Page 103 of True Blue

"No, I don't think it's ever too late to get help," Luke says, giving me a small smile. "You just have to want it."

"But don't do it just to win Indie back," Danielle says, and there's no softness in her voice now. "Do you really think she deserves this version of you after the way you hurt her?"

Shame burns my face.

No.

Indie deserves the best. Indie deserves to be chosen first, to be placed first. She deserves everything good in this world and more. Indie deserves peace, but all I brought her was pain and chaos.

I have to change because I need to become someone better than this weak man.

I need to become the version of myself Indie somehow saw all along.

The one that was worthy to touch her, to love her, to protect her.

And then maybe... maybe she'll see that.

Maybe I can be the man she needs.

But I have to become him first.

"Okay," I nod, sniffing.

Tears sting my eyes, and I don't stop them from falling.

There's no man in my ear calling me a faggot for crying. No woman in my ear cooing over me and telling me I'm perfect exactly as I am. There's my real family—across the world and in this room—and somehow Indie too, even in absence, demanding I be better because they believe I can be.

"Okay," I take a deep breath. "Let's change, then."

19

TEDDY

JULY

“You got a lot of fucking nerve, Mama’s Boy.”

A week later, I’m walking outside Hyde Cancer Center looking for a lifeline, and Phoebe is the first person I see.

Since she was pretty much Indie’s best friend, the hatred in her eyes makes immediate, brutal sense. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under already. She takes a long drag from her cigarette and blows the smoke in my direction, the sharp scent burning my nose.

“Jesus Christ,” she drawls, dragging her gaze over me. “You look like fucking roadkill.”

I already know that.

Still, I glance down at myself—the days-old blue T-shirt, the wrinkled jeans I dragged on half an hour ago when the itch for any news about Indie became too much to ignore. Earlier, when I hauled myself out of bed to piss, I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror and immediately shut the light back off.

Dark circles, an overgrown beard, skin with a weird gray cast, and a completely dead look in my eyes. It’s good to know the outside finally matches the inside.

“Do you know where she is?” I ask her, ignoring the jabs.

Phoebe flicks ash toward the curb.

“Better question—why the fuck do you care? You sure as hell didn’t care the last couple months when you were treating her like shit. And let’s not forget letting your psycho mother treat her like shit,” she points at me with two fingers, cigarette pinched between them. “Tell your mommy it’s on fucking sight if I ever see her around here.”

"Very fair, and I won't stop you," I nod, my voice trembling as desperation creeps in. "But I just need to know that Indie is safe."

She scoffs. "She's away from you and Norma Bates. She's safe."