Sliding Home

by Kathy Lyons

  I didn’t see the brothers finish their discussion. I don’t even know if they said anything. But Jake was by my side as I shut the passenger door, gently folding me into his arms while he pulled the keys from my hand.

  “Jake—”

  “Shhh. Don’t say anything. Please.” He pressed his cheek to the top of my head. “You’ve been great, and I really appreciate it.”

  He grew quiet, and I stirred, trying to look at his face. But he tightened his arms and held me in place.

  “I need you to go home now. Get some rest before your shift.”

  “But—”

  “Larry has gone on to the firehouse. I’m going to take Pops home in his truck. Then I’ll probably sleep there, just to make sure he’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “I need to have a heart-to-heart talk with him in the morning. It’s not going to make a difference, but I need to try.”

  “Let me help—” I argued, but he was already shaking his head.

  “Just don’t bail on me. Give me a chance to explain.”

  I pushed out of his arms. “I haven’t seen anything here that scares me.”

  His expression tightened. “Pops is all kinds of fun on the surface.”

  “Does he get mean?”

  “Not physically.” He exhaled. “Look, just let me see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m working—”

  “Whenever you have free. Please.” His expression showed a vulnerability that I’d never seen before. “You’ve already witnessed more about my life than any girl I’ve dated in the last five years. Please give me time to explain the rest.”

  “Of course.”

  I didn’t know how to explain that nothing here seemed like a big deal to me. A surly brother? Who didn’t get into spats with their siblings? A sweet drunk of a father? I’d seen lots worse over the years. But it was clear nothing here was about my reaction. It was all about how Jake was twisted up inside over his own family. I didn’t know why, but I sure as hell knew not to push now. His body was tighter than a drum, and given what he’d been through in the last few days, I was sure he was in a great deal of pain—physical and now emotional.

  “I promise,” I said. “I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.” He exhaled in relief, and his head bowed enough to press a kiss to my lips. But I held him back. “On one condition.”

  He tensed. “What?”

  “You get into a bed and sleep for at least eight hours tonight. You need it. And if the pain gets worse, you call me. Or go to the ER.”

  “I don’t need a hospital.”

  “Then call me. Swear it.”

  He smiled, his expression both tender and infinitely weary. “I swear.”

  “Good.” I took a deep breath. “Then I guess this is good nig—”

  He kissed me. Deep and thoroughly. He pressed me back against the side of the truck and plundered my mouth, making me breathless and so hot, I was surprised my clothing didn’t catch on fire. And then he pulled back, his chest heaving almost as much as mine was.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. And then he physically turned me around and walked me to my car. Holding the car door for me while I got in, he waited until I was buckled before shutting it. Then he stepped back and waved.

  A streetlight cast his face in shadows, showing his cheekbones and emphasizing the darkness under his eyes. He just stood there while I put the car in reverse. I didn’t want to leave him alone like this, but I could tell he wasn’t going to listen to me. I could only push him so far right then. So I blew him a kiss and then backed out of the spot. I could tell he was still watching me when I pulled out of the parking lot and sped down the street.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jake

  It was morning and I felt like shit. My ribs ached like a bitch and my back felt as if someone had kicked me in the kidneys. I was lying on the mattress of my childhood bed. The thing was like sleeping on a wet sponge, and though a huge collection of pillows and blankets had made it comfortable when I’d crashed last night, this morning, my back was in agony.

  A hot shower helped, as did a mug of crap coffee, but they didn’t stop the real pain. That came from looking at my father’s dismal life. The house was a mess and falling apart. The kitchen was empty of edible food except for beer. And the laundry had piled up so high, the entire house reeked.

  First things first. I needed food, so I headed out to the grocery store, then back afterward to do the laundry and dishes. And all that time, my father snored loud enough to wake the dead. I was just sitting down to a grilled cheese sandwich when I heard the first stirring of life from Pops’s bedroom.

