Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself Book 1) (13 page)

“Benny.” His name came from Bear across the room, and he jerked his head up, erection effectively managed with a single word from Lucia’s dad. “Talk to Slate lately?”

Shaking his head, he decided he would share Ruby’s news. “Talked to Rubes yesterday morning.” He wouldn’t have been able to derail the grin on his face if he tried. “He met her with a ring when she got off the plane.” Bear started grinning back at him. “She was a little…excited.”

“What?” That shriek came from Eddie, who pushed Bear to one side as she forced her way into the living room. “DeeDee,” she turned to speak to the redhead coming out of the kitchen behind her. “Did you know about this?” DeeDee might not be Ruby’s birth mom—that bitch was as poor an example of motherhood as his own was—but she had effectively raised Ruby since the girl befriended her daughter in grade school. Her daughter died in a car accident alongside DeeDee’s husband. Benny cut his eyes to Bear. Like his wife and daughter.

“Slate showed me the ring,” DeeDee murmured, her face holding as much love for his brother as Lucia’s had for Mickey a moment ago. “Glad he decided to take the leap.” Her gaze turned to Benny. “She called you?”

Uh oh, this might be tricky
, he thought. With a slow up-and-down movement of his head, he said, “Yeah, she’s turned into my big sister. Gonna be my sister-in-truth we decided.” That should explain the relationship he had with Ruby, without making it seem odd she called him and not the woman who might as well be her mom.

“I’m glad she’s got you.” DeeDee’s words were honest and filled with joy, not upset Ruby hadn’t called her, hadn’t picked up the phone, more than a full day later.

***

Baby. Benita’s voice drilled down through the drunken haze engulfing him. He liked it here. He didn’t want to wake up. Didn’t want to lose the fog that gave space between himself and the pain that seemed to be his entire life. Baby.

The voice held more than a hint of an accent, and he found himself squinting up at the unsmiling face hovering over him. “Benny.”

Blinking up at the beautiful cocoa-colored skin and warm brown eyes, the first thing he thought with any clarity was
Fuck
. His mouth wasn’t connected yet, wasn’t working. Mute, not enough synapsing connections working right now to drive the engine behind his most useful deflection weapon. “Benny.”

His stomach revolted, and he turned his head sideways, trying not to vomit on the woman seated on the edge of the couch. Even with Andy and Ruby gone, he still couldn’t bring himself to sleep in their bed. That was theirs, nothing to do with the trash that was his existence. Trash he’d proven wasn’t far away with his decisions last night. He moved, and a loud clunk announced the heavy-bottomed, but now entirely empty black label whiskey bottle had fallen to the floor.

“Get out.” Face to the back of the couch, he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting to feel the weight leave the cushion at his hip. He swallowed convulsively, still trying not to vomit, knowing from his vast experience, he’d be losing the battle within a few minutes.

“Benny.” Could a voice carry the weight of disappointment and sadness? Seemed so, because hearing Lucia say his name again pressed against him, forcing him deeper in the couch, keeping him where he was. Mired in his decisions. Again. “What happened?”

“Get out.” He repeated his words, but with less conviction than before. If he had to open his mouth again, he’d lose what little control he had over his body, even now feeling his hold slipping away. His stomach jerked, and lurched again, and he jackknifed to sitting, feeling the room sway in a way that would not assist in achieving a settled stomach. A bowl appeared in front of him, and he grabbed it away from the small, feminine hands, dropping his head into the opening as he heaved. And retched. And gagged. Dribbles of bile the first thing to make an appearance. Burning yellow globs of acid setting his throat on fire, the familiar pain telling him how bad this was going to be.

Two hundred and seventy-four fucking days.

Back to zero.

Fuck
.

Now the retching produced more quantity, this burning no less because the alcohol following the bile always bit deep. Loud groans coincided with each splash, his body moving involuntarily to purge the offensive substances. A clunk. Water running in a nearby room. The cushion settled at his back, and he hadn’t even been aware she’d moved away. A cool cloth draped across the back of his neck, pulling a different kind of groan from him because it felt so good.

