“What did you mean about his shoelaces?” I asked curiously.
“Oh, that. A junkie will use his shoelaces to tie around his arm to plump up a vein. I noticed one of his was missing on the same shoes I last saw him in about a month ago. I’m sure he got so hopped up on the H that he pulled the lace off and left it in some dirty alley where he shot up.”
My stomach curdled at the thought. Her dad’s life was crazy ugly and she had to deal with shit that was probably a lot screwier than my shit.
Sutton opened up a desk drawer and pulled out a binder. Setting it on her desk, she started flipping through it. “I really don’t need you to review this, but if you want to, by all means.”
That’s when I noticed it. Her eyes weren’t really looking at the pages, but seemed to be clouded. Her right hand shook slightly as she turned another page.
In two strides I was at her side and pulling her into my arms. The minute they circled her, a shudder rushed through her body and her fingers dug into my back desperately.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t let him get to me.”
“Shh,” I murmured with my lips pressed against the top of her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were amazing the way you handled that.”
With a stuttering breath, she squeezed me once and then pulled back. She looked okay…calm and poised once again. She raked her fingers through her hair and I noticed her hand was steady once more. “Thanks. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” I asked skeptically.
Giving me a genuine smile, she said, “Absolutely. I’ve got a hot date tonight and a bag of chocolate to look forward to.”
“You have just two pieces to look forward to,” I reminded her.
“Well, that will work too. As long as you’re the one feeding them to me.”
***
Breaking out of the reverie of my afternoon and brooding over having met Sutton’s birth father, I take one final glance in the mirror and walk out of the bathroom. Grabbing my keys and a light jacket, I open my apartment door and head out, my excitement over seeing Sutton starting to build yet again.
Just as I pull onto the belt line, which is the quickest way to her house, my phone rings. Activating my Bluetooth, I answer the call through the car’s speakers. “Hello.”
“Hey, Alex. It’s Cam.”
My brother’s voice is tentative, unsure as to how I’ll react. What he normally gets from me is indifference, because I couldn’t care if he ever called me again. We had never been close growing up, and when he turned eighteen, he quickly escaped our father’s drunken rule and never looked back.
He never thought twice about leaving me behind with a monster. Never bothered to check up on me. He calls me a few times a year to check in, see how I’m doing, but our conversations usually peter out after much awkward silence or one-word answers from my end.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound interested. Maybe I am…a little. It seems I’m caring about all kinds of shit these days.
“It’s Dad…he’s in the hospital.”
Even though my father rained terror and abuse down on me, even though he deprived me of a normal childhood, even though he twisted me into something that only vaguely looks like a human being at times, a fissure of fear quakes through me at those words.
“What happened?” I ask, my throat rasping out the words.
“He called me last night…was a bit disoriented. I went over to his house and found he had been vomiting some blood, so I took him to the emergency room.”
“Same shit, different day,” I mutter.
“Yeah…just thought you should know. He’s stable now and they’ll probably discharge him tomorrow.”
“All right,” I say with a sigh. “Let me know if anything worsens.”
Cam is silent for a moment and then he says, “I was thinking of coming down to visit you for a few days. Would that be okay?”
My mind starts spinning. Cameron has never visited me since I became an adult and started playing major league hockey. He’s never even offered and I certainly never invited him.
Before I can answer, he adds on, “I think we need to talk about Dad.”
I want to say, “What’s to talk about?”
Dad is going to drink himself into the grave. This most recent hospitalization is his fourth in the last two years. He has alcoholic hepatitis and probably cirrhosis from the abuse his liver has taken. His doctors have told him the only true treatment—the only hope of slowing the effects—is to stop drinking. He’s never taken their advice.
It’s hard to worry about my dad’s health when he’s not worried about it. But again, before I can respond, Cam adds on, “Not to talk about treatment. We need to discuss what’s going to happen after…”
His words trail off and his voice breaks. He wants to talk about what happens when our dad dies, and the way he is going—seems like it could be at any time.
“Sure,” I tell him softly. “I’ll email you my travel schedule and you just let me know when you want to get together.”
We disconnect and I brood the entire way over to Sutton’s.
Chapter 20
Sutton
“Alex,” I practically grunt as he drives into me. “Hold up a minute.”
He doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t take me seriously, because he pulls back and slams back in just as hard. The feeling is so deliciously pleasurable, my toes curl up and my fingers dig into his ass.