I stood. "Yes sir. Captain Andrews?"
He shook my hand. "You know much about what's going on with your brother?"
"Not a lot," I said. "Can I see him?"
"Just a minute." He waved back at the chairs. "Just want to make sure you know he's in a lick of trouble."
I hadn't heard anyone use the term "lick" that way since I'd been a little boy in the south. It plucked at the chord of sentimentality that had been strumming inside me since I'd been thinking about my little brother, about better days. I squinted at the captain, waited for him to continue. "Yes sir."
"Officers rolled up on him running last night. A few guys behind, chasing him with pipes, boards. We got a couple of the other guys—your brother basically collapsed in front of the cruiser. Guys must not have gotten a chance to search him before they started beating the shit out of him, because he was carrying a good amount of heroin."
"Shit." I squeezed my eyes shut. Jarred had been arrested once before for possession. But this was more serious.
"We gotta charge him with trafficking. That wasn't for personal use."
"What's that mean?" I asked. "Jail time?"
"Depends on the judge. If it's a first offense, could be lighter, but the minimum is gonna be at least five years."
Maybe that'd be long enough to get him straight. If he could survive in prison. Shit. This might kill my mother. I didn't have an answer to the cop's statement, so I just let the news sink in. "Can I see him?"
"Yeah."
"There gonna be bail?" Everything inside me cringed at the idea of having to scrape together what would surely be thousands of dollars.
"Should be. We'll let you know."
I nodded, and we rose, Captain Andrews seeing me to my brother's door. "Hey," I said, turning back. "You said you got a couple of the other guys?"
"Yeah, they're already in the system. Dirty types, repeats. Your brother's lucky to be alive."
I thought about those guys having been to my mother’s house first, and felt like the most irresponsible son in the world. “Captain?”
The cop raised an eyebrow.
“I think those guys visited my mom’s house first, looking for Jarred. They broke a couple windows, scared my mom pretty good. I filed a report last night. In Inglewood.”
“I’ll pull it up and make sure it gets added to this incident.”
“Thanks.” I hoped the guys would be in jail for a while, at least long enough to get my mom moved somewhere safer.
I pulled open the hospital room door to see my brother—or the body of the guy who'd once been my little brother—bruised, bandaged, strung out, and painfully thin. He was asleep, but his forehead was covered with a slick of sweat and he was shaking beneath the thin blanket.
Despite every cell in my body screaming at me to back out, to leave him here because this wasn't something I could handle, I stepped closer to the bed and pulled up a chair. For a long minute I sat and stared at him, memories of us as kids flashing through my mind even though I didn't want to see any of them. My little brother, grinning at me as we explored the woods behind our house, his lanky limbs and mop of dark hair flopping into his eyes. I saw his trusting smile, the way he'd watch me and my friends when we wouldn't let him hang out with us. And every one of those memories suddenly seemed like a missed opportunity. If I'd said something different, let him tag along instead of telling him no ... If I'd been a more generous big brother instead of a selfish little shit, could I have saved him?
I dropped my head into my hands and let my heart shatter for a moment, let myself mourn for the innocence neither of us would ever manage again, for the way my mother's heart would break when she saw him like this.
"Hey," a hoarse whisper came from beside me and I forced myself to look up, to meet my little brother's eyes, to let him see that I knew I'd failed.
"Hey," I said, reaching out a hand to lay on top of his.
I should have done something sooner. I shouldn't have given up on him. This was my fault, and the guilt of it almost killed me. I dug up whatever set of balls had gotten me through the time I'd spent in Afghanistan and Syria, the iron will that had forced me to stay put when everything inside me screamed to run. And I held my little brother's hand and looked into those bloodshot eyes with as best a smile as I could muster. "We been looking for you, buddy."
His eyes slid shut again, and he let out a shuddering sigh. "I know. I fucked up, Jace."