Silence accompanied her care of him. Hands changing out the too quickly heated wet cloth for a cool fresh one every few minutes. Exchanging the stench- and swill-filled bowl for a clean one. Fingers gliding soothingly up and down his back, gripping his biceps gently when he bent deep, wracked by cramps and shuddering in the grasp of his addiction. Because even now, right this moment, vomiting in front of the woman he’d been trying to deny he wanted, he wanted a drink so fucking bad it was all he could to do not beg her for a ride, for five dollars, for a bottle of booze to help him push back the pain of remembering.

“I’m sorry.” He finally had enough breath to push the empty fucking words from his mouth.
I don’t know what else to say. I don’t have anything else to offer
. A clean bowl appeared, and he gave up his grip on the soiled one without argument, without lifting his eyes.

“I know.” Her response was curious. Normally people would rush to tell him not to worry. That it wasn’t his fault. That he could be better. Be more. Be stronger. If only he would do this one thing. That one thing. Every one thing. “My dad was an addict.”

Better and better. Now he was as hopeless as her father, who’d died because he’d laid hands on Benny’s brother’s girlfriend. It reminded him he had a question, though. “Why are you here?”

“Your sponsor called Ruby. You didn’t pick up, so she called me.” Swallowing hard, he felt the burning in the back of his throat increase, knowing it was from tears rolling down his throat, forced back. “Since she left, you missed group, missed meetings, missed a call from him, but then you reached out last night. He wasn’t available.”

Benny barely remembered picking up the phone, bottle in one hand, the amber-colored liquid whispering promises and lies, phone in the other, a dead end, offering no connection to hook his anchor on this time. “When he got free and called, he said you didn’t answer.” Good news. If his sponsor didn’t know Benny slipped, then he couldn’t have told Ruby. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have sent Lucia. She’d have told Andy, and he’d have flown back. Dropped everything as he always had to do to clean up Benny’s messes. Or he’d have called someone else. Like Bear.
Fuck
.

“Bear.” Not even aware his mouth was moving, he heard his voice, quavering and sounding stupid with badly hidden tears. “Did you tell him? Anyone?”

“Not yet. I wanted to make sure you were okay first.” The too-hot cloth changed out for a cooler one, and he tipped his head sideways, trapping her fingers for a moment against his shoulder in silent thanks. “You know what triggered this?”

Her question tugged at his memory like a fishing line. Andy on the phone, telling Benny he and Ruby had spent the day with their mother. Saying she’d changed, pulled her head out of her ass, finally. Twenty years too late. “Andy called. He’s mending bridges with our mom. She wasn’t the best…influence when I was growing up. It was just us, most of the time—me and Andy. My dad’s been dead for years. Since I was five.” She shifted on the cushion, and he turned to look at her for the first time since she woke him. “I’d say it gets easier, but I think this proves that’s a lie people tell to make themselves feel better when they stop talking about things.” He groaned as another wave of nausea broke against his throat, causing him to sway in place on the couch.

“My dad’s been dead nearly nine months.” He remembered that part, counting by months because as they racked up, it became more bizarre that the person was gone so long. That you’d experienced so much without them being around to see. Andy gone, never seeing football games, driving lessons, prom night. Months morphing into years. Time marching on. Ever onward.

“Andy told me what happened.” He shook his head, then stopped when she turned a confused look to him. His eyes swam for a moment, then settled, the two Lucias gradually resolving down into one.

“What happened? What do you mean?” Shit, now he’d put his foot in it. Of course Andy and Bear would protect her from that. No way was she aware of what her father had done. “What did Slate tell you?”

“That he was dead.” Play the ignorant card, see if she believed a minute of it in his state. “What happened?”

“There was a break in.” Her voice quavered, and he hated being the reason she was reliving this pain. “He got shot. At least he went fast.” His stomach was slowly settling, along with the room around him, ceasing wavering and circling as things clicked back into place. Now, time for damage control.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. And then to have to help your brothers through his death, pushing past your own sorrow. Amazing. You must be so strong, Luce.” She shifted, uncomfortable with the praise, faint as it was. “I can see how they all depend on you.” Rafe needed her more than Benny had understood at first; his autism masked by the boy’s silent and withdrawn personality. After seeing Roddy and Mickey with her, he had noted the differences between the boys were more marked than he realized. “Bear, too.” Since taking on an entire instafamily, Bear leaned on her a lot. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, honey.”

