39. Nia

39

NIA

She waits for Harvey to leave before she moves or speaks. Once she hears the front door shut, her tongue clicks, and it's almost like I'm in the room with my own mother. "Ant?nia," she whispers, head shaking as she walks toward me.

Her voice is much kinder than my mother's, though.

I let my gaze drift. I'm sitting in sweat-stained sheets, wearing one of Harvey's shirts that are long enough to wrap my legs in. "Baby, why are you doing this to yourself?" The bed dips next to me as she sits down. I can't stand her seeing me like this, so I turn away.

"You know why." It's a whisper.

I feel her hand smoothing down my hair. Despite my rolling, sweating, and writhing around, Harvey has somehow managed to keep my hair brushed and knot-free.

"You gonna make me take my kid to Titia Nia's funeral?" She uses the nickname I once gave myself the first time I held her baby—now a full grown kiddo of almost nine.

"I don't know how to get out of this." I finally own up to it.

"Kiddo, you just gotta tell me how deep you've dug this grave, and I'll throw the rope down and pull you out." Deandra says it like it's so easy.

I turn to face her, shaking my head. "I don't know anymore. It's too dark to tell."

"Oh." She shrugs. "Well that's easy then." She brushes the sweat-drenched hair out of my face and leans down to whisper in my ear. "We can just make it up!"

The smile is autonomous and so are the tears, falling freely and dropping onto the pillow beneath my head. "Don't let me turn you into my new mom, D. I'll do it," I groan, my entire body feeling like the peach forgotten at the bottom of the fruit basket.

Moldy.

Bruised.

Putrid.

Oh, how I shine.

"We all need mothered every now and then. If I remember correctly, yours was shit." She chuckles under her breath before she presses her palm to my face. "I'll baby bird you, sweetie. You want me to chew your food up for you? Open wide, bitch. I'll do whatever it takes not to lose another friend."

She means it. I see the look on her face so clearly for what it is.

Desperation.

She helps me take a sip of the iced electrolytes on the nightstand. "What?" I ask, her face still full of woe.

"You look like shit, girl. If you were my kid, I'd be losing it," she says, shaking her head, and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel.

"Are you here to guilt trip me?" I ask, and the cackle she lets out is almost witch-like.

"Hell no. And I don't feel that bad for you either; you did this to yourself. I'm making sure Harvey doesn't lose everything she's worked for, and I'm making sure the Dames don't lose even more." Her expression sobers, and it nearly eats me alive.

"You're just babysitting." I don't hide my annoyance.

She winks before standing again. "Except you're not a baby, and I don't need to be your mother to tell you what to do. I just need to love you, so get up, you stink." Pulling her locs into a low ponytail and tying it with a thick band, she waits, but I don't move.

She claps three times, startling me and forcing my fight or flight into action. I stand, holding myself like a new recruit waiting for the sergeant's command.

D strips the sheets and pillowcases off the bed and balls them into a pile in her arm, brushing by me as she walks out of the room with them. "When's the last time you showered?" she asks.

I wait until she's in the room again so I don't have to shout. Even shouting hurts. "I'm in the shower all the time."

"Laying under the hot water while you hate yourself and wish you were dead doesn't count as a shower. Try again." She's out of sight, but within seconds, I hear the water running. I sigh, pulling the oversized shirt off and only coming close to a full blown meltdown when it snags on the broken piece of the cast.

"Fuck!" I scream, sobbing from frustration.

D runs into the room, helping me free myself of the t-shirt trap. Once the crisis is averted and I've breathed through the panic, I finally ask the lingering question, "What's going on with the rink?"

"Scott wants to buy it. He's realized how little we all care about any sort of input he may have, and he knows the only way to control the team is to buy the rink too." She says with a sigh, "I'm here so that Harvey can hopefully keep him from making things worse for us. I think if he buys it, he may just turn the property for profit."

"You said we." I grin, not daring to gloss past it.

She narrows her eyes at me, but it's a smile that's on her face. "Shush." She pushes my shoulder like she's herding me into the shower, and just as I start walking on my own, she grabs me by the arm. "I'm also here to make sure you don't fuck this up." Her tone is gentle but I cower under her stare.

"Fuck what up?" It's a silly question, because there are hundreds of things I'm fucking up at this current moment in time, but specifying which one would really help me categorize it in my brain.

"You and Cat."

For some reason, it's not what I'm expecting her to say. Fucking up my life—sure. Fucking up the Devil's Dames—absolutely. Fucking up everything I touch—well, of course. But me and Cat?

I don't respond, and I don't need to. She goes on without waiting for my permission or acknowledgment. "You two are so fucking perfect for each other. Don't let Lonnie's death ruin the best thing that might ever happen to you. If you can't stay sober for yourself, stay sober for her, for us—yeah?"

"That's a dangerous game to play. What happens when she leaves me with nothing?" It's my biggest fear. It's why I keep poking, prodding, creating new wounds where there weren't any before.

I think back to Harvey's words; I can't remember if they were days or hours ago.

If you go, I'll go too.

This kind of love, it's intoxicating, and once she's done with me, I'll never recover.

"I dunno." She smiles. "I'm kinda puttin' all my money on you two."

I breathe out a laugh. Maybe it's time I finally start planning for things to work in my favor instead of falling apart. I owe it to Harvey. I owe it to Lonnie. I owe it to every single one of my friends who deserve better from me.

I owe it to Kade.

Forgiveness isn't something we're entitled to, but I hope I can earn it.

I nod to one of my oldest friends, and I take her hand as she helps me step into that shower.