When she finally finished minutes later, she let go of the trashcan and collapsed back against the wall.
"Judd?” she managed to say in a barely audible voice that made her shallow breathing sound almost non-existent.
But Judd ignored her. He was too busy scooping her into his arms—wet sheets and all. Once he had a firm hold on her, he turned around ... just as his brothers flew through the door.
"Where the hell were you, goddammit? You were supposed to be here!” he yelled at Rebel. “Look at her!"
Judd didn't miss the look of pure guilt that crossed Rebel's face as he studied Georgia's limp form lying in Judd's arms. He didn't miss the cold, lethal one Blackie was wearing, either.
"L-l-leave him alone,” Georgia defended Rebel, “its n-not his f-fault. I m-made him leave."
Shocked that she'd even attempted to speak, Judd looked down at his sister, lying still and unmoving in his arms, waiting for some kind of explanation.
But she didn't offer one.
She'd been adamant about them not blaming Rebel; yet she hadn't said another word. In fact, she hadn't even bothered to open her eyes, and looked as though she'd passed out.
Then, suddenly, she began shivering more violently, causing Judd to tighten his hold.
"Shit!” Blackie cursed. He made a move toward Judd, attempting to take Georgia from him, but Judd backed away.
"We need to get her warm,” Blackie explained. “She's freezin’ cold, Judd, and dammit, look at her, she's a mess. We gotta get her cleaned up."
"Shower,” Rebel suggested. “You boys know how hot the water gets in that bathroom. She can get warm, and we can clean her up at the same time."
Angrier than Judd had seen him in a long time, Blackie turned on Rebel and took a step forward, convincing Judd that the two of them were going to start throwing punches at each other right there in the doorway. “She can't take no shower, Rebel!” Blackie shouted. “She can't even stand up."
The expression on Rebel's face grew dark, and he looked as though he had plenty to say. But Judd spoke first. “Then I'll just have to get in there with her. We'll soak her, clothes and all, until she's warm. That should take care of cleaning her off, too. We can worry about washing her hair and getting into dry clothes later."
Almost as if they were ignoring Judd, Blackie and Rebel continued to stare each other down.
"What the hell is wrong with the two of you?” Judd asked impatiently. “Did either one of you hear a thing I just said?"
When they didn't respond fast enough, Judd decided that he didn't have time to hang around waiting for his brothers to calm down. Georgia needed help. Now. And right this minute, it looked as if he was the only one who was going to give it to her. “Move!” he yelled as he pushed past Blackie and Rebel and headed down the hall toward the bathroom.
Once inside, Judd didn't need to look over his shoulder to know both his brothers were right behind him. “Turn on the water!” he instructed, not caring which one of them did it, just as long as it got done.
Limited to just three people in the bathroom due to its small size, Blackie remained in the hallway as Rebel turned on the shower and Judd stepped into the stall—completely clothed—with Georgia in his arms.
She was fully alert the instant the first drops of water splashed onto her face. And although she was still shivering, she was also struggling to break away from Judd. “P-p-put me down!"
Judd tightened his hold, refusing to let go. “Hold still!"
"Dammit, Judd!” she protested, “let me go!"
He ignored her and continued to hold her in the direct stream of water for a good two more minutes. “You need to clean up, Georgia. If I put you down, will you stay in here, soap yourself up, and wash your hair?"
Soaking wet with water running down her face and dripping off her nose, Georgia looked at Rebel, who was staring at her, then tilted her head and glanced at Blackie, who was standing just outside the doorway, also staring at her.
Squinting, she gave Judd a dirty look. “Of course I'll stay in here. You don't think I'd get very far with the two of them blocking the door, do you?"
Well, she's not stuttering or shivering anymore, so at least she's warm. And that damn smartass comment she made must mean she's feeling better.
Or that she's royally pissed.