Now the glance she flicked him was annoyed, and he didn’t know why. “I do what’s needed.” She stood, taking the bowl out of his hands, stripping the damp cloth from the back of his neck, leaving the spot feeling wet, vulnerable, and cold in an uncomfortable way. “I’ll be back with food in a minute.” Not asking what he wanted, which was good because he didn’t want anything. Would have turned down all options right now. But knowing he needed to eat, he nodded. No doubt she’d show up with the perfect thing for a tender stomach ill abused by a drunkard. Ten minutes later, she did, rousing him from the half sleep he’d dropped into as soon as he got horizontal.

Grilled cheese and strong coffee. Just greasy enough to taste good, and perfect to absorb the rest of the shit in his gut. Wordlessly he struggled upright, accepting the plate and putting it carefully on his crossed legs. Staring at the food, he pulled a bite-sized piece off the sandwich he bemusedly noticed was cut on a diagonal.
Totally a chick with little brothers.
She settled onto the couch at the far end from where he sat, resting comfortably against the cushions as if she’d been there a million times. He asked, “You know Ruby well?”

“Yeah. Not friends, but friendly. Not like her and Lockee. They were really close. But, yeah, I’ve known her for a while.” Lockee was DeeDee’s daughter who’d died.

“Ruby talked like they were more sisters than friends.” All he could do was talk about dead people today, it seemed. He stuffed another small bite of sandwich in his mouth, frowning.

“They were.” No jealousy or anger there, simply an acknowledgment of what was. “Daddy wasn’t a…” She hesitated, and he wasn’t sure why. After a minute, she seemed to gather her thoughts, leaning forward to sit straight. “Daddy wasn’t a good member. He didn’t understand how Rafe was, always believed his behaviors were a choice, not a…disability. We didn’t go to events with him because he was afraid Rafe would embarrass him…us. I’d usually stay home to take care of the boys.” Still no anger, which seemed real, but he found himself hating what her statement said about her growing up.

“My mom’s an addict. A drunk. Alcohol is her drug of choice.” As he spoke, Lucia’s hand appeared, snagging a small piece of bread crust he’d pulled free.
Stealing from my plate like we’re friends
. He liked that. A lot. More than was prudent, given who her father was. “Andy called last night.” He swallowed, the edges of a suddenly too-dry bite gouging ditches on its way down his throat. “I already told you, I know. It’s just weird. We’ve hated her for a long time. He saw her yesterday. And now he’s gonna invite her up here for his and Ruby’s wedding.” Twisting his neck, he chanced a glance at Lucia to see her studying him. “I haven’t seen her in years. Hate her. Hate what she did to our family after Daddy died. I lost everything when he died. My home, my family. Everything.”

Unfolding a leg, he toed the empty bottle, shifting it to one side, hearing the echoes of his retching in the grating slide of glass on wood. “Got off the phone with Andy. Remembered there was some whiskey in the house.” Pulling his leg back, he kicked the bottle, sending it rocketing into the kitchen where it ricocheted out of sight. “I tried. Swear to God, I did. But the more I thought about not drinking the more I wanted to drink.” He shoved another bite into his mouth, furious with himself for saying anything.
Weak. So fucking weak
.

“Sucks you didn’t have the tools you needed.” No censure in her tone, no disappointment at his failure. She leaned close, and he shivered when he felt her fingers working under his thigh. That was a surprise move, intimate in a way he wanted but was afraid of, so he lifted and pulled back in reaction even as he wanted to push forwards. She grinned as she came up with his phone, fingertips dancing across the screen before she paused. Her ass buzzed, and he realized she’d called herself from his phone. “Now you have my info. If you can’t get in touch with your sponsor, you can call me.” She dropped his phone to the cushions next to his ass. “That sandwich gonna stay down?”