Wade eyed up the spot next to Georgia in his king-sized bed longingly, dreading having to curl up on the hard floor inside his sleeping bag again. She was sound asleep, and would probably stay that way for the next several hours. He didn't see the harm in lying down next to her and taking advantage of the comfort of his own bed.
His decision made, Wade left his jeans on, but removed his T-shirt and boots, then lay down and closed his eyes.
* * * *
When Wade awoke, the entire apartment—with the exception of the area near the bathroom where he'd plugged in a nightlight so Georgia could see just in case she needed to—was dark.
After taking a moment to get his bearings, he realized that he was lying on his back in the exact same spot where he'd lay down several, probably at least twelve, hours before. With his right arm draped across his forehead, he suddenly realized that his left, which was extended out to the side, felt like there was a weight on top of it. Turning his head, Wade noticed that Georgia was still sound asleep ... lying on her stomach, using his bicep as a pillow and resting her left hand on his chest.
As a mental picture of what would happen to him if any of her bothers saw them lying in bed together crept into his mind, Wade laughed inwardly. He'd die for sure ... but he would die a happy man. He knew that the two of them—if Georgia was even interested—didn't have a chance in hell of having a relationship. That was something her brothers would put a stop to quicker than shit. But it was nice to think about.
"Georgia?” he whispered.
She stirred slightly, but remained close to him. “Yeah?"
"I just wanted to see if you were awake."
"I'm up."
"How are you feeling?” he asked, still whispering.
"Hmm ... hungry."
He yawned and, enjoying the feeling of Georgia against him, made only a slight attempt to stretch. “I'll make you something to eat in a minute. I need to wake up first."
He felt her nod against his arm, but she made no effort to move away from him. Instead, she snuggled a little closer.
"Wade?"
Warning himself to watch where his thoughts were going, he answered with a simple, “Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something personal?"
He chuckled out loud that time. “You can ask me anything, Georgia. We've been through hell together ... twice. At this point, it'd be silly to keep secrets from each other. Don't you think?"
"Yeah,” she answered, “I guess it would."
"What do you want to know?"
"The day you found me and brought me back here; what were you doing down on Franklin Street?"
Damn, anything but that.
He didn't think they'd be having that conversation so soon, but she wasn't giving him any choice. He owed her an explanation. He owed her the truth.
"I was thirteen years old the first time I shot up,” he started. “I was nervous at first; so nervous that I almost backed out. But I didn't want my buddies to think I was chicken, so I bit the bullet and let one of them stick a needle in my arm. You know what that feels like, and I was hooked immediately. I didn't get sick, either, which made the decision to get high the second time much easier."
Wade shifted his body to get more comfortable; wishing like hell that Georgia would retreat to her side of the bed. They were so close together now that each time she moved, a certain part of his body came closer and closer to betraying him. Thankfully, Georgia hadn't seemed to notice.
In fact, each time he shifted to try and put a little space between them, she just shifted right along with him, clinging to his arm as if it were a safety line.
Hell, maybe for her, it was.
"I was a full-fledged junkie by the time I was fourteen,” he continued. “My mom was devastated. My little brother, Tommy, and I were all she had."
"What about your dad?"
"He left just after Tommy was born. I was two years old at the time and don't even remember him."
"I'm sorry,” she said, squeezing his arm in a silent show of support.
He ignored her, because having her feel sorry for him as he told the story of the biggest mistake he ever made just made him feel worse.
"When we were little, Tommy followed me everywhere. I used to act like I hated it, but I really didn't. He was good company and, as older brothers do, I blamed a lot of the stuff I did on him. He took his punishments like a man, though, as if taking the fall for me was somehow going to make me like him better."
"Were you guys close when you got older?"
Wade nodded. “We were. Except during school hours, he was always with me. I hated school and never went. But Tommy loved it. And he was smart, too. So while I was hanging out with my buddies down on Franklin Street all afternoon, he was exactly were my mom wanted him to be; in school getting an education. But now he's dead,” he said bitterly, “dead because of me."
"What happened?"
"Like an idiot, I'd been shooting up heroin in front of my brother since he was eleven years old. He'd been begging me for years to let him try it, but I always said no. I knew what I was, Georgia, knew where I was headed. I wanted things to be different for Tommy ... better."
"But you let him try it, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Two days before his fifteenth birthday, we were all hanging out at a house not far from the one where I found you. Tommy had been begging me all day to let him get high. ‘Come on, Wade,’ he said, ‘it'll be my birthday present.’ At that point, I was so sick of hearing him beg that I finally gave in.
"I shot him up myself with less than half a bag. I thought it'd be okay, but he started throwing up right away. When he went into convulsions, I knew something was wrong. I picked him up and started trying to get him to walk around, but he wouldn't move. Less than five minutes later, he was dead."
"Wade—"
"I carried him all the way home, sobbing like a baby,” he continued, ignoring Georgia out of fear that he wouldn't be able to finish the story. “My mom called an ambulance, even though she knew it wouldn't do any good. The EMT's took my brother's body away, and my mom threw me out of the house with nothing more than the clothes I had on my back.
