Page 11 of The Complete Truth Duet
Truth and lies—it was how we worked.
“Hey, Riv,” I called, setting the bags on the counter. “Can you do me a favor and grab the bleach out of my trunk? And leave the door open—this place reeks.”
She didn’t say a word as she rose to her feet, carried her bowl to the sink, dropped it in with a loud crash, and stomped from the apartment.
“Okay, good talk!” I yelled after her. “We should do that more often.”
Savannah was immediately at my side, helping me unload groceries. “I’ll talk to her tonight. She’ll come around. I promise.”
I barked a laugh and put the milk in the fridge. “I’m not sure you need to be talking to anyone.”
She extended two cans of peas my way and glared, a perfectly penciled in auburn eyebrow arched with familiar attitude. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I continued unloading the cold stuff. “It means we haven’t even talked about the other day.”
“Look, I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time,” I replied while hiding the tub of mint chocolate chip behind a bag of frozen broccoli with hopes it might still be there later that night.
She huffed. “What else do you want from me?”
I moved to the pantry and stashed the chocolate chip cookies behind a box of raisin granola that had been there for at least three years. “Well, first, I want you to drop the shitty attitude.”
“I don’t have a shitty attitude!”
With waning patience, I shot her an incredulous glare and snapped my fingers, motioning for the peas.
She slapped them into my hands one at a time. “I don’t know what you want me to say… I didn’t think Chrissy would—”
“And that’s your problem!” I exclaimed.
Her body locked up tight.
I slammed the cans of peas down—another blockade around my secret cookie stash—then gave her my full attention.
Her deep-green eyes were wide and uncharacteristically filled with tears. Short of the day she’d witnessed my argument with Marcos, it was the most emotion I’d ever gotten from her.
So I pounced. “Savannah, you haven’t thought about anyone but yourself since you moved in here. The sneaking out? The arguments with me? The constant fights with River? It’s all been about Savannah.”
“That’s not true! You blame me for everything. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
“And you think I did?” I opened my arms out wide and spun in a circle around the tiny kitchen, my fingertips trailing against the counter on either side. “Do you think for a single second that I want to be here? We made choices, Savannah. Maybe not the specific choice to come here, but choices that led us to this moment all the same.” I stabbed a finger in her direction. “You forget I’ve been where you are. The day you got in that car with Dante, a lot of choices were made for you. They were the same choices Nic made for me. And I’m standing here telling you they suck in the worst way. But I am not Dante. I’m not Marcos. I’m not your fucked-up parents. And most of all…I am not your enemy.”
Stepping forward, I palmed either side of her face and lowered my voice. “None of us want this bullshit life, babe. But this is what we have. And as much as I hate to admit it, this is all I’m probably ever going to have. But you? You’re sixteen.”
She opened her mouth to object, but I didn’t give her a chance.
“And I’m not saying that like it’s a bad thing. You have time. You can still get out of here. And I swear on my life I will take care of you until that day comes, but I need you to work with me. You can’t be out on the street. You can’t be getting drunk or smoking weed with the other girls.” I grabbed her arms and motioned to the scarred track marks. “It’s going to lead you back down that road to addiction. All it would take is—”
The rest of my lecture died on my tongue as our front door slammed shut.
“Cora!” River’s arms were stretched out to the sides and her back was against the door as if she were trying to prevent a pack of wild animals from clawing through the wood.
And, with her next statement, I realized that was exactly what she was trying to do.
“They’re…here,” she breathed.
She didn’t have to elaborate. I knew the who from her palpable fear alone. Moving from the door, she allowed me to pass.
I went straight to the railing that overlooked the parking lot.
Two men I didn’t recognize were climbing out of a beat-up, red extended-cab pickup truck.
Then there was Marcos in his black Mercedes.
And…
“Fuck,” I hissed.
Dante.
His visits were rare, especially during the day, but not unheard of.
Racing back into the apartment, I barked at both girls, “Go. Now.”
