Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(26)

“Dammit, Brandon. It’s not about the money. I give you that, it goes into your arm.”

“This month will be different.”

“Right.”

“Please, Nik-Nik.”

“Don’t give me that Nik-Nik shit! Okay?” His name for me. When he was barely old enough to talk. Running around the house playing hide-and-seek, chasing me down the beach, crowing delightedly as he snatched a piece in checkers. Nik-Nik. His older sister.

“I need something,” he said. “Can’t not have something. What’s the harm?”

Harm. That word again.

I bit my lip and counted out five hundred-dollar bills. “The harm? That I come in here one day and— Can’t you be careful? And who knows what’s in the needles?”

He laughed merrily again and drank more beer. “I already got most things you can get from a needle, Nik.” Traces of his old smile. “It’s the damn needles should be scared of me.”

I took a vicious swig of my bottle. Feeling the cold beer hurtle down my throat. “Here. Five hundred is all you’re getting. Take it.” I handed him the money. “Naloxone. You have some here?”

Brandon giggled. “We did, but Eric—the guy you kicked out—he took a bad hit the other day. Here one minute, gone the next. I used the dose I had here to pull him out of it.” He giggled again, gestured to his Band-Aid. “He was so mad when he woke up that he head-butted me.”

“The asshole with the Mohawk did that?” My hand gripping the beer bottle. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have bothered tugging the earring. Mohawk would have been awakened by a bottle breaking over his head.

“He didn’t mean it.”

I took two plastic nasal spray tubes out of my purse and put them in the drawer of the coffee table. If someone overdosed on an opiate, naloxone was a literal lifesaver. No need for paramedics or hospitals, although a side effect was sending the OD into an instantaneous state of acute withdrawal. There were all kinds of stories of junkies mindlessly attacking the paramedics who’d just saved their lives. But the stuff worked almost magically. One day, one of those little white tubes might save my brother’s life. “You’re sure you don’t want to live somewhere nicer? I’ll find you a place in my neighborhood.”

“Naw,” he said with a gentle smile. “The gritty underbelly is where I stay.”

I got up to pee, guiltily aware that I was bringing my purse. I doubted my brother would take money from me unasked, but a small part of me never wanted to have to find out. The bathroom was in the same shape as the living room. Cigarette butts, ashtrays, empty baggies. The only thing that wasn’t there was toilet paper. I used a Kleenex from my purse. Suddenly I was sobbing. Nothing gradual. Not a few tears or whimpers leading up to the main event. Just full-on choking sobs. Striking like the most explosive thundershower out of a clear sky. I got control back. Splashed tepid water on my face and went back into the living room. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

He ignored my question. “You made it. Look at you. I love you. You made it.”

“Why?” I asked again. Like talking on different frequencies. Yet hearing each other fine.

“You beat the odds, Nik. Neither one of us should have. But you did.”

“Don’t say that.”

He stood. Slowly, carefully. His eyes that beautiful green. He put his arms around me. Hugged me. “You look out for me,” he said. “Like you always have.”

“Like I always haven’t.”

“You have. And you got through. And maybe I couldn’t. But that’s on me, Nik.”

“I should have been there. You were there.” I wasn’t even pretending not to bawl. Just clutched his thin shoulders to me as tightly as I could. “I should have been there, Brandi.” The name had driven him crazy when he was a kid. Brandi. A girl’s name. He’d hated it. Obviously ensuring that that was the only thing I’d ever call him. “Let me help you. Please. Get you checked in somewhere. And then I’ll get you a place close to me.”

He hugged me back. I could feel the weakness in his thin arms. It was strange, feeling not the presence of strength but its absence. “I know you would,” he said. “But that’s not me. You know that. I’m on my train, you’re on yours. And I’m really happy that I get to rattle along and look out the window and see you. But we’re on different tracks. We can’t change that.”

I took a step back. Looked into his eyes. The black pupils larger now. Wishing I could make his words somehow less true. “Is there anything you need? Anything?”

He grinned. “I could use another beer.”

“My God. Anything you actually need?”

“Naw,” he said, sitting back down on the couch. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Well, I’m hungry, anyway. I’m going to order a pizza.”

His voice brightened, puppyish. “Half ham and pineapple? Please?”

I shook my head. “Now he perks up.”

“Whatever. I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“Won’t let me make you an omelet but you’ll take a damn Hawaiian pizza.”

His eyes danced. “Omelets are breakfast food. It’s lunchtime. Get with it.”