Trey recognized one of the streets. It was nearby. GPS would help him from there. “What do you want to eat?” He needed to keep Wes on the line.
“I’m nah hungry.”
The kid was too drunk to eat, but Trey kept talking as he headed toward his car. “I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go from there. If you want, we—”
Wes hung up, and Trey ran the rest of the way to his car. He entered the streets in his GPS. Thank God, Wes was closer than he thought. Now, if he’d just stay put, Trey could finally help his son, even if he was seventeen years too late.
* * *
The fear finally eased when he saw Wes’s car in the parking lot. The kid had parked diagonally across two spaces, but he was safe. When he pulled up beside the car, he found the driver’s door open and Wes leaning out. Vomiting.
He rushed over to help. Wes was still in his seatbelt or he probably would’ve fallen flat on his face. When it appeared he was done, Trey lifted him upright in his seat. “Wes, it’s me. Trey.”
The boy could barely keep his head up. His face was covered in sweat, and vomit still clung to his lips. Trey looked around for something to clean him up. In the back seat, he found a gym bag with a wadded-up T-shirt and a half-empty bottle of water. Wetting the shirt, he dabbed at his son’s face, but Wes pushed his hand away. “Stoppit!”
“Take it.” He forced the shirt into Wes’s hands, but the boy let it fall to his lap. He dropped his head against the headrest and closed his eyes.
“Open your eyes, Wes. You don’t want the spins.”
Too late. Wes leaned over and puked again, catching Trey’s shoes. Cursing, he stepped aside but kept a hand on Wes’s shoulder. When he finished this time, Trey unbuckled the seatbelt and pulled him out of the car. “Let’s walk.”
He draped Wes’s arm over his shoulder and helped his kid stumble around the parking lot, keeping close to the edges where no one was parked.
“Never gonna drink again,” Wes mumbled.
“I know.” How many times had he said the same thing in his early years? “Trust me, I know. Just keep walking.”
After a bit, Trey led him over to a small island of grass and trees and lowered him down on the curb. “Stay here.” He retrieved the bottle of water and handed it to Wes. “Rinse your mouth out. You’ll feel better.”
Wes did as he was told and repeated the process three more times. The kid might just make it without losing it again. Trey sat down next to his son and watched him as he tried to keep his head up. “Never gonna drink again.”
“Good idea.” Trey patted his back, trying to give him comfort. A lump formed in his throat when Wes didn’t pull away, even if it was because he was too drunk to notice.
* * *
“Come on, Lil’.” Sue motioned to the cat as she headed for bed, exhausted from the day from hell. She’d raced to Mimi’s as soon as Trey had left, but Wes had barely said a word except to share that he was staying there for the night. That wasn’t unusual. He’d stayed at Mimi’s many a night. But what had bothered her was his silence. Any time she’d pressed him to talk about his meeting with Trey, he cut her off, and rather rudely at that. Which made perfect sense. Daddy dearest caused the damage, but Momma got the whipping.
But she’d take all the abuse if she could rid Wes of his pain. Mimi had finally insisted Sue leave so they could all get some rest. It had killed her to walk away with her boy hurting, but she trusted Mimi’s wisdom. She always had.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway had her rushing to the door, hoping to find her boy. She peeked out the window and saw Trey helping Wes out of the car. What the hell? She threw open the door. “What are you—?”
That’s when she noticed the man was holding up Wes. “What’s wrong?” She moved to lift Wes’s face, but Trey pushed past her, bringing her son with him. The smell of alcohol and something foul smacked her in the face. Vomit. “What have you done?!”
Trey looked back at her with a scowl, then led Wes over to the couch. Her boy started to sprawl out on the sofa, but Trey propped him up. “Keep your head up and your eyes open.”
She rushed over to Wes and brushed the sweaty hair off his forehead. “Oh child, what have you done?” She would kick his ass tomorrow, but now, seeing him so miserable, she couldn’t help but give him a temporary break.
Wes looked up with dazed, bloodshot eyes. The stench of his breath almost knocked her over. “Never gonna drink agin,” he moaned, his voice and spirit frail.