  I tensed as always. No one with a hangover ever handled the morning well, though it was way past noon. So I ate my sandwich with slow care while silently calculating odds.

  Would Pops start the day by attacking me? Or trying to be conciliatory? Fifty-fifty.

  Would Pops notice all the housework I’d done? One hundred percent yes. But would he be grateful? I gave it a 1 percent chance. Pops didn’t know how to be grateful.

  But here was the real question. Was Pops ready to take control of his life? I’d placed his bottle of naltrexone on the table, just in case. It was the medication that had saved me from alcoholism, but so far, I was the only one in the family to make it work. Would Pops be ready today? Would he finally turn his life around this afternoon? The probability was so astronomically small, I amused myself by guessing at the number of zeros behind the odds against it.

  And yet here I sat, hoping he would prove me wrong.

  I was just swallowing the last of my sandwich when the curses began. He was calling himself names, which was a surprise. But then he hadn’t realized I was here yet. A moment later, he came bumbling out of his room while pulling on a shirt. But the moment he saw me in the kitchen, he froze and gave me an angry glare.

  I cut him off before he could speak.

  “You’re not late. Larry covered your shift.” I should have stopped there. I knew I should have, but I couldn’t resist throwing in a jab. “It would be nice if you offered to take his shift tonight. Otherwise he’ll be pulling a double.”

  “Don’t tell me how to handle my own son.”

  I didn’t respond. I knew I’d thrown the first punch, so I buttoned my lip. Instead, I stood up and poured him his hangover cure. It was a ridiculous concoction of tomato juice, cayenne pepper, and herbs that were supposed to put hair on your chest. It had been handed down from father to son for generations of alcoholics. And I swear, it was one of the primary reasons I’d wanted to stop drinking.

  Pops took it and slammed it back like it was a beer.

  “Omelet?” I asked. “Or grilled cheese?” Those were the mainstay of my cooking talents. Plus a burger or microwaved hot dog, but I knew Pops wouldn’t want either of those.

  He didn’t answer, and in the silence, the blare of the washing machine finishing was cringeworthy loud. I got up and headed to the machine, but not before I saw my father notice all the things I’d done. The dishes were washed and in the drying rack. The overflowing garbage was emptied. The living room was picked up and the empty beer bottles gone.

  Then his gaze landed on the pill bottle of naltrexone, and his upper lip curled in disgust. Mine did, too, as I transferred the load and added the next. It took me some time to finish. That was good, because I was already feeling my own temper build. I hated doing my own fucking laundry. Why the hell was I doing his?

  By the time I made it upstairs, he’d found his tablet and was listening to some interview. It took me three seconds to realize it was one of my interviews. The pretty redheaded reporter was asking me how it felt to be a hero. It was a bullshit question that had pissed me off when the woman had asked. I answered as I always did.

  “I’m no hero,” I said firmly. “All I did was save my own butt. And fortunately, I was able to help a couple others at the same time.”

  “That’s a big deal,” the woman purred.

  “No, the big deal are the guys
who put their lives on the line every day. Firefighters, cops, the military.”

  I walked into the kitchen and grabbed eggs out of the refrigerator. I’d already decided to make an omelet. If he didn’t eat it, then I would. Housework always made me hungry. Pops thumbed off his tablet and glared at me.

  “You can’t keep risking your life like that. You didn’t have the right equipment. You could have been killed.”

  There were a thousand responses I could have made. Another day, I might have. But I was in pain and had just spent hours doing someone else’s housework. That made me completely intolerant of my father’s usual bullshit. Or maybe it was because I saw the bottle of naltrexone in the garbage.

  So this time, I cut straight to the chase.

  “And you can’t keep using my life as an excuse for your drinking. I win a game, you celebrate at the bar. I lose a game, you commiserate at the bar. I save my girlfriend and a kid from a burning building, you go drink because it scared you. Or you were proud. I don’t know what bullshit goes through your head, but I’m done.”

