“I know.” Seeing her here cuts right through me. Trey wanted a future with her, and I single-handedly fucked it up.
“Everyone has been wondering where you’ve been,” she says. “You need to come back to Fremont, Vic. Come back with me.”
“So you’re the designated bounty hunter, sent to take me back to Fremont?” I ask. “Have you told everyone where I’ve been for the past two weeks?”
“No.” She steps back, seemingly insulted. “Nobody knows you’re here.”
“Why did you come here now, then?”
“Because I care about you.” She clears her throat and pauses before adding, “A lot.”
Chapter Thirty
MONIKA
Vic looks horrible. His shirt is stained and his hair is messy. He looks like he’s slept on the streets for the past two weeks. It’s like he’s given up.
“I don’t want you to care,” he says. “Not after what I did to Trey. I’m surprised the cops haven’t been lookin’ for me to arrest me for murder.”
“You didn’t murder Trey, Vic. It was…” I want to tell him the truth, that Trey had a part in his own death, but I can’t. “It was a freak accident. And I’m not going home, not until you promise to come back to school and go back to the football team. They can’t win a game without you.”
He puts his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to talk about school or Trey or football.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs.
I put my hands on my hips, trying to look assertive. “You can’t hide out here your entire life and ignore everyone who cares about you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s stupid.” I focus on my shoe, because I can’t look up when I add, “Trey would never let you do that.”
“Yeah, well Trey’s gone, Monika. And you should know by now that I am stupid.” He walks to the auto body and unlocks the door, silently declaring our conversation over.
I know Vic’s dad is hard on him. He’s never been made to feel important or worthy of attention, unless it’s negative or unless it’s in public and staged. I know that’s part of why he’s so closed off, but I won’t let that plus the stress of losing Trey bring him down.
I rush up to him. “There are always other options. You can’t just give up on school and football.”
“Yes I can,” he says. “I don’t want you to care about me.”
“Well, you’ll just have to deal with it because I do care about you, Vic.” I reach out and gently touch his hand, but as soon as my fingers glide over his I hear him suck in a breath. He snatches his hand away.
“Go back to Fremont, Monika,” he says.
“I’m here to help you. Don’t block me out.” Tears start forming in my eyes. Nobody knows how much I’m hurting inside. Vic doesn’t know the truth about what really happened on the field. If Mr. and Mrs. Matthews decide to keep that information private, he might never know.
He holds out his hands in frustration. “Go home. I don’t want you here.”
I need to stand my ground. “I’ll only go home if you agree to come back to school.”
“Fine,” he says.
A part of me relaxes. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he says. “If you leave right now, I’ll go back to school on Monday. I’d suggest you take me up on the offer, because if you don’t I’ll haul your ass over my shoulder and make you leave. You won’t have a choice. And just so you know, if you scream in this hood, nobody gives a shit.”
I narrow my eyes, wondering if he’d go through with it. “You wouldn’t do that.”
He gives a short, cynical laugh. “Try me.”
Chapter Thirty-one
VICTOR
On Monday I’m sitting in Isa’s living room pretending I’m not thinking about Monika and my lie to her that I’d be at school today. When I woke up this morning, I did actually think about hopping in the shower and going to school. But that was a fleeting thought. I’m not going to graduate anyways since I’ve missed so much school and probably can’t catch up, so what’s the point?
Just as I’m about to watch TV to zone out every thought running through my useless brain, Isa barges in wearing her oversized overalls to match her oversized Latina attitude. Damn, I wish I’d locked her out. Then I could pretend I wasn’t here.
I lean back. “Hey.”
“I’m havin’ an intervention.” She stands between me and the TV. “I’m done with you sittin’ on your ass doing nothing.”
“I’ve had a rough couple of weeks,” I say casually. “I just want to be left alone.”
“I’m sorry you lost your friend. I know all too well what it’s like to lose people you care about. But I’m drownin’ in work downstairs, and you’re MIA.” She gestures to my attire. “And you’re a fucking mess.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry? That’s it?” Her dark eyes are like daggers right now. “If I don’t get this backlog of work done, I’m gonna lose my shirt and I’ll have to sell the place.”
“I can’t work right now.”
She points to the television. “Because you’re sittin’ on your ass watchin’ some dumb cartoon?”