Chapter Seven
Lucky sat on the ugly couch in his counselor’s office. “Fuck my life,” he said. He’d long since given up on making nice and keeping conversation civil. If you couldn’t speak your mind to someone paid to listen, who else?
Besides, limiting his language to PG-13 level at home for the sake of his nephews seemed to build up obscenities until he’d have to disappear somewhere and explode in an unwitnessed fit of swearing.
Dr. Libby Drake sat in her usual chair, never flinching no matter what came out of his mouth. “When we last met, you’d reconciled with your family, your sister planned to move closer, and you spoke of proposing to your boyfriend. What’s happened in that time to bring you down?”
What indeed? “My parents barely tolerate each other, I really could use my sister right now but she’s in Spokane selling her house, one of my nephews hates me, and my boyfriend keeps saying no.”
“How does that make you feel?”
Feelings. Lucky used to hate feelings, avoiding them at all costs. Feelings weren’t all bad, they had their place, but right now he’d like to switch off his swirling emotions for a while, turn his brain to neutral.
He couldn’t. He’d tried.
“There’s this man, my boss. I think we talked about him a couple times.” Or a couple dozen.
The edges of Dr. Libby’s lips curled upward. “I believe we have. Your mentor, correct?”
“Yes… ma’am.” There went Bo again, with the long-distance imaginary elbow to Lucky’s side. He released his breath slowly, trying to push out the tension as she’d once taught him. “He… He’s in the hospital.”
She returned her features to blank-face. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
Lucky dragged his hands over his cheeks, chafing his palms on two days’ worth of stubble. “The doctors don’t know. With his age and weight, everybody figured he’d had a heart attack, but they ruled that out. His oxygen level plunged for some unknown reason, and now he’s unresponsive.” His eyes burned. “They say… they say he might have brain damage.” Speaking the words made them more real, and the pain didn’t lessen with time.
On some level he’d known the boss might retire someday, but not like this. He closed his eyes, picturing Walter in the ambulance, the pale blue cast to his skin. He’d seen skin like that on overdose victims, but nothing had been found in Walter’s system to cause the problem.
A dozen different compounds produced the same effect, untraceable without the most sophisticated tests. But where would Walter have come into contact with illicit drugs? Mrs. Smith already gave the doctors all Walter’s prescriptions. Nothing in those bottles caused such a reaction.
“I’m so sorry, Lucky.” The doctor frowned, a line forming between her brows. “He’s like a father to you, isn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t need her sympathy right now. In fact, he didn’t need anything at all, except a kind ear.
“If you feel the need, I could write you a prescription.”
Drugs. They did good in the world, and bad. How easy would it be to take what she offered, dampen the pain? No.
Lucky got up from the couch. He needed someone to listen. Not someone. One person. And not Dr. Libby. “I’m sorry, Doc, I need to go.”
“Wait a minute! Where are you going?” She trotted along behind him, high heeled shoes clipping across the floor.
“There’s someone I need to see.” Why had he even come here, told a stranger who couldn’t care less about Walter?
He rushed out to the parking lot and hopped into his Camaro, checking the time on his phone. Good, he had a few moments. Breathing deeply in and out, he counted to ten, then repeated the process.
He needed to talk to someone who cared as much as he did. Bo should be getting out of his own counseling appointment in about a half hour. Better to wait in the car than be expected to talk to someone without a vested interest in his problems.
She’d offered him drugs. As if.
He flinched from his thoughts when the passenger door opened and Bo climbed inside.
Lucky checked the time. “You’re out early.”
“Not as early as you,” Bo replied. “Did you tell your doctor about Walter?”
Lucky nodded. “You?”
Bo barely dipped his chin, eyes downcast. No, that wouldn’t do. He usually distanced himself physically when life gut-punched him, but he wouldn’t hide his mind by looking away.
Lucky placed his hand alongside Bo’s jaw, lifting until their gazes met.
“It’ll be okay,” Bo said, at the same time Lucky told him, “It’ll be all right.”
They stared at each other across the console, the misery in Bo’s eyes probably matching Lucky’s own. He grabbed Bo and held tight.
Maybe he didn’t need to talk at all.