I couldn't deny that, so I didn't try. All the anger I’d felt at Jarred slid away, replaced by a tenderness for this brother who’d always just wanted to be at my side.
"Is Mom here?" He asked after a few quiet minutes. My eyes were on our hands, and for a second I didn't hear my twenty-something year old brother at all. I heard the kid I'd fished and hiked with, the little boy I was supposed to protect, to take care of.
"Not yet," I told him. I couldn't tell him those guys had come to her place first, looking for him. I couldn't tell him that she'd been in danger because of his choices. He looked too vulnerable, like one more thing might break him completely.
"Jace," he whispered. "How do you do it?" His fingers squeezed mine lightly and I met his eyes again, eyes so full of pain and misery I worried I might actually be swept away inside that whirlpool of hopelessness.
I knew what he was asking, though we had never talked directly about much of it. Jarred had been overseas too. He'd enlisted three years after me. Maybe because of me. Or maybe because kids like us didn't have a lot of other opportunities.
Only, the Corps that saved me from my shitty childhood, the service that gave me the opportunities I had now—the job, the GI Bill—that was the same Corps that had wrecked my little brother. I don't know what he saw over there. But I could guess, based on what I saw myself.
Whatever it was, his ghosts weren't banished as easily as mine, which haunted me still but kept to the shadowy murk of my dreams. Jarred's demons dogged him in daylight, forced him to seek out planes of reality where they couldn't follow.
I took a steadying breath, rubbed a hand over my face. "I don't have any answers man," I told him. "But I should have stayed closer when you got back, made sure you were okay. We should have gotten you some help, someone to talk to—"
"Don't do that." His voice was stronger then, almost angry, and I looked up again to see some steel in his eyes. "You don't get to take this on."
"It's already on me," I said over his protests. "You remember what Mom told us when we went to see Grandma and Papa? When they decided we weren't quite good enough for them, for all our little rich cousins?"
He held my gaze, shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"We were both mad and hurt, we'd gone to Grandma's house and she turned us away—right after Dad left. And I don't know if you understood anything. I didn't at the time. I got that we were trash, weren't good enough for them, that Grandma was saying we weren't her people anymore. But it was about Mom more than it was about us. I know that now." I sucked in a breath, the shame of that day still washing through me, making me feel small and unworthy. "And as soon as we were back at the car, Mom grabbed us both—do you remember this part? You must have been six or so."
I remembered the hot car, the way the slick plastic seat had squeaked and stuck to my thighs. I saw Mom’s eyes flash with anger, with hurt as tears stood in the corners, tears she wouldn’t allow to fall.
"Maybe a little."
"She hugged us tight, and she was trying not to cry, her voice all shaky. And she told us we would always have each other. That we were brothers and that our most important job was to stay close, to look out for each other ..." I trailed off, realizing just how miserably I'd failed.
"You always did," Jarred whispered. "You always have."
I glared at him. I'd rather have him angry at me, I'd rather he had slapped me. "She told me I was older and so it was my job to protect you. To take care of you. You're my little brother." My voice broke on the last word and I dropped his hand and pushed out
of the chair, turning toward the window. A storm raged inside my gut and my whole life raced through my mind, highlighting every missed opportunity to steer us in a different direction, choose a path that would have led somewhere other than here.
"You didn't do this. I did." Jarred was struggling to sit up, but a glance over my shoulder told me how much it hurt him. Those assholes probably broke some ribs, judging by the way he winced with every move. "I just ... I'm not like you. I'm weak. I couldn't stand it anymore ..."
"I'm not any stronger than you." I thought about how close I’d come to fucking Juliet, to sacrificing everything I’d worked for just because I couldn’t control myself.
"Please don't say that. The only way I get through a day is by imagining that some day I'll grow up. That some day I could still be like you. Be strong and brave."
Shit. My heart was being slowly wrung out, twisted and pulled and warped, and I wondered if I'd be anything close to the man I'd come in as when I finally left this room. "We'll figure this out. We'll get you some help. Get off the drugs. Get a lawyer."