She wasn’t naïve. Wes was seventeen. No doubt he’d had a drink or two in his life, but she’d never seen him like this. She stood up and tugged on his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“No.” Trey’s voice was authoritative, as if he had a right to tell her what to do. “He needs to sit up. Get a sense of balance. Besides, if he gets sick again, you don’t want him on his back.”
She damn well knew how to take care of her son, but the man was right. Of course, she’d never admit it. She turned back to Wes. “I’ll get you a cold rag.”
Trey followed her into the kitchen. She ran a towel under the water, keeping her back to the man. Help me, Lord. The shit just kept raining down on this day from hell. The urge to yell was sitting at the tip of her tongue, and Trey Harrison would be the perfect target.
He must have read her mind. “Before you make assumptions, know that he called me. He was driving drunk.”
She spun around with fire in her eyes, but he kept on talking. “You have every right to think the worst of me, but I would never get my son . . . Wes drunk.”
Hearing Trey say “my son” made her hands tremble. Before she lost control and choked him, she turned off the water and wrung out the cloth, finding it easy with all the rage flowing through her. Eventually, she could face him. She didn’t chew him a new one. She was too exasperated for that. Too angry with herself for allowing this nightmare to unfold.
“You do believe me?” he asked, as if the person providing the liquor was the biggest issue on the table.
Shaking her head, she could barely muster her voice. “Can’t you see how you’re hurting him?”
The dark cloud that shadowed his face answered her question.
“Just go. Don’t come back.” She pleaded with her eyes, hoping he’d listen and do the right thing.
She walked into the living room and patted the towel against her son’s clammy brow. “Oh, honey.” She looked over at Trey. Guilt weighed him down. A better person would’ve eased his conscience, but she just didn’t have it in her. The best she could offer was a nod. “I’ve got it from here.”
He stared at her. For a moment, he looked as if he was going to argue with her, but he didn’t. When he spoke, she heard the acceptance in his voice. “If he doesn’t vomit in the next fifteen minutes, give him a tablespoon of water. Then wait fifteen and give him two more, and so on. He’s dehydrated, but if you rush it, he’ll get sick again.”
He walked over to Wes and sat down beside him. “Do what your mom says. And don’t ever get behind the wheel when you’re drinking.”
A flash of gratitude shot Sue in the heart. How wild that seventeen years later Trey was helping her parent.
Wes lifted his head, moving back and forth attempting to focus on the man. “Never gonna drink agin.”
“I know, kid,” Trey said, shaking his head. Wes’s head fell forward, but Trey lifted his chin. “Look at me.” His brusque voice caught Wes’s attention, and the two locked eyes. “If you ever need anything—money, help, questions—you call me.” Wes just stared at him. “Do you understand?” Wes finally nodded.
Trey stood up and grasped Wes’s shoulder. “Good-bye.”
He walked past her but paused at the door. There was so much regret in his eyes. Finally, he cleared his throat. “If you need—”
She shook her head. She couldn’t afford to give him an inch. He looked down for a minute, then briefly glanced at Wes and smiled. “He’s a great kid. You’ve done an amazing job, Sue.
”
Tears stung her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? Get your shit together. She swallowed the lump in her throat and croaked out, “He’s the best.” That’s all she could muster.
Trey seemed to understand. He nodded and walked out, shutting the door quietly but with a finality that rang loud and clear.
Quickly wiping the stupid tears from her eyes, she looked over and found Wes bent forward, resting his elbows on his legs. She headed to the kitchen to grab a big pot in case he lost his cookies again. He’d feel like crap for a day or two, but it would eventually pass. If only recovering from Trey Harrison could be so easy.
Chapter 8
“We’ll now board Group B. Group B for flight 1649 to La Guardia.”
A mass of passengers rushed to the gate, but Trey stayed in his seat. He was in no hurry, and weariness weighed him down.
