37. Zepp

THIRTY-SEVEN

zepp

I had spent the last day, out in the cold, under the hood of Monroe's car, tuning the engine and tinkering with the alternator. Nothing worked. The car was as good as scrap metal.

I slammed the hood and started across the yard. "You need a new engine, and that orange piece of shit isn't worth the money."

Monroe sat on the back steps, one of my sweatshirts nearly swallowing her. She frowned when I dropped to the stair beside her, then kissed her forehead.

"We can find you a new car for the cost of an engine."

On a groan, she dropped her head to my shoulder. "Thanks for trying."

"And whatever you get, it's not gonna be orange."

She snorted a laugh. We sat there for a minute, both staring at her car until her phone beeped beside her on the step. She glanced at the screen and sighed. "I need to go somewhere before I go to Jade's. You should probably come with me." She shifted on the step, shoving her hands in the front pocket of the sweatshirt before she pushed to her feet. "Jade might shit the bed on this one."

I squinted against the bright sun spilling through the trees. If she was asking me to go with her, I knew it had to be bad. "Where do you need to go?"

"Northside."

People didn't go to Northside unless they were selling or buying. Or looking to get killed. "Why?"

"To buy some crack." She grabbed her phone from the stair and tapped the screen. "My mom's withdrawing, and Jerry's disappeared."

I leaned back on the step. This was Dayton. Through and through. Most of us wouldn't bat an eye at someone overdosing anymore, because we grew up seeing it. As much as I didn't want to go, I knew she didn't have a choice. And that was shit.

"All right."

By the time I had scored some crack for her mom, the sun was setting. The cold wind bit through my jacket when I sped back to the trailer park, and when we pulled up in her drive, it was completely dark outside.

I climbed off my bike, heading up the stairs after Monroe.

She paused with her hand on the door. "You don't have to come in, Zepp."

But still, I followed her inside.

A heap of blankets sat bundled on the couch, and when the door closed behind me, the pile moved. A woman sat up, bleach-blond hair in disarray, cheeks hollowed. My stomach kinked and knotted because she reminded me of my mother, of the moments I had tried my damnedest to push into the dark recesses of my mind and forget.

Monroe chucked the bag at her.

Within seconds, her mom had tied off her arm and was thumping at the syringe. Her furrowed brow relaxed, and she sank back against the couch on a relieved sigh, her gaze drifting from Monroe to me.

"This your boyfriend, baby? He's a looker."

Monroe crossed her arms over her chest. "Mom, where's Jerry?"

"Dead." Her mom's eyes lolled closed. "Got shot over on Northside."

Monroe glanced at me, a line sinking between her brows. The bastard deserved to die. For what he did to Monroe and Dizzy, for the long string of women he had most likely left behind beaten and bruised.

Monroe cleared her throat. "You need to find a new dealer, Mom. I'm not getting that shit again."

"Yeah. Yeah." She exhaled, a grin settling on her face. She was high off her ass. From the looks of it, that euphoria impenetrable.

I couldn't manage it because it reminded me of my mother. My chest felt like it was in a vice grip, so I took Monroe by the elbow, gently pulling her toward the door. "Come on, Roe. Let's go."

The toxic tension seemed to lift the moment we stepped off Monroe's porch, the crickets in the long grass silencing.

"It's not...:" She ducked her chin. "She wasn't always like that."

I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I know. Neither was my mom.".

I dropped Monroe at Jade's and went home to play PlayStation with Hendrix.

"You suck!" He tossed the controller down, jumping up from the couch and thrusting his crotch while pointing at me. "I beat your ass. Because you suck!"

Ignoring him, I started another game, shooting his avatar in the back of the head before he had picked up the controller again.

Bellamy shuffled into the living room from the back of the house, dropping his backpack to the floor. "Got half a kilo from Owens today." He kicked at the overstuffed book bag. "That's gotta be worth a few grand."

