Buttons and Grace (Buttons 6)

“Cane is down at the police station.”

“What?” Button blurted. “Why?”

I pulled my jacket over my shoulders. “Drinking and driving.”

Her eyes grew wider. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were. I have to go.”

“Maybe I should—”

“Your ass is staying here.” I walked out of the bedroom and shut the door harder than I meant to.

* * *

Cane hadn’t just been drinking and driving.

He was totally wasted.

He sat in the cell alone with his eyes drooping. He kept sliding down across the bench before he righted himself and sat straight. The officer told me he’d vomited a few times when I was on my way over there.

The police officer stood with me in front of the bars. “We spotted him driving down a country road. He was swerving left and right constantly. It took us a while to pull him over because he didn’t seem to understand we were the police. I tried to question him, but I got mostly nonsense. I never see either of you in trouble with the law, at least like this. Everything okay?”

I’d thought Cane was getting better with every passing day. But apparently, he was only getting worse. Adelina’s departure was still haunting him. “He’s going through a bad breakup.”

“Doesn’t justify that kind of behavior. He could have killed someone.”

“I know…” What if Button was on the road to pick something up from the store, and she got in Cane’s way? It was a possibility too difficult to imagine.

“We’re going to let it go this time. But that’s it.”

* * *

“I understand. And thank you.”

“His car has been impounded. You’ll have to get it in the morning.” He unlocked the cell door and pulled it open. “Cane, someone is here to take you home.”

He jolted awake and opened his eyes to look at me. He stared at me blankly like he didn’t recognize who I was. But a moment later, understanding came into his expression, and he knew exactly who I was. “Fuck…”

“Get up.” I wasn’t going to give him a hand. He’d have to walk out of there on his own.

Cane moved at a snail’s pace, holding on to everything he could before he could stand on his two feet. He swayed from side to side gently, closing his eyes as he tried to concentrate. In order for him to be this drunk, he would have had to have had more liquor than I could even conceive of. We both drank around the clock, so we were used to it. So for him to get this drunk meant his blood alcohol level must be through the roof.

I signed him out, and then we walked to my car outside. I refused to help him into the passenger’s side. I let him struggle, and he even hit his head on the top of the car as he slid into the seat. It took him nearly five minutes to get his safety belt on, but I didn’t wait around. I drove on while he continued to figure it out.

We spent the drive in silence, and Cane floated in and out of consciousness the entire time. He didn’t say a single word to me, knowing I was pissed.

We arrived at his house twenty minutes later, and I was tempted to go back home to my wife. I wanted to sleep in my bed with my woman beside me. I wanted to listen to her breathe so I would know she was okay. I wanted my baby to be beside me, to protect both of them from every bad thing in the world.

But I couldn’t leave Cane alone, not when he was this drunk.

He could choke on his own vomit and die.

We got inside the house, and he didn’t make it any farther than the couch. He collapsed on the cushions and pulled his knees to his chest. His eyes closed, and he immediately drifted off to sleep.

I sat in the armchair and pulled out my phone. I’m staying here tonight.

Button texted back. Is he okay?

He’s fine. But he won’t be when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

* * *

Cane didn’t wake up until noon the next day.

Gerald made me breakfast and coffee, and I watched TV in the living room while I waited for Cane to get up. I should have been at work taking care of business or been at home with my wife. But instead, I was stuck here making sure Cane didn’t need a ride to the hospital.

When he finally woke up, he dragged his hands down his face and groaned. His fingers moved to his temples, and I knew he was fighting a migraine.

Still didn’t feel bad for him.

He finally righted himself on the couch and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It took him nearly five minutes to understand I was sitting in the armchair beside him. He obviously had no memory of the previous evening. He probably had no idea how he got home. Maybe he didn’t even remember the police station. “Crow…?”