Page 25 of Scars of Silk

Abi, “Humphs,” and wipes at her face. “That friend of yours needs to sort his shit out. I can’t believe he’s moved out of their house.”

I hold my hands up. “It’s got nothing to do with me. You know Elijah and I have known each other a long time. Not as long as you Musketeers, but you know what it’s like; people can only let you in if they want to.”

She wipes at her face again. “Crap, look at the state of me. Have I helped at all?”

I nod, although it isn’t strictly true.

“Do you think Dan will be okay? I hate the thought of him being here by himself, but I don’t know what to do while he’s on this path of destruction. I can’t let my kids see that. Too much damage has been done in our lives already.”

“Grief’s a funny thing. Maybe one day he will open up the front door and realise life is okay without his dad.” My heart ached so hard, I clutched at my chest.

“What if it’s Faith he’s grieving for? Then what will happen to us?”

My heart pinged again, for a totally different reason, but this time I shut it down. Some places it wasn’t safe to go.

Seven

Dan

The sound of muttering voices drifts through my sleep. Hell, that was a sleep; although the injection in the ass wasn’t particularly welcome. Short of the coma, that was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.

I listen to the hum of chatter, but I can’t make out any of the words. I want to get up, but I’m almost scared to look under the sheet. Vinny will be calling again soon, seeing if I’m down for this Friday coming.

I don’t know if I can take another round.

The thought dances a tantalising line in front of me.

The front door clicks, and light footsteps run up the stairs. When she slips in through the bedroom door, I’m almost surprised by how pleased I am to see her still here. I’m such a dick. I’m supposed to be cut up over my best friend chasing someone else, not chasing skirt from my sick bed.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like an elephant sat its arse on my head and knocked me out for a few days.”

She grins, almost forgetfully, and it’s disarming.

“Just a few hours. I skimmed your notes; he gave you some morphine.” She hesitates, so I raise an eyebrow for her to continue. “He’s worried you're a druggie.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.”

“And pray tell, how do you know that?”

“I searched the place.”

“Rude!”

It’s her turn to lift a dark eyebrow.

“Would it matter if I was?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip and shrugs. “It just would.”

“You're still here though.”