Judd smiled as he slowly set Georgia on her feet, wanting to pat himself on the back for having a direct hand in helping his sister, instead of just allowing his brothers to figure out a plan. He then stepped out of the shower stall, soaking the floor. His clothes, hair, and steel toe work boots were drenched, and he prayed that he still had an extra set of clothes stashed in one of the dresser drawers in the apartment. If not, it was going to be a long, cold ride home.
"Finish your shower and get dressed,” he told his sister as he towel-dried his hair, then crossed his arms and pulled his wet T-shirt over his head, “then meet us back in the apartment. We have some talking to do."
Just to let her know he was in control of the situation now, Judd stared at her as he took his time untying and removing his boots. Along with his shoes and socks, he tossed them in the corner and kept eye contact with her until the bathroom door was completely closed.
Once they were back inside the apartment, Blackie immediately strode to the window and opened it; obviously trying to get rid of the stench in the room. The cold blast of air that hit him reminded Judd that he needed to search the dresser for his clothes. Relieved to find the extra set he'd put there for an emergency, he pulled them out and began changing right there in front of his brothers.
Blackie busied himself by unrolling a pack of Marlboro's from his shirt sleeve and lighting a cigarette while Rebel went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.
"Goddamn, little brother,” Blackie said when Judd was once again dressed. “I'm impressed with the way you handled Georgia in there."
"I don't know why,” Judd spat, still irritated that his brothers had been no help at all. “I did the same thing you or Rebel would've done if you hadn't been distracted by exchanging dirty, you-can't-kill-me-because-I'm-going-to-kill-you-first looks. What the hell is the matter with you two?"
Judd watched Blackie take a step toward Rebel, and was genuinely surprised when Blackie held his fist in the air—something he and his brothers had done as a show of support for each other since they were little kids. “Sorry, Reb, I know what happened to Georgia ain't your fault."
Rebel touched his fist lightly against Blackie's. “I should've been here. Georgia was fine when I left around midnight, I swear. She ate a bowl of soup, took a shower, and told me she was tired. I hung around until she was almost asleep, figuring she'd be fine until Judd came in this morning. I left the phone and all our numbers on the table next to the bed. She promised to call if she needed anything.” Rebel shook his head and lowered it. “I should've stayed."
"No, man, what happened to her woulda happened whether you were here or not."
"Yeah, but I could've helped her."
Judd knew he needed to tell them the rest. “Do you know what she said to me when I walked in here? She said she couldn't get it open. And when I asked her what she was talking about, she said, ‘the window'. Now why do you think she was trying to get the window open? It sure as hell wasn't because of the smell in here; her nose was so stuffy from crying she couldn't have smelled anything."
Suddenly intensely serious, Blackie took one last drag on his cigarette and dropped it into the longneck beer bottle on the counter. “You think she was gonna jump?"
"Yes, Blackie,” Judd said more harshly than he meant to, “I do. And not jump to escape and run away so she could handle things on her own, like Dusty did ... jump because she's sick and tired of being sick and tired, and was ready to end her life.
"I don't think the three of us can handle this on our own anymore. We don't have any experience with helping someone through drug withdrawal. There are probably dozens of signs we should've been watching for
that would've told us this was about to happen."
"What kind of signs?” Blackie asked. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?"
"I'm talking about Georgia getting hurt, goddammit! If she had been trying to kill herself, Blackie, and hadn't had so much trouble unlocking the window, she'd be dead right now! We can't do this anymore; we need help from someone who knows what the hell they're doing."
"Let's call Wade Pickett,” Rebel suggested, who, up until that point, had been silent. “He'll be able to help her."
Shocked by his brother's suggestion, Judd turned to Rebel, knowing full well that surprise was written all over his face. The same surprise, he was sure, that was plastered across Blackie's, as well. “Reb—"
Rebel turned to Judd then, a fire in his eyes that Judd hadn't seen in a long time. Five years, to be exact. When Gypsy needed help and Rebel was sure he was the only one who could give it to her. “What? If you don't think we can help Georgia ourselves, then we damn well better find someone who can. You don't have to be Wade's best friend. Hell, you don't even have to like the man. You, either,” Rebel turned and shouted at Blackie, “but he can help her, I guarantee it."