"She never spoke to me again after that; even had me banned from Tommy's funeral.
"My life pretty much went to hell after that. I got into other heavy drugs, started stealing to feed my habit, and eventually, went to prison. I've been fighting with myself to stay clean everyday since I was released."
"That still doesn't tell me what you were doing on Franklin Street the day you found me,” Georgia reminded him.
He nodded. “As you know, part of my parole was to become a trained drug counselor. At first, I did it because I had to. Then I realized that if I could help someone, really help them, maybe it would save the life of someone they loved. So after I fulfilled the hours required by my parole, which was only six months ago, I stayed on at the counseling center, trying like hell to save every person that walked into my office.
"It took me years to realize that deep down, I was seeing Tommy in everyone I tried to help. Eventually, I realized that no matter what I did, he wasn't coming back."
Realizing for the first time that he was shaking, Wade took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Georgia.
"I told you once that to this day, I still fight the urge to get high. Every day is a struggle for me to stay clean, Georgia, but I do it. I know that I'm to blame for my brother's death. Every day, I wake up wishing it was me that had OD'd instead of him. I was already a loser by the time he died. His life was worth more than mine."
"No!” Georgia shouted, shattering their quiet peace. “Don't say that, Wade! It's not true!"
Ignoring her, he said, “Every year since I've been clean, on the anniversary of his death, I take a walk down Franklin Street. I walk slowly, gazing at the houses and watching the people coming and going. I used to have myself believing that it was a test, a test to see if I was strong enough to say no.
Now I know that it's more like self-imposed torture.
"It just about kills me to have it so close; to know that all I have to do is walk into any number of houses, and I could be numb again. I wouldn't have to feel the excruciating pain I suffer through every day for what I did to my brother ... my family."
Wade could hear Georgia, who now had an ironclad grip in his arm, sobbing quietly. He didn't want that. And definitely didn't want her feeling sorry for him.
"In all these years, I've never given into the temptation. Not even once. I've taken my walk, looked, watched, suffered, and then turned around and come back home."
"Last week,” she said, sniffing, “last week, you were going to go into one of those houses, weren't you? You were going to start using again. Why?"
She knew him well. “I thought I'd lost something ... someone ... who meant a lot to me."
"How did you find me? Did you walk into that house looking for a dealer?"
"I heard you scream. I was in front of the house and recognized your voice when you yelled for the man to get off of you. I swear, Georgia, even during the time I spent in prison, I'd never been so scared in all my life. A million things were running through my mind as I was climbing those stairs. I swore that if you were hurt, I was going to kill the person who'd done it. I never considered myself anywhere near as good a fighter as your brothers, but I can hold my own. And as angry as I was that night, I could've killed everyone in that house and still gotten you out of there safely."
He took a deep breath and decided to finish what he'd started.
"Dammit, I love you, Georgia,” he admitted. “I fell in love with you the first time I walked into the apartment above the garage and you told me to get out. You told me where to go right there in front of three intimidating men; men who could've ended your life with less energy than it took for them to light a cigarette. I admired that, I—"
Wade never got to finish his sentence, because Georgia's mouth was suddenly on top of his. She was pressing up against him; the heat and sparks being created by their two bodies driving him crazy.
They kissed until Wade felt himself getting worked up to the point that he needed to do more than just kiss her. He reached up and placed his hands on her shoulders to make sure she'd stay where she was, and reluctantly, he pulled away. “This can't happen, Georgia. It can't. It's not right."
Thankfully, she backed off ... sort of. Even though the room was almost completely dark and he couldn't see her, he could still feel her. She was no more than a foot away—ten feet too close for his brain to be able to think logically.
"Why not?” she demanded. “What's not right about it?"
What wasn't right about it? He loved her and she obviously had feelings for him. They could be good together; despite their age difference and troubled pasts, he knew they could. “There are issues you have to deal with before beginning a relationship, Georgia. Issues with your brothers. They're your family, and family comes before anyone or anything."
"But you're family,” she argued.
Wade took advantage of the fact that she seemed to be getting angry, and sat up. He scooted as far from her as he could without making it obvious that he was trying to put distance between them. “I'm Blackie, Judd, and Rebel's family. You and I aren't blood related. They love you, too, and you need to make things right with them."
"But—"
"You have to, Georgia, please. Call them, talk to them, work things out. They haven't heard from you in almost ten days and you know they're probably worried sick."
"But they haven't even been looking for me, Wade."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do,” she argued, “don't you think that they would've at least called you to ask if you'd seen me?"
"I thought they would've,” he admitted. “But maybe each one of them is just as stubborn as you are. Maybe they're sitting around the kitchen table at Rebel's house kicking themselves for not searching for you, wishing to hell that they knew where you were."
"And what if they haven't?” she asked sadly. “What if I call over there and whoever answers hangs up on me?"