  I put the eggs back in the refrigerator. I wasn’t sticking around long enough to cook them. I was just too fucking tired.

  He said things back at me. Angry words. Excuse words. I’ll-do-better words. I didn’t care to listen. I’d heard it all before, so now it was just noise that I worked damned hard to block. I grabbed my phone and called for an Uber. Then I headed for the door.

  He was there before me, his expression unexpectedly terrified. I was just going to step around him, but he said two words that made me pause.

  “Thank you.”

  I froze, mentally wondering how my predictions had gotten so bad lately. I’d given it a 1 percent chance that my father would ever say those words. And in my pause, he gestured around the house.

  “I see what you done.”

  I nodded, unsure what to say. Unsure what to think.

  “I liked that girl last night. Seemed like a real nice one.”

  She was. She is. My mind stuttered. I didn’t like the idea that Ellie had even met my father. The contrast between her father and mine was stark enough to be painful. I wanted to be Ellie’s hero. Instead, I’d shown her last night just how pathetic my life was compared with hers. Sure, I could play baseball. Or I would, as soon as my ribs healed. But she had the loving family, the sister who teased and cared for her, and even a cousin who threatened to beat up anyone who hurt her. What did I have? A drunk father, a mother who’d bailed on me and taken my sister with her, and an angry, jealous brother.

  Meanwhile, Pops was warming to his theme. “She reminds me of your mother. When I first met your mom—”

  Memory lane, here we come. Except I didn’t have the patience for it. “I know this story. And I’ve got to get to practice.” It was a lie. I’d already told Coach that I was going to take the day off to rest. I didn’t have to be anywhere…except away from here.

  “Um, okay.” His gaze roved around the room as he searched for a way to keep me close. And for some incomprehensible reason, I still stood there. I should have just walked out, but he’d already surprised me once this morning. Maybe I was hoping for something else.

  Eventually he found a topic. He pointed at the calendar, at the words written in big red letters: “All-Star Game.” “You still got those great tickets for us?” He looked back at me. “I know you aren’t playing this year, but next year, you will for sure. Especially if Nunez keeps hitting for shit.”

  There were a hell of a lot more factors than Nunez as to whether or not I’d ever make it to the All-Star Game as a player. But as fans, Pops, Larry, and I had been going since I started hitting home runs in Little League. It was the one vacation we did every year and gave me my best memories. And also some of the worst. Because Pops never failed to get shit-faced at some point. Which left my brother and me taking care of him in a cheap hotel room.

  A few years ago, Larry had declared he was done with that, but Pops and I had continued. Until right now. Because I just couldn’t do it again. Certainly not with the extra media attention on me since I’d joined the Bobcats. And especially since team owner Joe Deluce had made a big deal about cleaning up the team’s image. Having a drunken parent at the league’s biggest event would not endear me to him.

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  Pops frowned, his bloodshot eyes confused. “They got you doing something else this year? Some Bobcat—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “I’m taking Ellie.”

  Then, knowing that I’d see him reach for a beer in response, I turned around and walked straight out of the house.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ellie

  We didn’t see each other for a week, but Jake called every day. Since I was working nights, it was hard for us to get together, but we managed to arrange dinner out on my off day. And since he was feeling better, he went back to attending practices…and our time together became even shorter.

  Tonight, we had a rare evening free. He’d brought over pizza (Hawaiian for me), I picked the DVD (a sports story for him), and we sat on my beat-up old couch to watch on it on my tiny TV. I had to work in a few hours, and my place was closer to the hospital. As it turned out, though, we never did settle down to watch the movie.

  “Can you believe it?” I told him, still outraged by the day’s events. “She gave my patient’s TPN to hers. Then she had the nerve to tell me that they were all the same.”

  “I take it they’re not?”