I pushed up from the couch, snagging the strap and hauling the bag over to the kitchen table. I took a seat and slid the scale across the tabletop, glancing at Bellamy when he sank to the chair beside me.

He grabbed a Ziploc bag and stuffed it with bright green buds before tossing it on the scale.

"Man…" He sighed. "I saw Monroe at the drugstore when I was getting some rubbers."

I weighed a gram out before I looked up at him. "And?"

"She was getting a pregnancy test."

A sinking feeling bled from my head to my stomach. Numbers flashed on the scale. "Shit."

"Yeah. Man. Shit." Bellamy shook his head before passing me another bag. "What the hell are you gonna do if she's knocked up?"

I slouched in my seat, scrubbing a hand over my face. I had no idea. None. I mean, I would marry her. Raise a kid with her. But... Hendrix passed behind me, opened the fridge, then flopped into the chair across from me with a slice of cold pizza.

"That's what you get for raw dawging it. Supposed to bag that shit up." He snatched up one of the baggies and shook it in front of my face. "Not just squirt baby juice all over the place."

I glared across the table while Hendrix crammed his face with food. "Shut up."

"Think it'll have red hair like Monroe?" He cackled. "You're gonna have a kid. You suck."

I stared across the kitchen at the broken clock on the wall. Nine months. School would be finished by then, but… I dragged a hand down my face again, swallowing around the lump in my throat.

"Hey. Doesn't mean she is." Bellamy tossed another sack of weed onto the scale. "That private school girl I screwed around with for a little while last year, she took a test every month. And I never screwed her without a rubber—that I remember." He shrugged a shoulder then filled another bag with buds.

I nodded. Monroe would have said something if she thought she was pregnant. That would be the rational thing to do—I exhaled. Which meant Monroe would do the exact fucking opposite. We finished bagging the weed; then the guys went to the living room to play Call of Duty.

"Not gonna play?" Hendrix called when I passed in front of the sofa. "Gonna go upstairs and look up baby names?"

"Shut up, Hendrix." I jogged up the stairs, slammed the door to my room, then fell onto the bed. If I had gotten her pregnant. Jesus…

I grabbed the cigar box from my nightstand, rummaging through the contents and pulling out the faded Polaroid of me when I was a few months old in the arms of the man I had no memory of—other than the things my mother had told Hendrix and me about him while we were growing up.

My mother had, at one time, had her shit together. She made straight A s in high school. She'd enrolled in college to study nursing, and then she had met Paul. Any time she would mention him, her entire face would light up before the tears came, at least. All I knew about my father was that he was the lead singer to some shit Led Zeppelin cover band and a druggie who left my mom with two kids and a bad habit. I tossed the picture back into the box, telling myself this was different. I loved Monroe. I wouldn't leave her. And if she were pregnant, we would find a way for her to get her degree. But why hadn't she said something to me? I typed up a text and sent it off.

Me: I love U

Roe: I love you too

Roe: I'm going to stay at Jade's tonight

My pulse ticked up a little. The plan had been for Jade to bring her back.

Me: You OK?

Roe: Yeah. Fine. I'll see you at school tomorrow. 3

Shit. She was being short. And putting heart emojis in her texts. She was pregnant. God, I had knocked her up. And she wouldn't even tell me.

Me: You know. No matter what. I won't leave you.

Roe: I know. Are you okay?

Aside from the crippling anxiety coursing through me.

Me: Yeah

Me: Just miss you

Roe: Miss you too.

I tossed the phone onto the bed, then turned out the light. The noise of the TV downstairs crept underneath my bedroom door. Every once and a while, Hendrix shouted, "cocksucker" while I tried to find sleep, but I couldn't. I wanted her to tell me shit, not hide stuff from me. Monroe was the most stubborn person I had ever known. Wouldn't ask for help, would hitchhike before she would call for a lift. I didn't know why I took it personally; it was just how she handled things. But something like this—the potential fuck up to all her future plans… A kid… Just shit.