Tap Out (26 page)

I shake my head.

“You're the smart one, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, defensive that he's calling me out.

“Well, think about it. We were just dragged into that without a choice. Dave just basically said to be ready for more.”

“But we got paid?”

Rob laughs. “You think this amounts to anything? You know how much they just earned?” He laughs again. “Tone, it's a joke, but we can't say no to it.”

I think about what he means, how we didn't have a choice, and it's the same shit of my life in a new form. Here I am, stuck with something I don't want. But I really need this cash. So, I don't know. At least it's not all bad. “No, we can't say no, but that money should help for tomorrow.”

He tilts his head, confused, but then the realization spreads across his face. “Fuck, I forgot.”

I want to laugh, not because it's funny that he forgot about Amy's abortion, but because this is all so fucked up. I'm roped in with the Front, Cam's boys, the same man who put my mom in the hospital. And she'll be home tomorrow, and he'll come back around. What can I do then? I can't fight him? Not if we're on the same damn team, which there's no doubt we're on now. And Rob just won his first fight, is on the verge of becoming a trainer, but he's in the same swirl with me. And I thought we had a future.

Just goes to show when life offers something, there's always a choice to be made. Better be damn sure to pick the right hand because one will undoubtedly make you wish you never had the choice to begin with.

Camilla is huddled with my mother just inside the entrance to the hospital when the taxi pulls up. “That's her,” I say, but
the driver only glances over. I step out and walk through the sliding doors. She's in a wheelchair.

“Right on time, Tony.” Camilla smiles and squeezes my mother's shoulder. “He's a good boy, isn't he?”

I don't know who Camilla is piling this shit on for because the last time she saw me, my mother's boyfriend was trying to kick my ass and she was bringing in security. The look on Mom's face, mouth drawn, eyes hooded, echoes how I feel.

“She all set or is there paperwork?” I continue to stand without having spoken to my mother. I don't intend to.

“No, she's all set, and all yours.” Camilla gives the wheelchair a little nudge toward me. She wants me to play my part, I know, but she only fixed my mother's surface. The real damage lies much deeper.

“Thanks,” I say and go and open the taxi's back door. Fortunately the hospital's got some sort of deal with the company, because they arranged the pickup and just added it to my mom's bill. Camilla shoots me a look, but then kicks out the wheelchair's brakes and rolls my mom toward the cab.

The driver watches us in the rearview mirror. I feel like punching him for not getting out to help. Camilla manipulates my mother into the backseat and buckles her in. My mother has yet to speak. Camilla closes the door and pulls back the wheelchair.

“She can walk, right?”

“Yes. She
can
. It's just procedure. Insurance.”

The thought of insurance makes me think of bills and what we owe and last night, which I spent in the recliner, turning the scene over in my mind. I almost went to find Rob, to see if he had thought of a way out, but I knew I shouldn't. His plate's already full. Camilla touches my arm.

“Tony, hey, are you all right?”

“Sorry, just spaced out for a second. You know, lot on my mind.”

“Is everything okay?” She looks toward the taxi. “I mean, with
everything
?”

It's nice that she cares, but honestly, if I said “No” right now, what would change? Nothing. What could she really do that would help me?

“Yeah, we're good. Thanks.” I step away and climb into the other side of the cab. The driver takes off and still my mother and I have not spoken to each other.

My mom sits like a toy, immobile and eyes fixed. I know she's got pain pills and her jaw's tender, so maybe she's just out of it. Which really isn't a change, but shit, how's she going to work? Fuck, Dave knew right when to fucking strike.

The cab pulls up outside our trailer, and the driver just grips the wheel and again watches us in the rearview mirror. It's all me now, no Camilla to do my job. “Ready?” I extend my arm for her to grab. She sighs and takes hold. Her strength is for shit, and I wonder if she's really as healed as they said. I put a hand to her back, and we step away from the cab. She moves her feet in small spurts, making it to the railing and then pausing to rest. I toss her bag to the top of the landing and think about going back and shutting the cab door, but fuck that. The douche is staring at us, like we're some ugly-ass fish in a tank.

She takes the steps slowly. She heads straight for her bedroom, sits on the bed, and wrestles off her coat. I follow, slow as shit.

“Can you get my shoes?” She points at her feet and looks on the verge of passing out. It's the first she's spoken, and the words sound so formal around her locked jaw. A sarcastic
remark rises up, but I bite it back and slide her shoes off. She pulls her blankets back and lies down. I'm amazed she has the strength.

“Do you need anything? Medicine?”