He gave me a look that told me he knew people like us didn't have what it took to get any of those things.
"We'll figure it out. But you have to get well."
His face crumpled for just a second, and it reminded me of every scraped elbow, every hurled word from bigger kids that I'd failed to protect him from when we were little, when the stakes were low.
"We can do it." I didn’t know how, but I knew I couldn’t fail him again. We were in it together. I had to try.
"Okay, Jace." He took a deep shaky breath. "I'm sorry."
I held his eyes a long minute, feeling the truth of his apology in my heart. “It’s okay, little buddy. I need to call Mom." I stepped from the room, as much to call my mother as to collect myself. And when I had control of my breathing, of my guilt, I called.
Chapter Fifteen
Juliet
Jace came home late. I knew this because I wandered the house all day, trying to keep myself occupied as I pretended to be doing things other than waiting for him to return. In his absence, my house felt big and empty, and I began to wonder what I ever did here alone before Jace and I had begun ... whatever it was we were doing. When I'd been married to Zac, Jace had lived out back with Chad in the guesthouse. And I'd thought of him out there sometimes, but not like this. Now it felt like he was missing. Like he wasn't where he belonged, and I couldn't possibly relax until he was back.
"Elvis, this is bad," I told the pug as I sat at the kitchen counter eating yogurt at ten P.M.
My fat little dog made a grunting noise to acknowledge my statement, and sat down, staring up at me with his big round adoring eyes.
I took another small bite of yogurt, thinking about the situation I'd found myself in. Zac, Ryan, Jace. "Maybe it would be better if I decided to swear off men altogether," I suggested.
Elvis snorted.
"I know." I liked men. And I doubted either a sudden swing to women or celibacy would actually be any easier. I glanced around the dark quiet kitchen, the old fashioned clock over the door ticking loudly in the silence. "I just wish I wasn't so lonely," I whispered.
Elvis whined, tilting his head and sniffing at my ankles. I gave up on my yogurt, and lowered the spoon down to him, and the little dog sprang to his feet and licked the vanilla yogurt enthusiastically, making satisfied little snarfles the whole time. His little feet danced as his mouth worked and his big trusting eyes moved back and forth between the spoon and my face.
"Is it good?" I crooned, laughing at his little butt waggling in excitement.
After a few minutes, he'd finished the yogurt, and he staggered in a dazed circle and then toppled to his side, falling immediately into a snore-filled sleep.
"Aww, Elvis," I sighed. If only I could sleep so easily.
Though falling asleep anywhere and everywhere would probably not do good things for my career. It was okay for a pug, but less good for an actress, I decided. I put down the yogurt carton, left the spoon in the sink, and carried my dog up to his favorite jumpsuit-inspired doggy bed in my room. Then I headed back to the kitchen to start the dishwasher and try to get ready for bed.
I was just turning out the lights in the front hall, having sent Chad out an hour earlier, when I heard the kitchen door rattle and then open. Fear forced its way into my bloodstream, sending my heart rate climbing even though my mind knew it was probably Jace or Chad. I hoped it was Jace, and I tiptoed to the hallway so I could see into the kitchen.
In the darkness, I could see a big dark form moving with the self-assured grace that could only be Jace, and my heart leapt in happiness, like Elvis with yogurt. I knew it was Jace.
I was about to go to him, unable to stop myself from greeting him happily after missing him all day—after the way we'd left things the night before—but something stopped me. Once he was inside, he locked the door behind him and then stepped to the counter and sat. He didn't turn on any lights, and I watched as he sank onto a stool in the darkness, pushing his elbows onto the counter and dropping his head into his hands in silence. I watched, waiting for something, some cue that it was okay to interrupt, but he didn't move, and with every second that ticked by, the anticipation and excitement thrumming inside me dulled into something else.
He was upset, tired. Sad?
