“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and Dex steps up to me, still holding his hand to his chin. Pulling at my ponytail, my finger twists my hair around it.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just use your damn head, Chrissy. He’s a scumbag.” He scoots past me, and a few seconds later the screen door slams against the wooden frame.

Wrapping my arms around my body, I sit on the brick steps, feeling more alone than I have in years. A few minutes go by as I listen to the others talk about the fight and complimenting Dex on his strength. Concentrating on the crickets chirping and the few lightening bugs flickering spontaneously in the yard, I try to remember that one day my life will be different. One day, I’ll escape and never return.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Dex startles me, taking a seat on the stoop with an ice pack covering his knuckles.

Pulling my dress down over my legs, I bring my knees up to my chest, able to see the damage I caused. “I deserve it. I’m not sure what I was thinking bringing him here.”

“Hey.” He bends down to find my face. “You never deserve that, Chrissy,” he declares, and I turn my head and relax into a set of blue eyes that, if I’m honest, knows all of my secrets, even though I’ve never divulged them.

“You didn’t deserve it either,” I repeat, my sympathies directed toward him this time.

“Hey, these are like hero wounds. I’ll be the bad ass in my school until they heal.” He laughs, knocking shoulders with me. A small smile begins to form across my face, causing his to grow brighter and bigger. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get warm.” He stands up and holds his hand out to me. Taking it, he entwines our fingers, and those butterflies that filled my stomach with Mike earlier repeat their pattern, but this time it’s Dex’s touch wrestling them from slumber.

Dex walks up the steps, going inside and bypassing the basement stairs, where smoke floats up in a continuous stream and men’s bantering voices boom. We enter his room and he sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his long legs spread out in front of him. Although it’s been years since I’ve stepped foot in here, that smell of him takes me back to every other time we escaped and watched movies or played games up here. A ping in my chest spurs the sadness of how much I miss it … him. Scooting over, he eyes the spot next to him, where he wants me to join, but weariness sets in with expectations I can’t fulfill.

“Give me a break,” he teases, and I hesitantly match his position, leaving a few inches between us. Grabbing the remote from the nightstand, he turns on the flat-screen television. When the screen lights up the dark room, I can now say these televisions are as nice as I thought they were. “What do you want to watch?” he asks me, and I shrug, knotting my hands in my lap. “Will you relax? It’s me,” he says with a huff.

With that one statement, it’s confirmed that these tingles and flutters in my stomach are one-sided … mine. So I inch my body closer, and we settle into an easy conversation about movies. He flips through the channels, eventually landing on Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. I’m thankful it’s not some war movie or worse, science fiction.

We laugh and eventually my eyes begin drooping. After my millionth yawn, Dex hands me a pillow and I scoot down on the bed, laying my head down while still watching the movie. Dex’s laughter shakes the mattress periodically. Hearing his amusement creates a smile on my face, putting me at ease that he’s right by my side.

DARKNESS STILL ENCOMPASSES the room when I stir awake. Feeling with my hand, I pat the bed but only find a thawed bag of ice cubes. Sitting up, I blink my eyes a few times, taking in Dex’s room. When I don’t hear the water from the bathroom next door or any movement of his return, I decide to seek him out.

The door creaks open and I descend down the steps, following the shouting and calling of familiar voices echoing from somewhere in the house. Peering outside, I see no one there, so I’m guessing everyone has left except for the true gamblers. The ones that live and die for their easy money because a few times they actually were ‘blessed’.

Once I’m at the bottom of the basement stairs, I scan the smoke-filled room with televisions lining the walls. Some men are cheering on a baseball team and others busy themselves at poker tables. Spotting Dex, my stomach hardens, all of those butterflies from earlier slowly dying and weighing it down. Standing in the middle of the room, Dex has a fist full of money, yelling at the television.

The game ends and he screams, “YAY!” I glare as he walks around the room, grabbing money from men’s hands, bearing an arrogant smile. Some men pat his back, saying congratulations while others shake their head in annoyance.

“You should stick with him. He’s one talented bastard.” My dad comes along side of me and my vision flickers to his face, wrinkled and weathered beyond his years, and then back to Dex’s younger face, full of life. That elated sense of like and security I felt when I looked at him earlier quickly gets replaced with the need to purge my stomach into the nearest trashcan.

As though he hears my thoughts while his eyes scan the room, double-checking he collected all of his bets, the baby blues land on mine and his lips turn down as he lowers his hat to cover his eyes. Not willing to witness the unraveling of someone I believed was pure to this devil-infested life, I twist away from him and run.

His big bare feet thump up the stairs after me. I swing the door closed as soon as I step into the kitchen, but his flat hand stops it from shutting in his face. “Chrissy,” he calls out after me, but I continue my way up to his room with him close behind. I bend down to grab my shoes, and when I stand, I stumble back from his closeness.

“You’re no better than them,” I say, intently narrowing my eyes at the money still firmly clenched in his fist.

“This is nothing. It’s fun for me. You think I’d ever live my life—”

“Whatever, Dex,” I interrupt him and push by, disgusted that he gambles for entertainment. Doesn’t he realize everyone starts out that way and then the tide turns to a need basis? He grips my arm, twisting me around before sliding his hand down to join mine.

“I’m sorry, Chrissy. I was just bored and thought I’d go down there. One thing lead to another,” he says, making excuses for his behavior.

“I just think you should stay as far away as possible,” I advise and take in a breath. “I live the slippery slope first-hand.”

“I know—I will.” We stand there with our eyes darting all over the room, and the warmth of his hand in mine. “Just stay. Your dad can’t drive.” He leads me back over to the bed.

Sitting down, we find the same positions we were in hours ago. This time, the television remains turned off though. I roll over to face the wall and he rolls over on his side, facing the opposite direction.

I lie awake most of the night, listening to Dex’s breathing pattern and light snores. Eventually, I succumb to sleep, because when I wake up, he’s gone again. Leaning over, I wrap my arms around his pillow and inhale the scent that’s left behind, allowing that feeling of loneliness to occupy me again. A small envelope rests in the heel of my shoe. When my shaking finger tears along the seam to open it, I automatically know what it contains. All the crinkled money he won last night overfills the envelope with a small note.

The last thing I want is gambling money, but thinking about how many times my hard-earned babysitting money was ‘blessed’ to someone else, I shove it into my purse. When I get downstairs, Mr. Prescott is up and sitting at the kitchen table.