She shakes her head across the pillow. “Not yet. Later. I need to sleep now.” With that, she's out. I step from the room and exhaustion settles over me as well. It's just after 1:00 and there's no food and nothing else to do until she wakes up and tells me her plan. If she has one.

“Tony. Tony.”

I open my eyes and she's standing at my doorway, clinging to the wall. “I need to take my pills, but there's nothing to make a shake with.”

I sit up and rub my face, feeling like I'm crawling out of sand. “What? What's going on?”

She frowns. “I need to make a shake so I can take my medicine.”

I notice for the first time how her face has been rearranged because of her new jaw. She's different, not unrecognizable, but for a moment, not my mother. It's fucking creepy and I slide out from under my covers and don't say shit about why we have no food. “I'll be right back.”

The cold air slaps and stings my skin, but I enjoy the sensation. I'm perked awake and understand what I need to do. I was headed to Rob's, to see if he could hook me up, but he's probably not there with his appointment and all, and I sure as shit don't want to talk to his parents. I turn and head the other direction, to Amy's.

Charity answers the door, and I am again put off by her
appearance. She's not the Char I remember, all round and bubbly. She's thin and hard around the eyes. “Hey, Char, Amy here?” I know she isn't, but I gotta say something normal.

Her eyes water. “No, she's at her
appointment
.” She says the last word like a curse.

“Right, that's right.” I pause and let her collect herself. Tears stream down her face, and she dabs at them with the backs of her wrist. Fuck she needs help, therapy or some shit. “Hey, I need to make a shake. Do you have anything you could spare?” I feel like such a pathetic asshole.

Char wipes her eyes one last time. “Why?”

“My mom just got home from the hospital and I couldn't get out shopping before. We've got nothing, and she needs her medicine.”

“Hold on.” Char darts from the door. Inside, I hear her clattering around. Amy's mom yells, “Who is it?” and the TV blares. Char comes back with two grocery bags. “I threw in milk, ice cream, some frozen strawberries, and yogurt.” She looks up from the bag. “Some stuff for you, too.” Her face is as bright as it was before, in spite of its hollowness, and I feel good for having asked her for help.

“Thanks.” I can barely get the word out.

Charity nods and then her face slides back into the mask she's been wearing ever since whatever happened, happened. A knot forms in my gut when I see this, because I understand that if I work for Dave, it's truly Chaz I'm working for. The same man who did this. I wish I knew what to say, but I don't, so I turn and walk away, without the decency to say good-bye.

She's sitting on the couch staring at nothing when I return. But she sees the bags and crosses to me, more quickly than I thought possible. “What's this?”

“Groceries.”

Mom eyes me with a question, but tugs at the bags and looks inside.

I offer to make it, but she has a shake blended together in no time and is sipping it carefully through a straw. I know I should eat, but I just don't have an appetite.

“My bag. It's in my room. Go get it.”

I get up, happy to have something to do, even if it is to wait on her.

“A glass of water, too.”

I get her bag and water and she takes her pills.

“What is it?”

“Painkiller.” She puts the pill bottle away.

“Yeah, but what kind?”

She hesitates for a second but then says, “Hydrocodene.”

She'll be a space ball in an hour. Better ask what's what now, while she's coherent. “So, are you all right? Going back to work? What about Cameron?”

She recoils and I feel stupid for asking, but this is shit I need to know.

“I don't know.” She stares at me, looking like she's ready to fight.

“You don't know
what
?” My voice rises more than I'd like.

“Anything. Any answers to your goddamn questions!” She grabs her jaw and looks away. I feel like someone's slapped me. “I just got home. I need time to think.”

I take a deep breath and wait. She's right, she does need time, but I just feel like
I
don't have any. “Fine, but we've got bills and we need food and I can't just go to Charity and expect her to take care of it.”

“You got by while I was gone, didn't you?” She waits for me to respond and I nod. “All right then. You'll figure it out.
But fuck, give me time.”

I don't know why I keep thinking that things will get better, that I even had the notion to believe she might have a plan for us. She never has and never will. So I
will
figure something out. Maybe with Dave and the Front? What other choice do I have?

She doesn't ask where I'm going when I throw on my coat and slide into my boots. Mom just stares at the TV like it's the only thing in the world. Maybe it is within that Swiss cheese brain of hers, eaten away by drugs and abuse.

I strap a winter hat on my head with matching gloves. No one questioned me at school, rooting around in the Lost 'n' Found. “I'll be back later.”

She doesn't respond. I zip my coat and head out.

It's twenty degrees or so, but I don't care. I need some fresh air and some space to clear my head.