Sliding Home

by Kathy Lyons

Jake finally gave in and climbed into my car. He was holding it in, but I could tell he was really unhappy about the call from his brother, and even unhappier that I was tagging along. I counted it a personal victory that I had stood strong anyway. It made sense to have another person on hand—one who wasn’t sporting a rib injury—to help with whatever was going on. But to go from the highs of having fantastic sex with this incredible lover, to the lows of accompanying this grumpy guy sitting next to me… It was like a bucket of ice had been thrown on my afterglow.

  But I hadn’t caved. I kept repeating that to myself. I’d held my ground, even though he sat mute beside me except for a grunt and a couple jerks of his finger to indicate where I should turn.

  Eventually I pulled into the parking lot of a bar named Howlers that was surprisingly busy, given that it was nearly two on a Sunday night. I put my car into park and dared to look at Jake’s face. It wasn’t as grim as it had been two minutes before. Now, though, I caught a note of terror in his eyes as he touched my wrist.

  “Don’t come in. I’ll take it from here.” He gestured vaguely at the half-full parking lot. “That’s my dad’s car over there. I’ll just drive him home.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to argue with him. I had all sorts of logical reasons why he needed me, but none of them came out. Jake wasn’t coming from a rational place right then. All I had to do was look at the clench in his jaw to know that. So rational arguments weren’t going to do a damn bit of good. Instead, I patted his hand before popping open my car door.

  “At this point,” I said, “I’m so curious that nothing will stop me.” Look at me for being so mature. I was facing down his rejection like a champ.

  He grumbled something in response that I didn’t quite catch. It was definitely a curse. I just smiled as pleasantly as I could manage and headed toward the bar entrance.

  The first thing I noticed when I entered was that the stereo system was playing the classic rock song “Band on the Run” at a deafening volume and that almost everyone was singing. There were maybe a dozen people there, all clustered around the bar, hoisting their drinks as they bellowed out the chorus. It was cheerful and immediately made me grin. But then Jake came in behind me, and everything changed.

  The bartender noticed us first, and he called out Jake’s name. That brought the attention of a few more, and suddenly, no one was singing anymore. They just repeated Jake’s name and added “hero” or a Bobcat growl wherever they could.

  It was funny and delightful, all those people saluting him. I turned to him with a grin that quickly faltered when I saw his face.

  He wasn’t smiling. Well, not really. Sure, his lips were turned up and he raised a hand as if to thank everyone. But the tension in his jaw and shoulders told me just how uncomfortable he was here. Whatever was going on, he hated it. And that made me even more curious.

  Pretty soon the song ended with everyone clapping and coming to slap Jake on the back. They all knew him, and since I was with him, there were quite a few people who hugged me and told me that when Jake was done with me, they’d be happy to help me nurse my broken heart.

  Talk about awkward. Everyone assumed I knew Jake would dump me eventually and that was just the way the cookie crumbled. “The kid is a superstar,” an aging waitress said with a sly wink. “We all just watch in awe as he glitters on by.” She implied that I would do that, too. Sometime soon, I’d be standing on the sidelines as he moved on, too cowardly or too weak to fight for him. And frankly, odds were that she was right.

  I still hated it and her. Talk about a crappy end to an evening that had started out so very, very well. Then I did my best to follow Jake as he steadily maneuvered to the back corner of the bar. It took us both a few minutes to get there, but eventually I found his target.

  Jake’s brother, Larry, was leaning against the wall with a slightly sour expression on his face. That was the biggest difference between the two of them: the bitter twist to his lips even as he lifted a beer in salute to his brother. Beyond that, Larry was a little shorter and definitely broader. His hair was lighter, his skin darker. Or maybe that was just the darkness of his gaze. There was no brotherly affection in his regard that I could see. Just a cold bitterness that might have stemmed from jealousy or maybe something else. Either way, this was not the kind of loving sibling relationship I had with Rachel.

  Still, Jake seemed to try. He nodded in his brother’s direction, his expression strained as he greeted the man.