His life was about things I didn't know about, things he hadn't told me. His family, his brother ...
Was my infatuation with him selfish?
I stood in the darkness, watching him sit stock still in my kitchen with his head in his hands, and insecurity and self-doubt threatened to drown me.
Who was I to push myself on this man? He had an entire life I knew nothing about, and just because he worked in my house, I'd made myself believe he would want some kind of complicated romantic—or sexual, at least—entanglement with me? He probably felt like he had no choice about it. If I came onto him and he turned me down, he might worry that I'd fire him.
I'd put him in an impossible situation. And now I'd spent an entire day moping like a lovesick teenager, waiting for him to return, so I could what? Force myself on him? Show up unwanted in his room again? Though, I reminded myself, it didn’t feel like I was unwanted when I’d been there.
I let out a slow silent sigh, realizing how the life I led had tainted my objectivity. The entire world did not actually revolve around me. And I needed to give this man his space.
Slowly, silently, and with a heart that felt like a set of lead dumbbells strapped to my chest, I went upstairs to my room and closed my door.
Ten minutes later, I was going through the motions, readying myself for bed like an automaton. I needed sleep. And if I could sleep, then tomorrow this would be easier, I thought.
Elvis was snoring away, a fat little ball in his bed in the corner, and I took comfort in that. He was my normal, my every day. Me and Elvis against the world.
Too bad he was asleep half the time and would happily lick anything presented to him. He wasn't the most discerning partner—he'd eaten a helium balloon once when I took him on a walk before I could stop him—but he was mine.
Despite the fact I was in bed, teeth brushed, hair up, ready for sleep—physically, at least—I couldn't bring myself to shut off the light next to my bed. I was just about to reach for it when a quiet knock sounded at my door.
"Juliet? You up?" Jace's voice was a whisper like sandpaper against every cell in my body, and I was up instantly, awake and painfully attuned to the big man on the other side of the door.
It would be best to let him go. Not to answer the door. Pretend to be asleep. Let Jace have his life, and don't force on him the complications of my own.
I told myself all of these things as I crossed the room, laid a hand on the solid wood between us.
Let him go, Juliet.
On the other side of the door, I heard him sigh, a ragged exhale that tore at my heart.
I opened the door, knowing I was about to cross a threshold I
couldn't recross easily. "Hi."
Jace stood like a tortured god in the darkened hallway. His dark eyes locked to mine, and they were full of pain and worry and sadness, even as his full lips lifted into a gentle smile. "You're up," he said, his deep voice rough and low.
"I'm up," I confirmed, my body pulled toward him like a planet into the sun's orbit. Everything in me was reaching for him, pushing me forward, but I kept my feet planted.
One big hand lifted, long fingers raked through Jace's dark hair, and he tilted his head to the side, looking at me with a hungry but careful expression. "Should I let you go to bed?" he asked, shifting his weight like he was about to leave.
"Come in," I said, taking a step back to make room for him. "Tell me about your day?" It was a question because that was all I could manage. He was under no obligation to tell me anything, and we both knew he should have probably kept a professional distance, said goodnight and moved on. But he'd knocked. And now he was coming inside. And energy rushed through my body like freeway traffic, starting and stopping and impossible to anticipate except for its constancy.
Jace looked at me for a long second once he was inside, saying nothing. The dark eyes scanned my body, and the gaze was like being raked over with some kind of toy, some teasing implement, erupting gooseflesh everywhere it went. When his eyes found mine again, there was a question in them, a plea, maybe.
All my earlier decision making flew out the window. It was nothing in the face of the very real attraction between Jace and me. It was just a bunch of suggestions, ideas about what would be right. But this? This thrumming pulse of energy between us? This was real. And good. And how could it not be right?
I pushed the door shut and then turned back to him, taking one deep breath and then diving from the edge of the precipice on which I stood and stepping into Jace's waiting arms.
Happily Ever Hers: Movie Stars in Maryland, Book Two Page 8