The first time they’d held each other was to cry after Bo confessed his father’s sins and pulled away, like he often did when he most needed comfort. Somewhere along the line he’d stopped running, let Lucky in a little, then a lot. Like a moment ago, though, sometimes Lucky had to reach out, draw Bo back in.
But now, like Lucky, Bo had begun to turn to “them” in times of trouble. The two of them alone had seriously fucked up their lives. Together? Together they made the best of whatever situation they faced. Sometimes Bo comforted Lucky, sometimes Lucky comforted Bo, but they were always there for each other, no matter what.
Maybe Bo was right and they didn’t need a piece of paper to show their dedication to each other, though claiming Bo as his husband got them both in to see Walter.
As he straightened, reluctantly pulling away from Bo, sunlight glinted against something shiny. He whipped around, staring at the dark blue van parked across the street. The windows were closed, hiding the occupant behind a shield of tinted glass.
No mistaking; he’d seen a camera.
A camera. Capturing a hug between him and Bo.
Only a few years ago, he’d have panicked at someone catching proof of his and Bo’s relationship. Now? Screw them. Nothing in the world mattered more than Bo.
God save the idiot if Lucky ever found out who dared take pictures.
And why.
***
No matter what time of day, one of O’Donoghue’s flunkies seemed to be watching Lucky’s every move, though he’d still not found the owner of the van. Lucky hopped up from his desk, darted past the partition into the corridor and growled. Rookie Rogers shot a panicked look over his shoulder and disappeared around a corner.
“Lucky?” Bo glanced up from his desk.
“Third time today that jerkoff passed by.” Lucky stared down the hall, daring the redheaded sonofabitch to turn around.
“Have you ever considered that maybe he just went to the break room?”
Lucky twisted his neck to face Bo while still looming large in the cubicle entrance. “You know as good as I do that everyone in the department avoids coming this way.” Lucky’d worked hard on a suitably nasty reputation to keep others at bay.
Except for Bo, who kinda lived there, and the intimidating woman strolling casually down the hallway. “Rogers just ran into me, literally. I saw him coming from this way. What did you do to him?” she asked offhandedly, merely making conversation. “If you punched him, did you get in a lick for me? Bastard took my parking spot this morning.”
“Lucky didn’t hit him, but I think it was a close thing,” Bo said, resuming his typing.
Lucky and Johnson shared a look. “I’m sure he deserved it,” Johnson said, fist-bumping Lucky.
Bo looked up again. “You know, you two are starting to turn into the same person.”
Johnson didn’t argue, so neither did Lucky. Turning into Johnson wouldn’t be so bad, as long as he got to keep… well… his johnson.
A flash of copper drew his attention. Rogers ducked around the corner.
Lucky stalked him, tuning out the twin shouts of, “Lucky!” He caught Rogers by the stairwell. “Where you going in such an all-fired hurry?” Leaning an arm against the wall effectively cut off the man’s escape. “Why are you following me?”
Rogers gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I… I…”
“Harrison!”
Lucky winced at the below.
“I want to see you in my office. Now.”
Damned O’Donoghue.
Rogers squeaked once and ran.
Lucky stormed down the hall and into the office O’Donoghue had claimed, slamming his hand down on O’Donoghue’s desk. “Call off your dogs.”
O’Donoghue rolled his eyes upward and dropped into his chair. “What’s got your shorts in a knot, Harrison?”
Lucky leaned down, putting himself nose to nose with the asshole he’d rather punch than talk to. “I know you’ve been putting your men up to watching me. I’ve done nothing to deserve it. Call them off.”
The man on loan from the DEA for God only knew why leaned back and rested his folded hands on his lap. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The soul of a predator stared at Lucky from green-flecked blue eyes.
Older than Lucky, the guy kept himself fit, with a wiry build and a New York cop accent he turned on and off at will. Five o’clock shadow darkened his cheeks, even at ten in the morning. Gray accented straight, dishwater blond hair.
Lisa came in, pushing a cart full of boxes. She blanched when she saw Lucky. “Bad time?”