  “Hey, Lar. He being stubborn?” The “he” in question had to be their father. The man was half perched on his stool, half supported by the wall. His head was down on his folded arms, his salt-and-pepper hair standing up every which way.

  Larry’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker at their parent. Instead, he gestured to a TV above them. “He saw the video, hero,” Larry said, sarcasm heavy in the word “hero.” “It freaked him out.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “You guys do that stuff every day.”

  Larry nodded. “That we do.”

  Well, hell, even I could read the jealousy there. There was no appreciation for the risk Jake had taken to save my life and Ben’s. Just an anger that he’d gotten publicity for it, when others didn’t. Right there, I mentally dubbed Jake’s brother a first-class jerk.

  Meanwhile, Jake stepped forward and shook his father’s elbow. “Pops, wake up. Come on. We need to get you home.”

  His father woke with a start, his head lifting up as he looked around owlishly. Then he focused on Jake, and his mouth split open in a silly grin. “Jake! Jake! You were on TV!” He turned toward the bartender and waved his hand at the television. “Put it up, Hank. Put it up.”

  “Pops, it’s a TV. He can’t—”

  Except apparently, he could. There must have been some sort of electronic connection to the internet because a few seconds later, the screen flashed and there was Jake leaping from our balcony to Ben’s. The picture was grainy, but clear enough. And the resolution got even better as Jake wrapped the blanket around Ben before leaping together to the balcony below me.

  Just seeing it again brought all those feelings back up. The terror, the stench, the coughing fit I didn’t even remember. My hands itched with the remembered burn as I clutched the metal railing. And then—oh hell—there was the image of me free-falling into Jake’s arms. I felt the burn in my hands as the rope slipped through my fingers. The horror at my fall and the knowledge of certain death. And then, like a miracle, Jake had snatched me out of the air.

  I reeled, unsteady on my feet as I watched it play out. I’d already seen the video. Rachel had shown it to me, but seeing it again, I was caught flat-footed at the emotions rolling through me. Terror, elation, horror, hero worship. All of it bombarded me. And in the middle of it all, Jake’s father peered at me.

  “You’re her! You’re the panty-free girl!”

  My stomach lurched at his words. Was that how people were talking about me? “Um, yeah,” I managed to admit before Jake cut me off.

  “Turn that off, Hank. It’s—”

  “You’re a hero,” the waitress said, her voice husky. “Might as well accept that. A superstar through and through.”

  Jake didn’t respond. He was too busy glaring at the bartender until the man did something to the electronics beneath the bar. ESPN came on and everyone else in the bar hooted about Jake’s false modesty.

  “You know you love it!” one cried, and the others heartily agreed.

  Jake nodded, his expression tightened into a false grin. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

  A total lie.

  Then he turned back to his father. “Come on, Pops. Let’s get you home so I can take my pretty lady to bed, too.”

  “Bed?” his father croaked. “No way. Come on, little lady. Come sit by me.” He patted the barstool next to him. “What’s your name?”

  I moved forward with my own false smile. After all, I’d been raised to respect my elders…even if they were three sheets to the wind. “I’m Ellie
. And you must be Jake’s father. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Call me Pops. It’s always nice to meet one of Jake’s girls. What can I get you? Want a beer?” He peered too close at my face. “Now wait. I bet you’re a white wine kind of lady.”

  “Nope. Definitely a beer girl.” I looked over at the bartender and shook my head. “But I think Jake wants—”

  “He wants you to sit right here while I tell you about what he was like as a kid. Isn’t that what you want to know? Home runs, kitten rescues. How about the time he set the kitchen on fire, just so he could put it out?”

  “That sounds fun, but—”

  “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? Practical, too. I can tell because you’re in smart shoes.” He gestured toward my knockoff Keds.

  “Thank you. And I’d love to hear all about Jake’s childhood. Why don’t you tell me on the way to the car?”

  I linked my arm underneath his and tried to steer him toward the door. But he had surprising strength and instead of following my lead, he did a quick twist with his arm which jerked me around until I dropped onto the barstool for balance.

  “Oh!” I cried, startled by his quick move.

