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He shakes his head as he stands beside the mattress, staring down at his brother with pain, anger, and hurt crammed in his eyes. “Nah, I can get him.”
“What can I do to help then?”
He casts a quick glance at me, his eyes searching mine, then he rubs his lips together and looks back at his brother. “Open the doors for me?”
“You got it.” I kick the garbage and glass covering the floor out of the way with the tip of my boot as Blaise crouches and picks up Alex.
Alex’s eyelids flutter, as if he’s coming to. He mumbles something incoherently then stills again.
Blaise adjusts his weight then hikes across the room to where I’m standing. Neither of us exchange a word as I back out, head back across the living room, and open the front door.
Sunlight spills into the dusty room, along with fresh air. I breathe it in as I step out, realizing how damp and murky the air had been inside.
“Can you get the car door for me, too?” Blaise asks as he exits the house, squinting against the sunlight.
I nod then hurry to the SUV and open the back door.
Blaise gently sets Alex down on the back seat, shuts the door, and then we climb in. Again, quietness stretches between us as he starts up the engine and drives back the down the bumpy road.
“He’s been through a lot of shitty stuffy,” Blaise abruptly says as he pulls out onto the highway. “Alex, I mean.” He flips down the visor then his guarded gaze lands on mine. “I know it’s not an excuse for anything he does, but sometimes I wonder, if some of that shitty stuff never happened to him”—his eyes travel to the rearview mirror, to the reflection of his brother lying down in the back seat—“maybe he wouldn’t be a drug addict who gets in trouble all the time and does crappy things to people who probably don’t deserve it.” His attention returns to the road, his shoulders stiffening. “Then again, maybe he’d still be the same. Who the hell knows?”
Just what sort of stuff has Alex been through? I won’t ask, and not just because he probably won’t tell me, but because it’s none of my damn business. Not this. No, this is deeply personal, and I can respect his vagueness.
“Are you going to try to get him help?” I ask instead. “Maybe try to get him into a rehab facility?”
“I want to, but me wanting him to go and actually getting him to agree are two entirely different things.” He cranks up the air conditioning. “But yeah, I’m going to try. My brothers and I, and even Scarlett, have been saving up money so we can give him an intervention and hopefully convince him to go.” He hurriedly explains, “Scarlett’s our half-sister. Have you met her? She doesn’t live with us, but she stays over some weekends. You may have seen her around school.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her around a few times.” I try to be as vague as possible, uncertain if Scarlett would want me confessing to Blaise that she was the one who told me about the dual. “And I think it’s good that you’re all working together to try to help Alex. I hope he does get help. Not just for his sake, but for you and your siblings, too.”
His gaze flicks to mine. “You’re very understanding about this.”
I shrug. “I already told you that my dad does stuff like this all the time. And some of my sisters have, on occasion.”
“I know, but …” He stares at me, and I mean, really stares at me, in a way that makes me twitchy, as if he can actually see through the wall I constantly have around me. “I’m just not used to it—being around someone who’s understanding. I mean, my siblings can be sometimes, but none of my friends have ever been this easy to talk to.”
I squirm, even more uneasy now. “It’s just because I’ve been through similar stuff, so I get it.”
“I know.” He continues to stare at me in that seeing, knowing, can’t-really-breathe-properly way.
Finally, I decide I need a subject change before I end up diving out of the car just to avoid that look.
I rest my elbow on the back of the seat. “So, what do you guys do for work anyway? Because I find it hard as hell to get a job that pays decently and has flexible hours.”
He studies me for a heartbeat longer, his gaze drifting toward my neck. I can only guess what he sees considering what Alex said to me about having a hickey.
Great. My sister’s are going to have fun with that one.
Finally, Blaise looks away. “Jax does work around the neighborhood, like mows lawns and stuff—I feel like he’s too young to work more than that,” he tells me. “Alex works at an auto shop. But the only reason he even has the job and hasn’t gotten fired yet is because the owner of the shop is—was a friend of my mom’s.” He scratches his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “I work at the shop, too. Not on the cars, but in the office. Rhyland sometimes works there, but he makes most of his money racing.”
“Wait. What?” That piques my interest. “How the hell does he make money racing?”
“People put up bets, and he makes a percentage.” He glances at me with his brows knit. “Didn’t they do that back in your hometown? I know you raced. Didn’t you get money from doing it?”
I shake my head. “Not really, but I don’t really have a hometown. Maybe if we stayed put in the same place for longer than six months, I would’ve discovered the potential cash flow in something I love.”
He gapes at me. “You move every six months?”
“Give or take a month.”