Blackie was shaking his head. “No, Rebel, no way. Wade's almost as old as you."
Judd actually laughed as Rebel threw his hands in the air out of frustration. “What does his age have to do with anything? For Christ's sake, Blackie, we're only trying to help Georgia, not marry her off. Who the hell cares how old Wade is?"
"I do. It ain't right."
"He's thirty, Blackie. There are only eleven years separating him and Georgia. Hell, there's twelve years between you and Angel. What's not right about that?"
Staring Rebel down, Blackie remained quiet. Suddenly, Judd was very glad not to be involved in that particular part of the conversation.
"I've got a feeling Wade's age doesn't have a damn thing to do with how you're feeling right now. Go ahead, Blackie,” Rebel invited him, “why don't you just come out and say it; say what's really bothering you."
Blackie threw his hands in the air and took a step forward. “Fine! You want me to say it, I will! Wade Pickett's a goddamn junkie, too, Rebel. I don't see how he's gonna help Georgia."
"Correction,” Rebel said, “Wade was a junkie. He's been clean since before I met Gypsy, which was almost six years ago. He's been doing drug counseling as part of his parole, Blackie. He may be the only one at this point who can help Georgia. We have to try."
Blackie shook his head again. “I can't let it happen, Reb."
"Why the hell not?"
"Look,” Blackie said in an eerily calm voice that made the hairs on the back of Judd's neck stand up. “I don't give a shit if our mom and his mom were sisters. I know Wade Pickett; known him all his damn, worthless life. I know everything he's done and what he's capable of, and I ain't lettin’ him anywhere near Georgia."
Rebel took a step in Blackie's direction, closing more of the distance between them. Judd held his breath, praying he wasn't going to have to break up a fight.
"Well you might want to rethink that,” Rebel suggested, “because if that girl in there,” he pointed toward the bathroom, “needs something that we can't give her, and she winds up dead because your goddamn stubborn ass refused to let someone help her, then you'll be just as guilty of killing her as if you'd put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger."
Realizing he hadn't taken a breath in nearly thirty seconds, Judd sucked in a gulp of fresh air and turned to Blackie, waiting for his response to Rebel's harsh words.
"Why the hell do you trust him so damn much, Rebel?"
"Why the hell don't you trust him at all, Blackie? Wade hasn't been in trouble in years. He cleaned himself up, served his time, and doesn't bother anyone anymore. Sometimes people make stupid mistakes, you know? Sometimes they screw up so bad that others completely write them off. And sometimes, those people surprise others by doing their damnedest to turn their lives around. Guys like that deserve a second chance, don't you think?"
Score one for Rebel.
If his little speech hadn't convinced Blackie to let their cousin Wade help Georgia, than nothing would.
Judd had never really thought about it, but Blackie and Wade had a lot more in common than he had realized. They'd both spent time in prison, although for different reasons. And, over the years, they'd both been rehabilitated ... to a point.
Blackie wasn't quite as law-abiding as Wade was now, but out of the two of them, if Judd had to pick which one was more likely to land himself back in prison, it would have to be Wade. Blackie loved his wife and kids enough to be extra careful when he couldn't be good. But Wade, well, he was and always had been a loner. Most of the time, he'd done his own thing, more often than not landing himself in trouble. He hadn't had anyone depending on him while he was growing up the way Blackie'd had Judd and Rebel, so Wade could afford to screw up and not give a damn about what happened to himself.
Judd hadn't seen Wade in years, even though Rebel apparently had. And as far as he knew, Wade was still pretty much a loner. He wasn't married, didn't have any kids, and no longer hung out with the mutual friends he'd shared with his three McCassey cousins.
Erasing the remaining distance between them, Blackie stepped forward, leaned in, and pointed a finger in Rebel's face. “Fine, Reb I get your damn point. You win. Wade and I ain't much different, so if I'm good enough to be around Georgia, than so is he.
