Page 6 of When There Was You
“Christ, Remy…whatever you need, you know I’ll do it, brother.”
What does he need?
“I’m sorry. And I want to give you a ration of shit, but I won’t.”
Pause.
“Do what you have to…and don’t fuck around. This could be good for you.”
What could?
“Yeah, man. I will. Keep in touch if you can.”
If?
“Later.”
Mick hangs up, and I’m dumbfounded he didn’t fork over the phone to let me talk with Remy. “Why didn’t you?—”
Mick’s head bows before his gaze swings to mine. “He didn’t have time.”
“But…but…”
“He risked some shit to make that collect call, Jax,” he mutters, one of his hands cupping the back of his neck. “Remy’s at the Betty Ford Center in Rancho Mirage.”
“What the hell?”
“He got busted with coke, and his parents bailed him out of jail and pulled their magical purse strings to work some deal.”
Mick yanks open the fridge, grabs a beer and wastes no time draining half.
I stand, expectant, the ground shifting under my feet as viscerally as an actual earthquake. “How much coke?”
“A crap ton. Enough to charge him with possession and intent to sell, a felony with almost assured prison time.”
“Goddamnhim.” I knew the blow had gotten out of hand—the all-nighters, the reckless attitude. “So now he’s in rehab?”
“Apparently. But in exchange, Mom and Dad are runningthe show, and he’s not sure how long he’s going to be there. It could be months.”
I struggle for what to say. “He…he didn’t want to talk to me?”
“He wasn’t even supposed to call. Said he has zero phone privileges, but he wanted us to know what happened and that he’s sorry.”
“He’ssorry?” I sink into a nearby chair. Remy’s just…gone? For however long his parents deem necessary?
A part of me can’t help thinking how happy they must be to hold those marionette strings he so readily cut from their grasp. Now, he’s back to being their puppet.
And I know exactly where that leaves me.
Mick speaks,but it all sounds like buzzing in my ears—and no amount of sitting around talking will change matters or stem the tidal wave pulling me under.
“I need to go,” I say, standing up from the couch where we’ve been parked for the last hour. “I’ve got homework.”
Trudging upstairs, I collect my belongings. My movements are stiff as memories flash. The day I met Remy. My first ride in his fast Camaro Z/28. How he called me “New Girl.” His charm, flirtatiousness, those mischievous sapphire eyes. The way he welcomed me into the fold like I’d always belonged. How he saved me, cared for me, after the robbery. Our first kiss. More.
Mick pulls me in for a long embrace, plants a kiss on my forehead, and peers into my face, his own creased with worry. “Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”
I nod, chewing on my lower lip.
