Pusher

twenty-seven.

"What are you doing?"

White hot fear injected into my veins at the sound of Maverick's voice, paralyzing me to the spot. I knelt in front of his open drawer, the little black book still clutched in my hands, without so much as a breath passing through me.

His words echoed through the silence, accompanied only by the sound of my own thundering heart. But as I listened to his voice, replaying it in my mind like a scratched record, I realized it wasn't accusing or filled with rage or any of the things I imagined it to be.

He was simply drowsy, a little confused. The tone resembled a child's. A single shaky breath eased out of my lungs and I forced my features to relax, craning my neck around.

"Looking for some Advil. You're going to need it in the morning."

He took the lie without question. He was too far back on the bed for me to see from my kneeling position, but I could hear him sink back into the mattress, too drunk to realize I was searching in the completely wrong place for pain medication.

He muttered into his pillow, "It's in the bathroom."

Discreetly, I tucked the book into my purse and pushed the drawer closed with my foot. I squinted into the harsh florescent lights of his bathroom, struggling to navigate his medicine cabinet, but eventually I found a container of pills with the proper label. I set them down next to the water I had laid out for him, but Maverick caught my wrist before I could slip out.

"It's so cold outside," he said. Desperation cut through the drowsiness of his voice and seeped into the warmth of his touch. His lips were just barely parted, as if he wanted to say so much more but simply couldn't find the words.

"I know," I said, gently prying his fingers loose and slipping from his grip, but still caught in his languid gaze. "I'll wear a jacket."

It was an outright lie, but it seemed to sooth him enough for him to relax back into his pillow. I found myself stuck at his bedside, watching the way his eyelashes swept up and down in slow blinks, desperately fighting to stay awake.

"You drive me crazy. You know that? Absolutely crazy," he muttered just as his eyes fluttered closed.

I shuffled out of the house before he had a chance to wake again, a mix of anxiety and exhilaration swirling through my chest and chasing my heart into a rapid pace. I could hardly wait until I passed the first block before I dug into my purse and fished out his leather bound book.

This was it. This was everything I needed. I fanned the pages open, scrambling to hold my phone light over the ink scribblings. But the columns and rows, the streams of numbers and dates, the rushed notes, and the shorthand code existed only in my imagination.

Instead I found doodles.

Everything from stick figures to full fledged sketches was scribbled across the pages. Bubble letters were crammed into the corners and little comics were centered in the middle. Lyrics and quotes decorated the paper, but I hardly recognized any of them. It didn't matter anyway. The book was useless to me.

I threw it into my purse, too frustrated to even begin thinking about how I was going to return it without him knowing I had stolen it in the first place. All that risk for some book he probably hadn't even touched since middle school. I should have searched his truck, not his room. If he really did have some sort of record, he'd probably keep it on hand, but I was starting to doubt it. When had I ever seen Maverick write anything down?

God, I was so stupid.

With my excitement drowned out by reality, I was a lot less distracted from the world around me, specifically the frigid air that cut right through my dress. I furiously rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to regain some warmth. In the dim glow of the streetlamps I could see my skin turning pink. Maverick was right. It was cold out here; it was freezing. At the rate of my shaking, I wasn't going to make it all the way home.

I pulled out my phone, checking the hour for the first time since leaving the party. It was early morning. In fact, in a few short hours it would be sun up. Ellie would kill me if I tried to call her for a ride this late at night, but I knew someone who might still be up. I just hoped he wasn't drunk as well.

One phone call later and about fifteen minutes of walking through the chilly night, Miles pulled up to the curb beside me. I practically dove into the car, holding my hands in front of the heating vent.

"You so owe me for this," Miles said, probably for the millionth time. I just grimaced.

"Thanks for doing this."

He huffed a short reply, rounding the next block before shooting me a sideways glance, eyebrows pulled together. "I still can't believe this, you know. Out of all my relatives, granted we don't have very many, you're the last one I'd expect to call me at three am for a ride home smelling like beer. Do you remember when you were fourteen and lectured me on the effects of alcoholism?" He shook his head. "At least I don't have to hear that crap anymore."

"Hey, in my defense, I wasn't really doing any drinking. Someone spilled beer on my dress at the party. And at your current rate, you're bound to actually become an alcoholic so don't complain about my fair warnings."

"Keep talking like that and I'm going to let you out on the curb," he teased. I rolled my eyes, but we both shut up until he stopped in front of my house. The porch light was left on for me.

Miles tilted his chin up towards the house. "How's your mom doing?"

"She's alright," I said, my eyes trained on her bedroom window. It was too dark to see now, but her curtains were a pale blue with elephants marching along the bottom, something we had picked out together years ago. It was one of the only remnants of our old house. I can't even begin to understand why she packed those of all things.

"I mean, we'll get through this. We always do," I sighed.

He nodded, that determined and hardened kind of nod he always did when hardship was brought up. After a few moments, his features softened. "I'll see you tomorrow at my mom's, right?"

"Of course," I said, offering a small smile. "When have I ever missed a Sunday dinner?"

I ducked inside the house, flashing the porch light to let Miles know I was all set, and he drove off with the engine of his ancient vehicle popping in strain. I kicked off my shoes, ready to fall into my sheets and sleep for a million years, but the sight of my mother's purse abandoned on the table was enough to keep me from immediately diving into my room.

I fished out a couple bills from my own purse, not enough for anyone to notice, but enough to help out a little, and stuffed it into the open pocket of my mother's. The lights flicked on.

"You know, most parents would have to worry about their teenager sneaking money out of their wallet, not into it."

I jumped, my heart practically beating right through my chest, and squinted into the harsh florescent lights. My mother's figure, dark frizzy hair and a face lined with exhaustion, was illuminated.

"Mom, what are you doing up so late?"

"I wanted to make sure you got home alright," she said, her arms folding over her chest. She sighed. "Now your turn. Where are you getting all this money from, Angelica?"

"I told you. I've been doing some work around the neighborhood. You know, lawn care and house cleaning. Things like that." My voice sounded sure enough, but only because I had rehearsed the lie so many times before. The practice, however, didn't prepare me for the way my heart pounded in my chest or the guilt that twisted in my gut.

My mother sighed, rubbing her eyes before dropping her hands to her sides. "Go get some sleep, Angelica. It's late."

I nodded, slipping past her, the both of us fully aware of my lie.