"I'll let him help her, but I hope to hell this don't blow up in our faces. Because if it does, we're gonna have a hell of a mess to clean up."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 9
Wade Pickett's Monday mornings were usually all the same—two or three hours of sleep the night before, a few Winston's to wake up the parts of his body that strong, black coffee couldn't reach quick enough, and something sugary sweet to jump start what little energy he could muster.
But this Monday was different.
Before the sun was even up, he'd received a phone call from his cousin, Rebel McCassey. They'd had a shocking conversation that Wade was still trying very hard to believe.
"Can you meet my brothers and me at the garage around seven?"
Wade's first instinct was to say no.
In the past, anything that had to do with a McCassey meant trouble, something Wade couldn't afford to be anywhere near these days. One brush with the law while he was still on parole, and the judge would forget about sentencing him to anymore prison time; he or she would just have Wade buried under the nearest maximum security correctional facility and save the tax payers time and money.
"I don't know, Reb. What's this all about?"
"I'd rather not get into it on the phone. What do you say, man? Can you be here in an hour?"
With the exception of being busted on a few misdemeanors as a teenager, Rebel was one—quite possibly the only—McCassey who'd never really tangled with the law, and had always been well respected by both his family and friends. In fact, not only were Rebel's leadership skills the cause of him being somewhat of a local legend, it was well known that he didn't start trouble, he finished it.
What could the brothers possibly need?
Blackie doesn't call Rebel the Pied Piper for nothing; everyone knows that Reb's the go-to guy if you're in trouble and need help.
So why me? What can I do for the brothers that Rebel can't?
Although he was nearly dying of curiosity, Wade was more than a little skeptical, afraid there'd be no escaping once he walked into that garage. He wasn't necessarily convinced that he was about to be dragged into trouble, but he couldn't afford to take that chance.
"I'm sorry, Reb,” Wade said with as much sincerity as he could muster, still being half asleep and all. “I don't think it'd be a good idea."
The sigh on the other end of the line was something Wade hadn't expected. He'd been prepared for Rebel to hang up, cuss him out, even lecture him on the importance of family ... but he hadn't expected the man t
o simply sigh.
"Look, Wade,” Rebel said in a voice sounding laced with emotional pain, “we got a situation over here that Blackie, Judd, and I can't handle. We were hoping you could lead us in the right direction."
Wade stayed quiet and listened carefully as Rebel explained about their half-sister, Georgia. “She wants to get clean,” he assured Wade, “but she sort of hit rock bottom this morning, and we don't know what else to do. Can you help her?"
Maybe what made Wade want to help was the thought that a young girl who was forced into prostitution and heroin addiction was now trying so desperately to clean herself up.
Maybe it was the fact that her brother, Rebel, one of the toughest men Wade knew, had done nothing to hide his emotion as he told Georgia's story.
Or maybe it was the realization that he wouldn't be alive today if several people hadn't gone out of their way to help him.
Whatever the reason, Wade knew he had to do something for Georgia McCassey.
And he knew exactly what it was.
"I'll be there,” he told Rebel, placing the phone back on the receiver so fast that he missed his cousin's quiet, ‘thank you'.
* * * *
"Where the hell is he, Rebel?"
Blackie had been impatiently pacing the concrete floor of the garage since the instant Rebel had gotten off the phone with Wade.
His feelings were torn between wanting to help his sister overcome her addiction, and wanting to keep her safe. Unfortunately, he'd done all he could, and no longer knew what else he could do to help her. Now, all that was left was keeping her safe, something he didn't feel would be possible with Wade hanging around her.
Although Blackie had never done drugs and Wade wasn't a member of an outlaw biker gang, their pasts were a little too similar for Blackie's liking.
He was the first one to admit that he came by his nickname ‘The Devil’ honestly. Back in his heyday, he wasn't fit to be around decent people. Hell, since he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that he still had days where he craved the excitement his old life had always succeeded in providing.
The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] Page 6