  I paused a moment to groan in pleasure as he massaged deep into my instep. He was giving me a foot massage, and I hadn’t even asked him for it. And bonus, he wasn’t doing it just for sex because—true confessions—we’d already done it. Besides, I had to leave in an hour.

  “Not even close,” I said, when I could gather my thoughts again. “A TPN is a total parenteral nutrition. It’s designed specifically for each patient, not interchangeable. She should know that.”

  He grinned. “Did you tell her off?”

  I flushed with pride. “I explained, very professionally, that she was wrong, and that she’d need to go back through every one of her patients to make sure they got the right medication.”

  “And was she pissed?”

  “Not at first. But then…” I grinned. This was the best part. “Mrs. Sargent overheard and backed me up. She told her to double-check everyone’s meds on the whole floor, so next time, she wouldn’t make that mistake.”

  How wonderful it had been to finally be supported by the overbearing head nurse who had intimidated me so badly before. Actually, she still intimidated me, but at least now, I was sticking up for myself. Apparently, my exposure therapy was working. Or maybe it was just that I was feeling so good about life that I felt strong enough to speak my mind.

  “Way to go!” Jake high-fived me and I laughed, collapsing backward onto a tattered pillow. “You’ll get that ER job for sure,” he said.

  I snorted. “Nothing is for sure. There are a lot of good nurses applying.”

  “You’re a sure thing.” His expression sobered. “And speaking of work, do you think you could get a couple days off next week?”

  “I don’t know…”

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’ve been working really hard lately. You deserve to relax now and then.”

  He was acting very charming—which always made me nervous. “Jake, I’ve already got two days off next—”

  “I know. But if you could get even one day more, I’d like to take you someplace special.”

  I sat up. “Well, that’s intriguing. Where exactly would you like us to go?” I was picturing a romantic trip to Saint Louis, or maybe a weekend in New Orleans… My mind was spinning with the possibilities.

  “Come with me to the All-Star Game.”

  I blinked. The All-Star Game? Sure, I was dating a baseball player, but baseball wasn’t exactly my passion. At least not until Jake came into my life.

  “It’s in Detroit this year, at Comerica Park.
I’m not playing in it, but there are tons of fun things to do. Rob is in the Home Run Derby. You remember Rob from the barbecue? And this is Connor’s third year making the cut.”

  I knew that. And I remembered Rob, too. He and Heidi had been holding hands at the barbecue. It had been beyond cute and honestly, I’d been a little jealous of her. She was so obviously happy. But right now, with my own hottie massaging my feet, I realized I had nothing to complain about. Even if this was just a fake relationship until the season ended.

  My expression must have changed, because Jake was quick to respond.

  “Okay, so maybe watching people hit home runs isn’t your idea of fun, but there are lots of other things to do. You like shopping, right?”

  “For baseball stuff?”

  He winced. “Okay, so maybe not that, but there’s a color run if you wanted to—”

  “Not doing a 5K. No way.”

  “Right. But there’s live music, too, and dancing. Also a red carpet—”

  I covered his mouth. He was just digging himself in deeper. “Just nod or shake your head. Do you want me to go?”

  He nodded his head vigorously, even pressed kisses into my fingers. When he started doing wicked things with his tongue, I had to pull my hand back.

  “Ellie, I’d really like you to come with me.”

  “Then I’d really like to go.” Of course I would. Anything that made him smile like that had my insides melting, and not just from lust. When he was happy, I was happy. When he was stressed, I did everything I could to make him relax. And when I was angry or happy—or any emotion in between—he listened to me as if I was the most important thing in his world.

  Yeah…I was falling head over heels in love with him.

  I wasn’t surprised. I’d started falling for him long before our first date. But the depth of my feelings shocked me into silence. It’d only been a couple weeks and here I was, agreeing to whatever he wanted. Sure, it was no hardship to go on a weekend away, but I would have said yes to anything he asked, just because it made him smile. And that was what surprised me. The feeling was as frightening as it was thrilling.