  “Got ya!” he crowed. Then he waggled his finger at me. “Many a woman has tried to lead me around, only to find that I had the upper hand.” Then he grinned as he gestured to Hank. The bartender, though, looked to Jake, who looked even grimmer than I’d ever seen him before. But his father wasn’t having any part of the delay. “What you looking at him for? I’m going to have one more beer before last call. I have to toast my hero son and his new girl.”

  “Pops—” Jake protested, but suddenly, his father started singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” like his life depended on it. He had a great voice, too. Deep and resonant. Within moments, everyone else at the bar was singing along. Well, everyone except Jake, who watched in mute annoyance as the bartender put a beer down in front of his father.

  Even I was caught up in the energy of it and was mouthing the words without even thinking about it. Everyone seemed to love it, and I found myself relaxing. Jake’s father was fun. A drunk, to be sure, but fun. His eyes sparkled when he sang, and there was clear love in his eyes for his kids. Both of them. I looked at Larry, who leaned against the wall with a kind of bemused resignation. It was as if he understood his father’s foibles and had stopped fighting them a long time ago.

  But not Jake. Frustration was written all over his face. Still, even I could see it was like a man fighting the tide. His father was going to sing, honoring his son with a song, and there was nothing Jake could do to stop it. I wasn’t sure why he was trying.

  Eventually the song ended, and while everyone else cheered, Pops lifted his beer and drank deep. He really drank deep. In fact, he drained the mug while everyone cheered, me included. Jake just sighed and leaned back against the wall with the same resigned expression his brother had. In fact, looking at the two of them, I could see the stamp of the same childhood in their features—and their anger.

  Pops slammed his beer mug down while people clapped. He started to gesture to the bartender, but I quickly covered his hand.

  “So Pops, what do you do for a living? Are you a firefighter?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to get him talking…and not drinking.

  “That I am,” he said proudly. “I’m at the 410 with my son.”

  Jake pushed into the conversation. “And when’s your next shift, Pop?”

  His father peered owlishly at his son. “Monday morning. Plenty of time.”

  Jake cursed as he pushed off the wall. “That’s in a few hours. You can’t go in like this.”

  Larry sighed loudly as he looked at his watch. “I’ll take it.”

  “You’re not much better—”

  “I said, I’ll take his shift.” Larry spat out the words and waved the bartender over. He pulled out his wallet, but shot his brother a hard stare. “You’ve got his.”

  “I told him I wasn’t going to cover his tab again,” Jake growled.

  Larry shrugged. “You’re the only one who can.”

  Jake cursed under his breath, but he fished out a credit card and handed it over. Hank hesitated, his expression kind.

  “You taking just tonight or his whole tab?”

  I could see the debate going on in Jake’s head. On one hand, if Jake paid his father’s bills, it wouldn’t help the man become responsible with his drinking. On the other hand, it was probably too much for Pops to pay off easily.

  “Tonight,” Jake said, his jaw tight. A half measure. It wasn’t going to solve anything, but it would at least get us out the door.

  Beside him, his brother snorted, his condemnation clear. Meanwhile, Pops was looking at me, his expression misty-eyed.

  “My son saved your life. I saw it. He caught you right out of the air.”

  “Yes, he did,” I answered, my heart beating high in my throat, just like it did every time I thought about that moment. “He’s a good man.”

  “He’s a great ballplayer too. Number 32. Bobcat.”

  “I know.” I held up my charm bracelet. He touched it reverently.

  “Did he give you that?”

  “Yes. I haven’t taken it off since.”

  Pops grinned. “What do you do, pretty girl? You got a job?”

  I laughed. “I do. I’m a nurse.” I leaned forward. “And I need to get to bed soon, too. I have a shift tomorrow.”

  “Nursing is a good thing. Good profession. Means you have a big heart. Doctors get all pissy and won’t give you the time of day. But a nurse, she’ll stand by your side, hold your hand, and give it to you straight. Nurses have all the heart. Doctors just have the brains. But people ain’t nothing without a heart. I’ll take a nurse any day over those piss-shit doctors.”

