Saving Rain(83)

“Harry,” I interrupted, turning to face him, “you being here is enough. Just wait for me, okay? That's all I'm asking.”

He responded with a gentle nod. “You got it, buddy. And, listen, if you do need me—”

“I know. You're right here.” I patted his shoulder, filled with so much gratitude for this unlikely friend. So thankful to have him in my life, helping me and being there when nobody else was. “Thank you.”

He forced a smile, deepening the lines on his face. Reminding me that he was much older now than he had been when I first met him years ago.

With a deep breath, I left the car and headed for the main entrance of the apartment complex. The place had always lacked in any semblance of security. Since we'd moved in, the main door had never been locked, and there weren't any functioning security cameras on the grounds. So, I wasn't surprised to find it unlocked now, but the fact that the knob no longer turned or clicked shut was disheartening.

“What the fuck?” I muttered, entering the hall and surveying my surroundings.

The overhead bulb, hanging just above the doorway, flickered in response as I walked toward the staircase, stepping over shreds of debris, empty cigarette packs, and the occasional plastic bag. The stairs creaked beneath my feet, and the banister rocked under my grip. Zoning would have a field day in this place, if they gave half a shit. The whole building would likely be condemned, and all of these people—whoever was left—would have to find somewhere else to squirrel away their drugs and whatever else they were up to.

Nothing good—that was for damn sure. Nobody in this building was ever up to anything good.

Three floors up, I found myself at my mother's door. I stared ahead at the slab of steel and its chipped-paint facade, realizing in the matter of a millisecond that I was scared to knock.

Would she answer? Would Levi? And what the hell would I even say? I mean, shit! It had felt so important to be here, to see her, to confront her about the past, and I'd gone over the words a thousand times on the two-hour-long ride while Harry tapped along to some classic rock and told me about his new power washer. But now, facing the worn and weathered door I'd once passed through hundreds of times, my mind was a clean, blank slate.

Go back down, get in Harry's car, and get the hell out of here.

But what about getting answers? Harry would ask if I talked to her. What the fuck would I say?

Tell him nobody was home. Tell him it—

Voices came from the other side of the door. Muffled words, spoken in harsh tones. One of them was my mom—I knew that—but who were the others? There was one—no, two men with her. They spoke brashly, heatedly, as they came closer. Were they fighting, arguing? I couldn't tell, but they were heading toward the kitchen, nearer to where I stood, and when I heard the locks being undone, I bolted. Hurried away toward the stairs, ready to leave.

“Where the hell are you going?” I heard a man say as the door creaked open.

It was Levi.

Afraid he had seen me, I glanced toward the apartment door, only to see not him, but my mother with her ratty, old purse slung over her shoulder.

“I'm going to get some cigarettes. You have a problem with that?” she snapped, her voice rough and hoarse.

“Grab a few six-packs too,” he called just as she closed the door behind her.

My mother began to walk in my direction, her eyes on her hands as they rifled through her purse. “A few six-packs … yeah, okay, 'cause I wanna deal with your drunk asses all—”

Her sunken gaze lifted to see me, standing two steps down into the stairwell. She froze, nearly dropping her purse from off her shoulder.

“Hi, Diane.”

“W-w-what …” She swallowed and blinked rapidly, then licked her dry, cracked lips. “What are you doing here?”

As if I'd forgotten entirely about my fear of seeing her, I leaned against the wall and tucked my hands inside my jeans pockets. “I came to ask you a couple of questions.”

Her nostrils flared as her eyes widened … with what? It wasn't anger or irritation. No, there was something else there.

Fear.

She's afraid.

Of what? Me?

“You shouldn't be here,” she said, her voice trembling and hushed. “You need to get the hell out of here.”

“Not until I talk to you.”

She huffed, taking a peek over her shoulder toward the door, then gestured with a frantic hand down the stairs. “Go. Go downstairs. Get outside.”

My brows pinched as I eyed her warily. “Are you going to talk to me?”

She clenched her jaw. “I said, go.”

With a roll of my eyes, I did as she’d asked, descending the three floors two steps at a time with her hurrying behind me, her flip-flops slapping all the way. I barreled through the entry hallway, beneath the flickering bulb, to burst through the front door that no longer closed. The warm breeze hit me, and I was grateful for the fresh air as I turned around on my heel to face the woman I'd once been foolish enough to hold on a pedestal.

“I'm not letting you leave until you talk to me,” I said, keeping my voice low and menacing.

But she was already walking away in the other direction, digging out a pack of cigarettes from her bag.

“Diane,” I growled through gritted teeth. “Stop—”