Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) Read Free

fall silent, my
eyes on his black boots. My heart is broken that I haven’t been
able to do even this right. It had been so good for so long. I
should have known. I blink my eyes, because I don’t cry, but
they’re stinging like they’re going to betray me too.
    When we get into his Lotus, the Batmobile if
there ever was one, I close my eyes at the rumble when it comes to
life. That sound. For four months that sound has meant excitement,
adventure, release. Now the usual anticipation is missing. I want
it back.
    “Tell me who did this, Sadie.” I look over at
Batty. He’s taken off his mask, revealing his high cheekbones, dark
brown disheveled hair, and little red marks start to appear on his
forehead right next to a vein that pops out only sometimes.
    “It doesn’t matter. I made it, but it was all
for nothing.”
    “You’ll go next week. They wanted to see
Robin. Do you know what you look like?” I watch his strong hands
change gears.
    “A drug addict?”
    His eyes flash silver in the street lamps as
we speed by. “Or something.”
    We don’t speak on the hour long drive to my
house. My body is tired from the adrenaline letdown, the muscles
stiff so that it takes long enough for me to get out of the car
that Batty grabs an arm gently to help me out.
    I watch him unlock the doors, going
immediately to turn off the alarm. I’ve reset it so many times, but
he’s been over enough to learn all of my codes. He takes me to my
bathroom upstairs. We’ve never been in here together before. He
sits me on the lip of the tub, leaning down to unzip my boots.
    “What are you doing?” I whisper. He holds up
the heels so that I see the dried blood on them.
    “Did you go to the hospital?” he asks in his
brusque way.
    “Which one?”
    His eyes cut to me, flashing a warning as the
muscles in his jaw clench.
    “I don’t know if I went. I woke up there,” I
say quietly.
    “You don’t remember?” He’s done with the
other shoe, and reaches for my shirt. I lift my arms for him.
    “No.” I’m not wearing a bra, but he doesn’t
seem to notice. He turns me, putting fingertips to my shoulder
blades where they’re scraped.
    “What do you remember?”
    I shrug off his hands and turn again. “I
remember after the concert I was supposed to be catching a plane. I
would have made it. I’ve always made the planes.”
    “Focus,” he says as he reaches for my
pants.
    “I wanted to go but Brian made me talk to a
reporter. Do you know Brian?” My brain is foggy, but I know we’ve
never talked about anything but the kids. I keep going. “My throat
hurt, but the bartender thought I drank whiskey, so I did. That’s
all.”
    His eyes scan my face. “You’re an addict and
you drank whiskey?”
    I scoff and roll my eyes. “Aren’t you the one
that once said I wasn’t an addict?”
    He turns to the tub, twisting the knobs
violently. “Yeah. You were the one to offer up your graduation
certificate from rehab, so cut the shit.”
    “It’s part of the deal. I did drugs, I drank
too much, I went to rehab. Check, check, check. I could have
stopped if I wanted to,” I admit to the first person in my life.
Figured it would be Batty.
    “In you go.” He holds my hand until I’m
sitting down in the half filled tub. I watch under lids that are
half-mast as he empties a vase of fake flowers. He quickly fills it
with water and starts rinsing my long hair.
    “Why are you doing this?” His hands still for
a second before they dump the water on my head again.
    “Because you don’t have anyone else.”
    I feel my face go blank at his words. “You
don’t know me, Batty.” My voice is cold, my shields going up faster
than the water down my back.
    He stops to reach for my chin, turning my
eyes to him. “At least I know your fucking name.”
    “Get out.” My voice shakes. I feel like I’m
about to unravel. This was our thing. From the second we started .
. . whatever the hell we did, it wasn’t personal. It wasn’t