“No. Come on in. This shouldn’t take long.” O’Donoghue shot Lucky a cold glare and made shooing motions with his hand. “If you have a problem with one of your coworkers, come to me. Rogers told me about how you’ve been provoking him. I didn’t believe him, and then I saw you with my own eyes.” Rising from his desk, he took a box Lisa offered. Lisa kept her gaze averted, shoulders slumped.
“Provoking him? He’s been following me!”
O’Donoghue narrowed his gaze. “Paranoid much? Why would he do that? Now get back to work, and I’m warning you, you’d better be on your best behavior.”
He dismissed Lucky with a turned back, opened a desk drawer and loaded the contents into a cardboard carton. What? Was he leaving? Hallelujah! But his leaving wouldn’t explain Lisa’s dejected look.
Lucky rested a hand on the door and wasted his most sinister glower. “Keep them away from me or I’ll deal with them like I would any other stalker.” He charged out of the room without a backward glance.
Bo sat in their cube, typing away.
“Do you know why O’Donoghue might be packing?” Bo had enough friends in the department to access any gossip.
“Packing?” Bo glanced up, fingers hovering over his keyboard.
“Yeah, he’s in his office right now, with Lisa, loading boxes.” Lucky should be elated at the asshole’s leaving, but unease settled like day old coffee in his guts, especially in light of Walter saying O’Donoghue might be in line for his job.
“You stay here, I’ll check this out.” Bo traipsed down the hallway, only to return a few seconds later, face pale and eyes flashing.
“What?” Lucky demanded. Somebody better not have said something to upset Bo. Lucky had a can of whoop-ass he’d be happy to open on anyone dumb enough to mess with his man.
Bo slumped down into his chair. “You’re not gonna like it. Hell, I don’t like it either.”
“Like what?”
Bo raised pain-filled eyes. “He’s moving into Walter’s office.”
Like hell, he would!
Lucky stormed down the hall. Just wait until he got his hands on… He slammed into somebody who let out a surprised, “Oof!”
“Damn it, Lucky,” Johnson yelped. “Watch where you’re going! You almost knocked me over.”
He’d apologize later, after his mission. “I’m going to cuss out the bastard moving into Walter’s office.”
Johnson grabbed him by the arm and spun him around when he tried to walk off. “Who?”
“O’Donoghue.”
“What the fuck is he doing moving into Walter’s office?” She released Lucky, glare scary enough to make even hardened criminals haul ass. “Walter’s only been gone a week.”
“I have no idea. But I aim to find out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Um… y’all?” Bo ventured, holding up his laptop.
Lucky and Johnson both turned. “What?” Lucky barked.
“You need to see this. It’s a memo from the corporate office.” Bo shifted his laptop to give them a better view of the screen.
“Until further notice, Jameson O’Donoghue will be managing the Atlanta office of Diversion Prevention and Control.”
Screw that.
***
Lucky stood on the stoop of his house, noting the steady thrumming from within. More than likely his nephews had spent the afternoon playing video games, watching TV, or chatting with friends via phones or laptops.
Kids. Whatever happened to getting outdoors every once in a while? He opened the door.
“You’re home! I need your help with alge—” Ty barreled through the kitchen door and stopped so hard he nearly toppled over. “Oh, it’s you.” He frowned, folding his arms over his chest.
“Hey, Uncle Richie,” Todd called from the couch, where he sat with a lapful, literally, of dog. Moose likely weighed more than Todd. He turned a brilliant shade of red. “Oh. I’m sorry. I mean, Uncle Lucky.”
Lucky threw up a hand at the behaving nephew and scowled at Emo Kid. No. Intimidation wasn’t the way he should treat teenagers. After all, this wasn’t work, and Ty wasn’t a rookie. If he’d been a rookie Lucky would’ve sorted him out by now.
Half-witted recruits were so much easier to deal with than flesh and blood relatives. You could kick their asses in a boxing ring and not have the rest of the family bring it up and take sides at the next holiday.
Besides, he didn’t love the rookies.
“Mind telling me what I did to piss you off?” Lucky asked. His younger nephew had been fine when they’d first reconnected.
Ty scrunched his face, nose wrinkling. “By being a loser.” He darted down the hall and slammed the door to his room.
