Athena

64. You Win

By the time I roll into Scottsdale, blue skies have descended into darkness. My muscles feel a little stiff and achy after two and a half hours on the road. I want to shower, crawl into bed, and pass out, but, then, I remember that I'm homeless and, therefore, shower-less and bed-less as well.

Fucking hell.

I'm supposed to return the Kia to my dad. I decide against it. I need to hold onto this car a little longer. Some people might call my decision—theft. Like my dad's wife, Dana. But whatever. Borrow, steal. To-may-toe, to-mah-toe. Screw Dana. If Cruz and I aren't welcome in their house, they can duke it out over the car in their nice, warm beds while we sleep in the fucking Kia. It's the least my dad can do. I'll only need it for a few days, anyway, to hunt for a job and an apartment.

I'm thinking about reaching out to Alison—or even Jake, my weed supplier—for a temporary place to crash. I'm not picky. I'm okay with two sleeping bags on the floor and access to the bathroom. If they refuse us, though, at least, Cruz and I will have the Kia until we find an apartment for Nascha to sign off on. None of this is ideal, I know, but it's better than being completely homeless or letting Cruz suffer under his dad's roof.

My fingers grow tense around the steering wheel when I pull into Ron's neighborhood. I punch in the access code at the private entrance and watch the gates swing open. Anxiety cinches my nerves. I don't even know if Cruz is home because the idiot won't answer my calls or texts. That's why I came here first to check on him. In one of my texts, I told him I was going straight to his dad's house if he didn't reply.

Trying to be a stealthy bitch, I park one street down from the house so Ron won't notice my presence. Then, I trek on foot the rest of the way. I hear a rumble overhead. Fuck me but it starts to rain. It never rains in Arizona. Just my luck. It's also fifty degrees outside—practically arctic by my desert-dwelling standards—and I start to shiver as rainwater soaks through my clothes, chilling me to the bone.

Wrapping my arms around my body, I curse myself for not packing an umbrella. By the time I reach Ron's house, I'm a drenched mess. Strands of wet hair stick uncomfortably to my neck and cheeks. I duck under a tree to hide from the relentless downpour. The branches and leaves provide a little shelter. I'm still getting wet, though. Feeling cold and miserable, I eye the house with apprehension. It looks bigger and more intimidating in the rain.

Did Cruz make it home yet?

Phone in hand, I don't give up and send out yet another text: r u going to keep ignoring me?

Then another: i'm outside your house for fuck's sake

And another: please come out

At this point, I don't know what I'm hoping for.

Is Cruz not answering because he's hurt or in trouble?

Or is he simply ghosting me on purpose?

As long as he's safe, I guess it doesn't matter. Still, my chest feels heavy and tight with uncertainty. I refuse to leave until I'm sure that he's going to be okay. For the longest time, I stare at a blackened screen on my phone, and I'm scared that he's going to go MIA on me forever. Cruz hasn't read any of my messages all day.

Asshole.

I want to scream. I want to cry. I just want Cruz to tell me what the fuck is going on.

Did something happen to him on the way back from Flagstaff?

How did he get home without a car, anyway?

Uber?

Worry fuels my anger. It's a potent combination. I wish he'd stop trying to do everything on his own.