Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(53)

Chapter 20





Alice


“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Reagan asks as soon as I answer my phone. It’s the third time he’s asked me this same question in the last two weeks. I’m seriously tempted to say I’m busy even though I’m lying in bed, staring aimlessly out the window into a cloudless blue sky.

I couldn’t afford to go home and Aunt Peg and Wheels hit the road. They’re in Vegas. I declined their invitation to go with them. He knows this. He also knows I turned down Dora’s invitation to go to San Diego and have Thanksgiving with her family. He knows Zoe’s in Cabo with her mother, and Blake went to New York to visit her sister. He knows all those things because we spend way too much time together. Neither of us voices out loud that two people who aren’t dating shouldn’t be spending every spare minute together but he hasn’t brought it up, so why should I.

“Reading.”

“Good. You’re coming with.”

“Where?”

“To my parents’ for Thanksgiving dinner.”

He said he wasn’t sure whether he was going. He didn’t want to deal with his father riding him about bailing Brian out again. Apparently the hospital had contacted his parents that night and they had refused to get involved. Nice, right?

Brian never did show up the following Thursday at the clinic. Even worse, Reagan didn’t seem at all surprised or upset by it. He said he’s been disappointed so many times it doesn’t even smart anymore.

“No––”

“I’m picking you up in twenty minutes,” he says, speaking over me.

There is no way I’m going to Dr. and Dr. Reynolds’s house of horrors in Beverly Hills. No way. I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out it’ll turn into a disaster. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Reagan––”

“Alice––”

I fight the smile pulling my lips apart. “I’m really into this book.”

That’s a lie. A stone-cold lie. I’m really not. Not even a little bit. My mind has been wandering for hours. Turning onto my side, I stare at the contents of my open closet with trepidation. There’s nothing in there even remotely appropriate. “And I don’t feel like getting dressed.”

And that’s the truth. The God’s honest truth. The last thing I want to do is attend a fancy dinner with Reagan’s uptight parents. “I was going to order Chinese takeout and watch Elf.”

“Great fucking movie.”

“Twinsies. You can watch it with me.” My voice ends on a high note, hoping that he’ll drop it. My hope is thin, however. I’ve learned the hard way that Reagan has the tenacity of my cousin Marie’s rescue Chihuahua, Liberace. You can’t play fetch with that dog ’cause he––like Reagan––won’t let the damn bone go.

“After we get back from my parents’.”

Deep, heavy sigh. I can already see the writing on the wall. “I don’t have anything to wear and your parents will hate me.” Jumping out of bed, I tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear and rifle through all three possible options. All of which are black.

“They won’t hate you.” I don’t fail to notice that he says nothing else to assure me of a warm welcome. “I can’t deal with them right now. Not alone. I just…” Trailing off, he takes a deep breath. His exhaustion is so palpable it’s coming through the phone and it pains me. I can’t even fathom dreading spending time with my parents. “…can’t. I need you. I’m asking you as my friend.”

Straight to the heart. His words hit me straight in the heart muscle. That sweet voice asking me to be there for him spells game over for me. I’m a goner. I can’t say no to him. Not now and, I suspect, not ever––a fact he never needs to know.

“Give me thirty minutes.” My voice dies on the last vowel. I sound like a total downer. I know I do, and yet it can’t be helped. I’ve heard enough about his parents to be legit terrified of those people.

They gave up on their son, wrote him off like he was a bad investment they needed to dump. Who does that? Who gives up on their son when he’s battling an addiction? And two doctors, no less. I think of all the times my parents have bent over backwards to help me when they had nothing to give, and it leaves me cold and so very grateful. If those people have no sympathy for their own son, what could they possibly think of me?

“I’ll text when I’m outside,” he answers, suddenly perky.

“Yeah. Fine.”





Reagan


It’s not fair to ask Alice to play buffer between me and my parents. I know it’s not, but what happened with Brian is still weighing heavily on me and I’m in no shape to fend off my father today. Two, possibly three uninterrupted hours of him trying to bully me into choosing surgery are coming my way and I don’t want this to be the day he finally pushes me over the edge. She keeps me centered, makes me feel like everything isn’t spinning out of control. Even when it is.

I texted Alice a minute ago and didn’t get a reply. I’m about to jump out of the Jeep and knock on her door when she steps out.

Ho-ly-shit.

I push my shades up to the top of my head to get a better look while Alice wraps one arm across her body and grips the opposite elbow––something she does when she’s nervous, I’ve noticed. She rolls her eyes and the pale skin on her cheeks turns pink.