He pulled out his phone, checking one more time for messages. Nothing. He was just about to switch it to airplane mode when it vibrated. Fumbling with shaky hands, he checked the display. “BRINKLEY, WES.”
“Boarding Group C. Passengers in Group C.”
Trey ignored the announcement and scrambled to answer the phone. “Wes?”
“Hey.” The boy’s voice was a little weak, but he didn’t slur his words.
“How are you feeling?”
Wes let out a sigh. “I’ve been better.”
Trey couldn’t help but laugh. “You make it out of bed yet?”
“Barely, but I made it to school.”
No doubt the kid was green, but he’d fought the hangover and faced his responsibilities. A tough kid. “That’s good.”
An uncomfortable silence followed, but he wouldn’t let Wes go. “Listen—”
“Thanks for . . . last night . . . for helping me.” Wes’s voice was low and weak.
“Glad I could help.” I’d do anything for you. Just ask.
There was one passenger left standing by the gate agent. Trey needed to go, but he wouldn’t move until Wes hung up. “Wes, you’ve got my number. If there’s anything I can ever do, please . . . just call.” His chest tightened, preparing for Wes’s good-bye. Most likely the last time he’d ever hear his son’s voice.
“Well,” he heard Wes take a deep breath and blow it out, “I was wondering . . . Mom said you were leaving today, but I thought if you could . . . Could you stay for another day or so? Maybe we could meet again.”
Trey sprang from his seat. “Yes! Of course. That’d be great.” He lifted the phone and blew out his own deep breath, trying to slow his heart. “When do you want to meet?”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Sure. Where do you want to meet?”
Wes hesitated. “I lost my car for . . . for a while. Would you mind picking me up?”
Trey looked up and thanked God. Yesterday, his son didn’t want to see him, now he was asking for a ride. “You got it. How about six? We’ll grab a bite to eat.”
“Okay.”
A dark cloud of reality slipped in. “Does your mom know about this? You asking me to stay?”
“Not yet. I wasn’t sure if you would, so I didn’t say anything. I’ll tell her tonight.”
Oh, hell. Mama Bear would be rabid. Hopefully, she’d respect her son’s wishes. A strange tone rang over the line. “Wes?”
“That’s the bell. I’ve got to go.” Another hesitation. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Did the boy think he would back out? Look at your track record. But never again. “Definitely. See you tomorrow . . . Wes . . . I can’t wait.”
“Okay.”
The phone went dead, but he didn’t care. They’d talk later.
“Final boarding call for flight 1649 to La Guardia. All passengers should report to gate twenty-two immediately.” The ticketing agent glared at him.
Trey smiled and shook his head. He’d missed flights in his life, but never for such a good reason. He headed to the exit, taking long strides. Back to his son and the gorgeous woman who’d be spitting fire.
Chapter 9
“Where the hell are they, Lily?” Sue closed the blinds over the front window and turned to find the cat cleaning her paws. The moody puss stopped and stared at Sue, pissed the human would dare interrupt her ritual. “Excuse me. Heaven forbid you should care about Wes.” At that, the cat stretched, then strutted off, not lowering her standards to engage with the woman who fed her.
Good Lord. Picking a fight with Lily. You’re pathetic, woman.
Which just made her angry, because Sue Brinkley refused to have the word pathetic within ten yards of her life. Then again, that was her game plan before the last week. Nothing in the world was right now.
Trey had been in town for six days, and Wes had already established “The Church of Holy Harrison.” Oh, her son tried to pretend it was no big deal, but the kid was crazy about him. When Trey called, Wes answered the phone smiling. The boy spent every free minute with the man. And the whole “losing your driving privileges” had come back to bite her in the ass. Trey was more than happy to pick up her son, which meant he was at her house almost every day.
And that irritated the freak out of her, and she wasn’t exactly sure why. Wes was happy. Whatever the hell the two of them talked about for hours on end sure didn’t upset the boy anymore. In fact, he seemed more at peace than he had since he’d returned from Germany. Talk about a freakin’ hard pill to swallow. Yes, she wanted peace for Wes. Always. But did Trey have to be the deliverer?
