screams out his reply.

“I didn’t open it! Troy, I promise!” Dante’s terrified voice lifts in defense as his eyes shoot to mine in appeal. “Mommy, I didn’t open it!”

Fear like I’ve never known thrums through me as I race to where Dante stands and jerk him into my arms. I don’t recognize the sound of my own voice as I sit with Dante on my lap and begin to search him.

“What is it?!” I shriek frantically, inspecting Dante. “Troy,” I look up to where he stands, “what is it?!”

He looks over to me, his face ashen. “Steroids. It’s empty, and the cap is still on. He didn’t open it.”

I run my palms over Dante’s arms before turning his hands over and over.

“Dante, please tell Mommy, did you open it? Did you stick yourself on accident?”

“No, no, I promise. I didn’t! Troy tooked it! I wasn’t playing with it!” His chest pumps with his cries, his voice, and lips quivering.

“You won’t be in trouble, I promise. Please, baby, tell me the truth!”

From above me, Troy speaks, but he might as well be on another planet. “Clarissa, he didn’t open it.”

I examine Dante from head to foot. “Accidents happen. I won’t be mad at all,” I’m trying to stay calm, but I’m getting hysterical myself. “I don’t know what to do!” I cry as I grip Dante to me, and he sobs in my neck. “I have to take him to the hospital! Troy, we have to take him in!” Dante clings to me, my cries further fueling his. Troy stops me when I stand, pulling us both into his arms.

“He didn’t open it. I watched him,” Troy says hoarsely. “He’s okay. It didn’t touch him, Clarissa. I snatched it as soon as he pulled it from the bag.”

I’m shaking so hard I feel like I’m going to implode.

“He’s okay,” Troy assures before I jerk us out of his hold as rage rolls through me.

I lift my murderous gaze to his. “Why was that in your truck, Troy?”

He swallows, shaking his head.

“Why was that in your truck?!”

“I don’t know. I don’t know where it came from. It’s not mine.”

“Then, who does it belong to?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I swear to God, I don’t know. It could’ve bee—”

“This could have…” I shake my head, unable to say the words.

“He’s okay. Look at him. He’s okay.”

I tear my eyes away from Troy. “You need to leave.”

“Clarissa, it’s not mine.”

I try to control the heat of my voice as Dante shakes in my arms. “Troy, you need to go home.”

“He’s okay. Look at him, Clarissa, he’s okay.” He moves toward us, and I jerk my head, livid.

“Go.”

“Don’t. Please don’t do this. It’s not mine.”

I grip Dante to me, smoothing his hair as he sobs into my chest. “Just go.” Emotion fills his eyes, his features twisting as he studies his son, who’s wrapped around me, breath hitching, and body shaking from his cries.

“Dante, I’m sorry I scared you,” Troy whispers hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, bud.”

Unable to handle all that I’m feeling, I burst into tears, turning my back on Troy before I make my way into the bedroom and shut the door.





Troy



Troy: Please talk to me. It’s not mine. I would never be that reckless.

Clarissa: Whatever it takes. Isn’t that what you told me?

Troy: That’s not me, and you know it. I’m coming over.

Clarissa: Don’t. I mean it, Troy. Don’t make a scene. I just got him calm. How am I supposed to explain this to him?

Troy: I will, if you let me.

Clarissa: I can’t handle this right now. I don’t know what to think.