Redemptive (Combative, #2)(3)

He waited for a beat. “What kind of help, Ky?” he asked, his eyes moving to mine. Gently, he took my hand in his and squeezed once, as if assuring me of what he’d said earlier. He mouthed a thank you and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and then offering them to me. I shook my head the same time he said into the phone, “You’re after drugs, aren’t you?”

I tensed.

Drugs.

He was a drug dealer.

I hated drugs.

And I hated everything that came with them.

I made a move to get out again, but he held my hand, his eyes narrowed as he searched my face.

“No,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if it was meant for me or the person on the phone.

He turned the car on and cranked up the heat. “Because, Ky, you’re not like that. I’m not going to be responsible for—”

Whatever the Ky person said must’ve cut him off. He lifted both my hands and placed them in front of the air vents. Covering the phone, he whispered to me, “I’ll be back,” and then stepped out of the car.

I closed my eyes and rested my head on the seat. What the hell was I going to do? Before I got a moment to think, his door opened, and he sat down again. “I’m sorry,” he told me. “That was my brother. I gotta help him out with something.”

“You’re a drug dealer?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “Not at all. But I’ll be honest with you, I’m going to help my brother get some. There’s this field party happening not far from here, I’ll get him what he wants and then we’ll leave. And I meant what I said, I’ll sleep in my car. You can have the house to yourself. I don’t have any ulterior motives. I promise.”

“Why?” I asked.

He sighed. “What’s your name?”

My voice came out a whisper. “B-Bailey.”

“It’s a pleasure, Bailey. I’m Steven.”

“So?” I pressed.

“So what?”

“So why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

“Because…” He placed his hands in front of the air vents. “We all need saving at some point, and I’m here to save you.”

*

He didn’t get out when a car pulled into the parking lot. We drove to a field in complete silence, neither one of us speaking. But he held my hand—not in an intimate way, but a comforting way—and it worked. He made me feel safe.

Once we were out of the car, I kept my head lowered, not making eye contact with his brother or the guy who showed up a phone call and a few minutes later to supply the drugs.

I followed Steven’s lead and sat on the hood of his brother’s car while they talked. “Is this weird?” his brother asked while Steven went to his car for something.

I shrugged and removed Steven’s gloves, not knowing how else to respond.

I was all too familiar with the smell of weed, so I knew what they were smoking. At one point, his brother offered me the joint. “No, thank you,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. I didn’t want to show how much I despised what they were doing. They talked for a bit while Steven took my hand in his, and I felt my heart tighten again—just like it did when he placed the gloves over my hands.

I listened as they spoke about themselves, their lives, their dad, and I realized it then—Steven’s words from earlier held more truth than I knew.

Steven—he needed saving just as much as I did.

“You remember what I said the day I told you I was leaving?” Steven asked his brother. He didn’t wait for a response before adding, “You said ‘you shouldn’t let ’em take it.’ I asked you what the hell you were talking about. You said ‘You, Steve, don’t let them own you.’” Steven shifted next to me, and I pretended not to see him wipe at his eyes. “But here I am, Ky, letting them take me. And you know why? Because that pain I feel, it’s inside me. Just like it’s inside you, and no amount of drugs can change that.” He brought my hand up to his mouth and the second his lips pressed against it, my stomach filled with butterflies.

I found myself leaning into him, trying to find a way to comfort him the way he’d done for me. He cared. And as stupid as it sounds considering we’d only met a few hours ago, I felt connected to him somehow. Like we were both living a lie; hoping that someday we’d mean something.

We both wanted to matter.

And we both needed to be saved.

Steven said to his brother, “Go home, Ky. Go home to your family…” He waved his finger in a circle while I sat confused, wondering why he said your family, and not ours. “…and be better than this. You don’t belong here.”

His brother sighed. “You don’t have to belong here either, Steve.”

Steven laughed. “A little late for all that.”

But maybe he was wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe we could save each other.





3





For minutes Steven just stood there, watching the taillights of his brother’s car as it moved farther away from us. “Are you okay?” I asked, stepping beside him.

He pulled out his phone and looked down at it, lost in a world of his own thoughts. Tapping the phone a few times, he distractedly murmured a “yeah” before lifting it to his ear.