Play Me Hard (Play Me 3)

I prop her against her door well with a sigh. “I’ll go find them. But you’ve got to stay right here, okay? Don’t wander off.”

She sags against the door. “I won’t go anywhere, darlin’. These old bones of mine are tired.”

I know the feeling. Shoving the thought to the back of my head—I have enough to deal with right now without my own past coming back to haunt me—I head in the general direction of where Janet had gestured.

The keys aren’t there, of course, and so I gradually widen my search area until I find them under her car at the back of the lot. Her very badly parked car. Shit. She drove home drunk, when she’d promised me just the other day she wouldn’t do that again.

I grab the keys then hurry back across the lot before Janet can get into any more trouble. Thankfully, she’s exactly where I left her this time—except she’s on the ground, eyes closed, back and head resting against the door.

I get her back on her feet, then unlock the door and lead her into her apartment.

It’s in better shape than I expected, considering the state it was in yesterday when I brought her home. A sign that she’s actually been sober sometime in the last twenty-four hours. Sober enough to clear away the beer bottles and plastic cups. Sober enough even to dust the pictures she has scattered on every available surface of her apartment.

Almost all of the pictures are of her and her son and they tell a very different story than the one she’s living now. In almost all of the photos, she’s happy, healthy. She still looks tired, but it’s a different kind of tired. One that’s interspersed with a contentment that’s definitely missing now.

Not for the first time, I wonder about her son. About what happened to him. About whether he died or got arrested or just went away and left Janet alone to drink herself to death. I hope it’s not the last one, hope he’s not out there somewhere knowing what’s happening to her, why it’s happening, and just not giving a fuck.

“I’ll make you some coffee,” I tell her after getting her settled on the couch. But she’s out of coffee—she’s out of everything except beer and cheap tequila.

For the first time since I opened my fridge this morning, I’m grateful—truly grateful—for what Sebastian did last night. If he hadn’t bought me all those groceries, I’d have nothing to give Janet this morning but a carton of yogurt.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I tell her, then run up to my apartment. I pour her a cup of coffee from the still warm pot, then grab a bag and stuff it full of groceries. I’m back down at her place in five minutes, but it’s too late. She’s already passed out, facedown on the dirty couch.

After turning her head to make sure she can breathe, I quickly put the food away. Then I leave her a note, so she’ll know it’s there, and let myself out of her apartment. We’ve been friends of sorts for over a year now and I do this so often that I’ve even got keys to her place so I can lock up on my way out.

I’m running really late now, so I pretty much break every speed limit there is on my way across town to see my sister. She has a follow-up appointment with her doctor at eleven today and I wanted to spend a couple hours with her before she went in. Normally I go with her and Mom to these appointments, but I have to work this afternoon and there’s no way she’ll be done before I have to be at the Atlantis.

I reach into my purse, grab my cell phone. Figure I’ll text her and let her know I’m on my way. Between last night and the night before, my tips were pretty good. Add in the groceries Sebastian got me, and I figure I can afford to take her to her favorite Thai restaurant for lunch.

But my cell’s dead—I was so out of it that I forgot to charge it last night before I went to bed and the call with Sebastian must have finished it off. Damn. Maybe the Thai restaurant will have to wait if Mom doesn’t know to get Lucy ready in time.

Thirty-five minutes after I left my apartment, I pull into the circular driveway in front of my parents’ house.

It’s the same house I grew up in, the only place I’ve ever lived besides the apartment I now have and my various dorm rooms at college, and I’ve always loved it. Loved the huge palm trees in front, the high ceilings that let in the best of the desert sunshine, the long, marble hallways that glisten in the afternoon. The secret passages that run behind the walls and provided me with the best hiding places in the world when I was growing up.

I love everything about this place, if I’m honest, which is why I hate so much the way it feels when I come here now. I hate the way my throat tightens with dread, the way my stomach sinks. The way my hands can’t quite stay steady. All because of Carlo. All because—

I cut off the thought, refusing to go there now—or ever again. Dwelling on the past won’t change things. It won’t heal old wounds and it won’t make the outcome any different. So what’s the point, other than making myself miserable.

There is no point, and I’ll do well to remember that.

I take the stairs leading up to the entrance two at a time. Knock three times on the front door and try not to think about what it was like in the days before I had to knock. The days I felt free to just walk right in.

It’s not that I want to go back to that time—I don’t. I don’t like who I was back then, how I always did what I was told and never questioned my father’s narrative, no matter how absurd it was. And parts of it were pretty damn absurd if I’m being honest. I was just too stupid to know better. Or worse, too blind.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss being able to see my sister every day. Don’t miss being part of a family. And I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t miss knowing that the bills would always be paid.

At the same time, though, now that I know how my dad pays those bills…it isn’t worth it. Nothing is worth that.

The door finally opens and I smile at Conchita, the housekeeper my parents have employed since before I was born. She’s had as big a hand in raising me as my mother has, and I press a quick hello kiss to her cheek before pulling back to smile at her.

She doesn’t smile back.

Instead, she whispers, “Lucia and your mama already left, Aria. They decided to go to the mall before the doctor’s appointment.”

“Why didn’t they text me?” I say before remembering that my phone is dead.

“They did,” Conchita says, rubbing my back even as she tries to shove me out onto the porch. “No answer.”