I grinned and shook my head. "I'd say thank you, but he didn't get his looks from me. Obviously."
Sniffing out a short laugh, the cop tipped his hat. "Keep the volume of those arguments down." And then he was gone.
Listening to them bid Tristy a farewell as they left the apartment, I continued to pace the floor with Julian. I knew all too well that if he were even the slightest bit awake when I laid him down, he'd holler his head off. He had to be completely out of it.
When Tris appeared in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest as she stared into my room at us, I sighed.
"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have yelled and pounded on your door," I confessed before she could start in on me. "And yes, I could've waited until morning. But, shit, Tris. Are you really that miserable here? Is it so bad that you'd rather go out and get high, not knowing where you're going to wake up, what's going to be done to you, or who you'll end up with than having a roof over your head, a clean bed to sleep in each night, and a constant supply of food?"
Tears filled her eyes. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, smearing them. "No, but . . . Damn it, Pick. I get so . . . so sick and tired of being cooped up in this place all day. And I thought it'd be okay if it was just marijuana. Nothing heavy. It's just . . . the kid's always here. There's just no break. You get to go off to work; you don't have to constantly listen to him cry and demand shit all day."
I blew out a breath and closed my eyes, resting my cheek on Julian's head. "I wish you had come to me and told me this instead of looking up Quick Shot. Damn, Tris. If you need a break, I can get you a break. I can watch him every evening I have a night off, and you can go out and do whatever. Plus, I'm sure Mrs. Rojas next door can babysit one or two times a week."
When Tristy's eyes lit with excitement, I knew I'd said the right thing. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
"Tris." I rolled my eyes. "When have I not done everything within my power to get you whatever you needed?"
"That's true," she admitted with a sheepish shrug.
"If you promise not to contact Quick Shot again, I'll make sure you have more . . . freedom. Okay?"
"Okay." Then she stepped in the room, looking relieved. "I can walk with him for a little bit if you want?"
Her offer shocked the shit out of me. "Uh . . . yeah. Sure." We fumbled awkwardly as I tried to pass the sleeping kid off to her. Julian stirred but didn't wake. When his head was securely propped on her shoulder and she patted his back in a motherly manner, I stared openly, unable to look away.
"What?" she asked, giving me an irritated frown. "Am I doing something wrong?"
"No." I grinned and shook my head. "Nothing. You're doing great. I'm going to change into something to sleep in and get a snack. Be right back."
When she nodded, I grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of sweats and darted out of the room. I couldn't stop grinning as I changed in the bathroom and then ransacked the kitchen, looking for food. I finally just smeared butter on some saltines, sandwiched them together, and called it good. After tossing all the disposable trash I found on the counters, I stacked the dirty dishes so there was some counter space left and hurried back to my room.
I'd been gone five minutes max, but that must've been too long for Tristy. She'd already settled Julian back into his crib and returned to her own room.
With a disappointed sigh, I stroked the sleeping kid's head before settling into my own bed, where I dropped crumbs all over my sheets as I polished off my snack. I guess I couldn't expect too much from the new mommy yet. So for now, I'd take five minutes. She'd touched him and held him. That was progress.
Chapter 6
EVA
My roommates were driving me crazy. A week after the wicked witch of Florida had swooped in to mess with Mason and Reese's life, the awkwardness in our apartment grew so thick I was sure it'd smother all three of us. And it was Mason's fault entirely.
Reese tried, she really freaking tried to move past it, to shrug off Mrs. Garrison's visit and get on with her life. But Mason just wouldn't let her. He kept acting like some kind of abused dog who'd been kicked in the ribs one too many times. He shied away from Reese, couldn't look her in the eyes, stopped touching her completely. His guilt was so tangible it left a nasty aftertaste in my mouth. Despite her normally upbeat personality, even Reese had stopped attempting to be cheerful.
They were both so miserable; I hated it.
So when Mason walked into the kitchen one evening while I was fixing myself a snack—carrots, apple slices, and celery smothered in peanut butter because I wanted to deliver a healthy kid—I dropped my butter knife on the counter and grabbed his arm, yanking him close. I'd had enough of this shit.
He tried to jerk back in surprise, but I wouldn't let him go.
"This has to stop," I hissed, glancing warily toward the opening of the kitchen in the hopes that Reese didn't walk in any second and catch me chewing him out.
"What? I just walked into the kitchen." Pulling his arm away, he managed to free himself as he scowled back.
I snorted. "As if. Your non-stop moping is sucking the life out of Reese. I hope you realize that."
His face drained of color, telling me how much he'd noticed it . . . and hated it, too. But the way his jaw tightened said he was pissed I'd brought it up. Stepping in close, he whispered, "What the hell am I supposed to do about it? I can't stop what happened. It already happened."
"Yes, it did. But it's over and done with. All you can do is control how you react to it. And you're having a really bad reaction. It's dragging Reese down with you."