It was a possibility, Wade thought, but he knew that would never happen. “Then at least you'll know where they stand, and you can move on with the rest of your life. But if you don't get in touch with them, if you don't at least try to make contact, you'll never know how they feel. You'll never know what you could've had.
"After my mom threw me out, I never once tried to talk to her, Georgia. But that didn't mean I didn't want to. I was just too damn stubborn. She's gone now, and so is any chance I ever had at having a family. Don't make the same mistake I did."
Georgia remained silent, and Wade felt her move even farther away from him. Hoping she was quiet because she was considering what he'd said, he relaxed and lay down again, giving her the time she needed to work things out in her mind.
They were silent for a long time. Finally, he felt the mattress move as she got out of bed. “Where are my clothes?” she wanted to know.
Clothes? “What clothes?"
"The ones I came here in,” she said impatiently. “Where are they?"
Wade sat up and turned on the small lamp sitting on the table next to the bed. “Over there,” he pointed, “on the chair."
She grabbed them, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door.
Ten minutes later, Georgia emerged dressed in the blue jeans and white sleeveless shirt he'd found her in; both splattered with the blood of the man that Wade had beaten. Cursing himself for not getting rid of them when he'd had the chance; he squinted at her and questioned, “Why are you wearing those?"
"Because, I'm going home.” She closed the bathroom door behind her and came back to sit on the edge of the bed.
"You're right, Wade, I need to talk to Blackie, Judd, and Rebel. I love you, too,” she said matter-of-factly, causing him to feel—of all things—relieved. “Other than loving my brothers, I don't have any experience where men and love are concerned. I'm not even sure what it really means, except for the fact that I love you in a completely different way than I do them, and know that I want you in my life.
"But I can't do anything about my feelings until I know how the guys feel. I have to know if they still care about me."
Although he was happy she was willing to take his advice, he hadn't been expecting her to do it immediately. “Georgia, its ten o'clock at night."
"Yeah,” she agreed, “but it's also Saturday night, Wade. You know as well as I do that they're awake. And if they're so distraught about not knowing where I am, then they probably are sitting around Rebel's kitchen table talking about me."
Wade got out of bed, reached for his T-shirt, and put it on. Then he picked up his boots and put them on, too. “So what the hell are you going to do, just walk up the sidewalk and bang on the front door?"
"Well,” she said sarcastically, “if I try to climb in the window, one of them will probably think I'm a burglar and shoot me. So yeah, I'm going to pound on the front door until someone answers it."
No, no, not a good idea. “Georgia—"
"Don't try to talk me out of it, Wade,” she said, bending down to tie her tennis shoe, “because you can't. Like you said, I have to do this."
"I said you had to do it, Georgia, but I was thinking more along the lines of a mid-day phone call and maybe meeting them for lunch. Surprising them in the middle of the night isn't a good idea."
She crossed the room and, standing on her tiptoes, stopped in front of him and looked up. Wade bent down and kissed her hard on the lips.
When he broke the kiss, she backed away. “Ten o'clock is not the middle of the night. I have to do this now, Wade, it can't wait."
Crazy, she was absolutely crazy.
He reached for his keys and plucked them off the table. “Well, come on then, let's go."
"No."
"No? You changed your mind already?"
"No, I don't want you to drive me. I have to do this—
all of this—on my own."
"Georgia, it's late, it's dark, and Rebel lives a good three miles from here. I'm not letting you walk over there by yourself."
She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and squeezed, then quickly kissed his chest through his shirt. “Sorry, Wade,” she said on her way to the front door, “you don't have a choice."
"Georgia!” he hollered as she was about to leave.
Surprised by the terrifying command in his voice, Georgia froze, then turned around slowly. “What?"
"Are you really going to do this? It can't wait until morning?"
"I'm doing it now, Wade. I'm doing it before I lose my nerve."
She stood still as he turned his back on her and walked to his dresser. Thinking he was trying to stall her, she was just about to leave when he turned back around; her eyes widening when she saw him loading a massive handgun.
"Then take this with you.” He shoved the gun at her, but she backed away.
"A gun?"
He took a step closer, and again, she backed away. “Dammit, Georgia, take it. Just in case."
Where was all this coming from? Between the weeks Wade had spent with her at the garage, and the ten days they'd just spent together in his apartment, they'd talked about everything under the sun. She felt like they knew each other inside and out, which was why his sudden penchant for violence shocked her.
Except the beating she'd witnessed him give the drug dealer, Wade's normally laid back, easy going personality had given away nothing about the fact that he was apparently no different from the wild, untamed men her brothers were. It didn't bother her because she was used to being around macho men. It just surprised her.
"Just in case of what, Wade? That's a big gun. I'm only walking three miles. I'll be there in less than an hour."
"Take the gun, Georgia."
"No, Wade! Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want you to be safe, goddammit!” he yelled impatiently. “I want to make damn sure that if Blackie goes after you again, you'll be able to defend yourself this time! Now take the gun, or not only am I'm driving you to Rebel's, but I'm going inside with you. Then you can just try to have a private conversation with me standing six inches behind you."
The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] Page 23