Lucky winced. Whatever had he done?
Todd continued dog spoiling so Lucky stepped out on the back deck. Cat Lucky followed him out. He plopped down in a chair and the black and white feline hopped into his lap.
Lucky idly stroked the critter while calling his sister.
“Hey, Ri… Lucky. What’s up? Boys driving you crazy?” Charlotte’s voice eased some of his strain. The fact she’d given up his childhood name of Richie in favor of Lucky proved her devotion.
“They’re all right, but let me ask you something. Have I done or said anything to piss Ty off? He talks nonstop to Bo, but anytime I walk into a room he bolts down the hall and slams the door.”
Charlotte sighed. “He does that to me too.”
“Then I shouldn’t take ‘loser’ personally?”
Charlotte stayed quiet for a few moments before answering. “He’s spent his whole life here. Doesn’t know anything else. He’s changing schools, friends. He’ll be okay, just give him time.”
“I hope you’re right.” Once, Lucky wouldn’t have cared what anyone thought of him. Times changed a man. He’d held Ty in his arms the day the kid came screaming into the world. Had read to him, babysat him, sometimes imagining one day having his own kids.
Before he’d gone to prison. Hadn’t seen them in years. He’d sent presents at birthdays and Christmas when he could, wasn’t that enough?
Would it be enough for you? he imagined Bo asking.
No. It wouldn’t. He’d failed. Alienated the boys. Todd seemed forgiving, or rather, he might not care, as involved as he was in preparing for college and beating everyone in the country’s high score on video games. Lucky had waited too late to reconnect. Soon Todd would be living his own life and Lucky might not get to see him much, if at all.
He still had a few years to bond with Ty. He’d do his best for both boys.
The moment Walter had changed his name and expunged his record, he should have gone directly to Spokane.
Ty still spoke to Bo, which eased the strain of his visit.
“You tell Ty if he doesn’t behave, I’ll give him what for when I get down there.” Anger brought out more Southern in Charlotte’s voice.
“How are things going up there?” God, he missed her.
Charlotte’s tone lightened. “The house closing is in two weeks, so I’m packing up. Might be a bit hard to get a moving company at this time of year with so many students heading into dorms. You know, it’s kind of bittersweet. On the one hand, selling allows me to live closer to you and finally go to nursing school, but this house holds so many memories. The boys opening their gifts on Christmas morning. Ty learning to ride a bike in the driveway.” She sniffled.
Coming home and finding gifts from a chickenshit brother too scared to deliver them in person.
Easy to visualize Charlotte’s wistful smile. “I’ll be back soon. I… I miss you, brother, and look forward to catching up on lost time.”
All the time we missed.
Because of Lucky’s bullheadedness.
***
Lucky stepped into the kitchen, stopped, and leaned against the doorway.
Ty and Bo sat at the kitchen table, Moose sprawled at their feet, Cat Lucky nowhere to be seen. Probably in Todd’s lap somewhere.
“… and then Todd…” Ty chattered away, a mile a minute, regaling Bo with stories his brother might not want broadcasted, with texts and notebooks spread out around them. Reminded Lucky of Charlotte at that age, so full of life, so excited about everything.
Until she’d crossed paths with a loser and wound up seeing the world through haunted eyes. Did she even date? She hadn’t told him of any men since her ex-husband, so if she’d had boyfriends over the years, she’d certainly not mentioned them to Lucky.
The nurse who’d tended him when he’d donated part of his liver to his dad—and later turned out to be from the bureau’s Virginia office—had shown interest.
She needed a boyfriend, in case Jimmy or whatever-the-hell-his-name-was made good on his threat to transfer to Atlanta.
Lucky had never told Charlotte about her admirer and wouldn’t.
“Your mom says she’ll be back soon,” Lucky said.
At the first word out of his mouth, Ty froze and slumped, all his excitement gone.
One day maybe the kid would forgive an errant uncle enough to talk to him.
Until then, he’d be on the outside, uncomfortable in his own house. Everyone else got along fine. The old him wouldn’t have minded. Much. Especially since he worked hard at being a total bastard.
So why did being outcast bother him now?