Despite the positive change in Wes, her gut told her there would be trouble if Trey stayed much longer.
Maybe she was worried about herself. Trey had gone out of his way to reach out to her. Every time he picked up Wes, he found some ridiculous excuse to get inside her home: he bought some fantastic pears and wanted to share them; he’d run several errands and needed to use the restroom. Each time, no matter where she was working—hiding—he would track her down.
Sue didn’t want to be around him. She’d sealed him in a box seventeen years earlier, and that was the safest place for him as far as her heart was concerned. This new, fruit-bearing man who always asked about her day, who looked too fine in his worn jeans, who praised her parenting skills, was kicking the lid off. She needed that huge-assed box taped up and stored in the attic.
But she was smart enough to play nice. Like hell she’d be the bad cop. Granted, her ability to pretend all was well was fraying. Thank God, he was leaving in two days.
When she heard the car pull into the driveway, she jumped onto the couch and grabbed a magazine. Wes didn’t need to know his mother had been pacing the floor. When the front door opened, she realized she was holding the Elle upside down and quickly corrected it in time to look calm and collected.
“Hey,” she called out, playing it light. She rested the magazine on her lap and checked her watch, as if she didn’t know it was 10:43 p.m. “Wow. Long movie, huh?”
She knew it wasn’t. The movie had ended an hour and a half earlier. They’d been doing something else, and she had to lock her jaw not to ask.
Wes headed into the kitchen and grabbed a water from the fridge. “No. We stopped for sushi afterwards.”
“Oh . . . that’s nice.” Of course, sushi. She hated it; Wes loved it. One more opportunity for Trey to be the rock star. “Was the movie good?”
“Yeah,” he answered without looking at her. “Lots of blood and zombies. You would’ve hated it.”
So not fair. “I’d go to those shows if you’d ever invite me.”
“Right.” He took a sip from the bottle and skimmed through the mail on the counter.
She tossed her magazine on the coffee table and studied her boy. Something was up. His voice was calm, but he still hadn’t made eye contact. And what was so engrossing in the Walgreens sales ad?
He took another drink and glanced at her nervously.
What the hell? Wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans, she joined him in the kitchen. “What’s up with you?”
&n
bsp; “Nothing!”
Nothing, my ass. She knew that reaction. He was way too adamant. There was guilt all over it. She followed him as he headed to the stairs.
“Wes, what’s wrong? Did Trey say something to upset you?”
He turned on her. “No. He didn’t do anything. God, Mom, we just talked.”
“What did you talk—?”
“Why do you need to know? It has nothing to do with you. Why are you so freaked out over the man? He’s not doing anything wrong.”
She looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, pasting on her “I-have-no-problems-with-Trey” face. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I want you to spend time with him. He won’t be here much longer, and I want you to get all the answers you need.”
“He’s not leaving.”
She ran through his words, wondering if she’d heard him correctly, but the pulse racing in her ears made it hard to concentrate. “What? . . . What are you talking about?”
“Trey wants to take a leave of absence and get a place in Austin.” Wes studied his feet, or more to the point, refused to look at her. “He asked if I was okay with it . . . I said yes.”
He finally faced her. “Trey’s staying.”
Chapter 10
Sue stormed right through the lobby of the Texas Department of Economic Development. Despite her bad mood, she said hello to the security guard, Dorothy. When the middle-aged woman gave Sue her usual nod, she stopped.
“Dorothy, you know how you always say you’re praying for me?”
The woman blinked at her, surprised to be engaged, but then obviously eager about the subject. “Yes, ma’am. I do every morning I see you.”
Sue paused, touched that the woman cared that much. Then again, she could only imagine why Dorothy thought she needed prayers. Whatever, she’d take all the help she could get. “Would you please ask God to help my son and make Trey Harrison leave the country as soon as possible?”
Dorothy seemed on board until she heard the evacuation request. “Honey, I can only pray for God’s will. I don’t know His plans for your Mr. Harrison.”
Then He Came Back (Love From Austin Book 2) Page 5