  I smiled because I could tell that he meant it. Not about the doctors. Obviously, some doc had been a little hard on the guy. But because I knew he’d been helped by a nurse. And right there, in his words, he made me remember why I’d wanted so badly to go into nursing. I wanted to be the one who held the hand, who eased the pain. The one the patient could rely on when all the doctor stuff came too fast or too hard.

  So I patted his hand and urged him to stand up. “Come on, Pops. I can’t get to my bed until you get to yours. And I really hate being tired at work. I know you firefighters spend a lot of time sitting around waiting for the calls, playing cards, talking smack. But me, I’m always on the run. I don’t get to sit down until my shift is over.”

  Pops straightened off his stool. “It ain’t all talking shit.”

  “’Course not,” I laughed. “And believe me, I’ll take sore feet over walking into a burning building any day.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “But for the sake of my aching feet, can you let me take you home?”

  “Anytime, pretty girl. Anytime.” Then he winked at me, in case I missed the fact that he was flirting. Again, I laughed because it was hard not to. He was charming, and he clearly loved Jake. Meanwhile, the brothers took care of the bills and quickly met up with us at the door. Jake held up the car keys, and at my surprised look, he whispered, “Hank always holds their car keys. It’s the only reason I keep paying the tab.”

  “Some of the tab,” his brother muttered. “With the money you make, you’d think you could help us out more.”

  Jake shot the man a sour look, but didn’t comment. Obviously, there was no point in arguing with an angry drunk. Besides, it looked to me like he was helping out plenty.

  Jake held it together, not commenting though I could see the tension in his face and body. But he didn’t say a word. And then Larry kept walking, while the rest of us headed for a big, very manly truck. Jake’s hand shot out to grip his brother’s elbow.

  “Where you going? The truck’s over there.”

  Larry jerked his arm out of his brother’s grip. “I’m taking his shift, remember?”

  “We can drop you off—”

  “
I’ll. Walk.” Anger made each of those words hurled stones of sound, but it wasn’t aimed at Jake. No, the real anger was directed at their father. “I need to cool off.”

  I got it then. Or at least I had a guess. Larry was as frustrated and angry at Pops as Jake was. He just didn’t handle it as well. Where Jake fought for control, Larry lashed out at the nearest target. It still made him an asshole in my book, but I understood him a bit better. Meanwhile, Pops was still in that happy drunk place. He pushed away from me and started singing. It was a beautiful lullaby in a language I guessed was Gaelic. The tune lilted between the brothers, filling the space with a haunting beauty.

  Neither spoke during the song. And I certainly didn’t know what to do. Pops’s baritone was so beautiful, the whole situation brought tears to my eyes. Fighting brothers, a drunken father, and an aching tune that seemed to lift up everything. But when it was done, Pops did the one thing that would make the situation worse.

  He gripped both men’s elbows and said, his voice thick with emotion, “Do you remember that, boys? Your mom sang that to you every night. Every night. Sometimes, I swore she’d wake you up just to sing you to sleep.” He turned to me. “You should have heard her, pretty girl. She had a voice like an angel.”

  Was this the same woman who had abandoned them when Jake was fifteen? The one who’d told them she loved them, then never called again? That was not a good mother in my book, no matter how beautiful her voice. But again, there was no point in arguing with a drunk. So I tugged on his arm, bringing him around to walk with me. “It was beautiful. And you have the most amazing voice.”

  “Ah, it’s not me. It’s the song.”

  I reached over to Jake, pulling the keys out of his hands. Whatever was going on between him and his brother, it wasn’t my place to interfere. The only way I could help was by getting their father into the truck. Fortunately, Jake didn’t argue. He let me grab the keys and soon I was unlocking the door and helping Pops inside.

  He tried to steal a kiss while I was buckling him up. I batted him away—gently—then pressed my own kiss to his cheek.

  “My boy’s usually got lousy taste in women,” he said to me. “But you’re different. Don’t know how he lucked out with you. Maybe he snatched you out of the air.” His face cracked in a happy cackle. “But you’re a good ’un. Don’t you let him throw you away.”