Second Act (Night Fury 2)

Then it’s off to visit my friends.

***

As we drive along, I fiddle with the radio. “This station is lame.”

Clark bunches his nose and replies a sullen, “You’re lame.”

I chuckle and find a station I like.

Clark groans. “Anything but pop. Seriously. I will listen to redneck country over pop.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s just for ten minutes, then you can do what you like.”

He mutters, “Yeah, yeah,” but doesn’t change the station.

As soon as we arrive into town, I sit up straighter in my seat. “Which house is it? How far away?”

Clark chuckles, “Old place, run down, blue gate. It’s up a little further. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

I scoff, “No. I’ll be fine. And I got Bob’s okay. Not a fake okay either.” I smile huge. “A real one!”

Clark grins, “All right. I was just trying to be a friend.”

I look over at him. “That’s the problem, I think. You’re trying too hard. Just let it happen. It’ll come naturally if you let it.”

His face turns tortured. “I am so sorr—”

I cut him off with a swish of my hand. Wide-eyed, I utter an exasperated, “Will you stop already? Sheesh. We both know if I wanted to stop you, I could have. I also could have broken your arm. And your leg. And your neck if I wanted to.”

He jaw steeled, he nods. After a moment silence, he mumbles, “Won’t ever happen again. Promise.”

I reach out and punch his shoulder playfully. “Better not. Or I’ll pop a figurative cap in yo’ ass.”

He snorts and we both laugh.

The car begins to slow. “We’re almost there. Blue gate.”

Three houses down, I see it. A blue gate. A run down house. An overgrown yard. And I couldn’t have been happier to be here.

I open the car door. Clark calls out, “Be back in an hour.”

“Okay. See you then.”

The gate creaks in protest as I try to open it. Rust has me working to push it in. I manage to get it open a wedge and follow the path to the house. As I reach the front door, my brows pull together.

The door is open.

“Hello? Xavier? Tomas? Anybody home?”

No one answers, so I make my way inside. My instincts tell me this isn’t foul play. I call out again, “Xavier, are you home? It’s Cat. The door was open. Tom?”

When I reach the living room, I stop in my tracks. I close my eyes tightly and exhale slowly.

I walk over to Xavier’s limp body and press my fingers to his neck.

A light pulse.

Without a second thought, I pull out my phone and mutter, “You stupid son of a bitch.” I dial Bob and he answers almost right away, “What’s wrong?”

I nudge Xavier with the tip of my toe. “Oh, nothing. Just that Xavier is possibly overdosing and I can’t find Tomas.”

I flinch and pull the phone away as Bob roars, “Fuck!”

“What do I do?”

Bob answers a curt, “Put the asshole on his side and monitor him till I get there. I’ll call an ambulance.”

I’m suddenly scared. “Bob…”

“If need be, I’ll petition for custody of Tomas.”

I close my eyes in relief. “Thank you.”

A pause. “You’re welcome, sweetie.” A sigh. “Make sure the dickhead doesn’t kill himself in the meantime. He owes me. And I’m going to collect.”

I’m almost scared to ask. But I don’t.

Instead, I do as I’m told, and wait for the ambulance.

Chapter Eighteen

The ambulance arrives just as Xavier begins to wake. The medics walk into the house as I kneel by his head and stroke his hair. As he looks up at me, he smiles distantly. “I like this dream.”

I scowl and knock a knuckle onto his forehead. “This isn’t a dream, bonehead. You were passed out cold. I couldn’t wake you so I called an ambulance.”

He blinks a moment before his eyes widen in fear. His body stiffens. “Where’s Tomas?”

I want to be cruel and tell him Tomas is dead. I want for him to have the life scared out of him so maybe he thinks hard the next time he picks up a needle, or joint, or even a bottle. Instead, I look down at him and mutter, “I couldn’t find him when I got here. He wasn’t in the house.”

He tries to sit up but I hold him down by the shoulders. One of the medics holds out a hand. “Easy there. You’re okay now.”

But he booms in panic, “Where the fuck is my brother?”

I stroke his forehead in a soothing gesture. “He’s okay. He was at the library. I called. Clark picked him up and they’re at the church.” My fingers pause. “By the way, Father Robert wants a word with you.”

The smaller male medic asks, “Sir, can you tell me if you’ve taken any non-prescription substances today?”

Xavier looks at the medic. His breathing heavies and his eyes dart back and forth. He looks up at me, distressed. “I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to get some sleep. I was so tired.”

Running my thumbs down his temples, I ask, “Okay. What did you take to help you sleep?”

“I smoked some pot. That’s all. I swear.” From the pleading look in his eyes, I can tell he’s being honest.

The medics aren’t so convinced. They eye each other when one asks cautiously, “Sir, if you’ve taken anything else, we need to know about it. Anything we give you could have an adverse effect if you’ve taken something more. You need to be honest with us. No one here is judging you.”

Speak for yourself.

He doesn’t bother looking at them. He seems to only have eyes for me at this moment. “Nothing more, Cat. I swear.”

“I believe you.” He breathes a sigh of relief, but I don’t let him get away that easily. “But it’s not me you have to convince.”

A medic states, “Sir, we’d like to take you in, make sure all your vitals are normal—”

Xavier’s eyes flash. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m awake now. I’m fine. You can leave now.”

The other medic starts, “Sir, you have the right to refuse treatment, but for the sake of your own safety, I’d advise you to come with us-”

“No,” is said so harshly, I still.

The medics look to me for support. I suppose I should at least try. “Xavier, you worried me. For a second there, I was scared you were dead. Please let them look you over.”

He suddenly looks torn.

After a moment’s contemplation, he utters to the medics, “You can look me over right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Stubborn mule of a man.

I watch the medics measure his blood pressure, shine lights into his eyes and ask him questions. As they’re packing up to leave, Xavier reaches out to touch my hand. Unconsciously, I move closer to his now seated position on the sofa. We look into each other a long while before he mutters, “You were scared.”

I don’t respond. I was more angry than scared. But, yes, I was scared. For a split second.

He continues, “If you were scared this time, how many other times has Tomas been scared? No wonder he was always so angry at me. If I die, he goes back into foster care. If he goes back into foster care, he’ll slip through the cracks of a system that would rather place him in an old folk’s home than provide home care for him.”

My eyes widen a little.

Oh Lord. I think it’s happened.

I think Xavier has finally had his epiphany.

A smile threatens to escape, but I urge it down. Now is not the time to celebrate. “Yes. If he loses you, he’s just another number in the system. He won’t have a face or name. He’ll just be another file.”

He grips my hand tighter. “I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

I squeeze back. “Then fight for him.”

The medics are packed up and ready to leave. They try one last attempt to have Xavier come to the hospital. “Okay, well, if you don’t need us, we’re heading off. Nice to see you on your feet, son, but lay off the weed. I’d still like for you to come have a full exam…” Xavier is already shaking his head. The medic sighs, “All right then. Good luck to you, son.”

The ambulance leaves soon after. Xavier sits there, holding my hand, looking out the window. “I fucked up. Again.”

I’m at war with myself. My emotions are confusing me. From wanting to beat the ever-loving shit out of him, I now want to comfort this mixed up man. “You’re allowed to fuck up every now and again. You’re only human. But you have to want to be a better person. Not just for Tomas, but for yourself, too.”