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She had so many questions she didn’t know where to start. But they would have to wait. Cyril was in no shape to explain what had happened.
She couldn’t blame Cash for his violence. She’d come back from ushering Cyril to the curb in time to hear TJ and Tyrone’s inflammatory words. Primitive satisfaction had sung in her veins when Cash’s blow had drawn blood.
But she couldn’t stand by and let him destroy everything he’d worked so hard to build in the last twelve years. That was why she’d prevented him from delivering savage justice. It had been for his sake, no one else’s.
Nonetheless, his brutality worried her. She had never seen him lost to rage. When she’d looked into his eyes, her hand pressed to his chest, she hadn’t seen Cash—the wistful loner, the giving lover, the skilled craftsman, the avid reader. She’d seen a pitiless stranger.
Cyril made it home without vomiting, but the moment he staggered into the house he made a beeline for the nearest bathroom. Seconds later, harsh retching sounded loud and clear through the closed door. She retraced her steps to the garage and retrieved two cans of ginger ale from the second fridge there.
She waited for Cyril’s purging to end and then helped him down the stairs and into bed. Opening one can, she handed it to him and placed the other on his nightstand.
“Drink this. It’ll help.” She brushed his hair off his damp temples, studying his greenish pallor. “Did you do any drugs, Cyril?” If he had, should she take him to the hospital? What if he’d taken something laced with fentanyl?
“Just booze.” He mumbled the words, eyes closed tightly, lips creased. “Wouldn’t smoke. Wouldn’t do pills. Told ’em I wouldn’t. ’S why I had to drink.”
“What do you mean, had to?”
“Said did shots...leave Elle alone. Didn’t want...hurt her. ’S my fault. All my fault.”
Penta frowned. Was there more behind tonight than youthful idiocy? Cash had also said something similar, taking the blame on his shoulders. What was she missing?
Cyril fell into a restless doze. She made sure a bucket was nearby and tucked him in. Instead of going up two flights to her own bed, she collapsed onto the couch in the rec room just outside Cyril and Felix’s bedrooms. Dragging an ancient, holey, crocheted blanket off the back, she let exhaustion take her.
The next she knew, Felix was shaking her awake. “Mom? What are you doing down here?”
“Cyril.” She struggled to a sitting position. “Can you check him?”
Forehead creased, Felix disappeared into his brother’s room and reappeared shortly. “What’s wrong with him? He’s asleep, but doesn’t look too good. And it stinks in there.”
“He’s drunk.” She yawned and scrubbed her cheeks. “What time is it?”
“Seven. I have to be at work soon. What do you mean, drunk?”
God. She’d barely had three hours sleep. Gone were the days when she could function after disrupted nights. “Where were you last night? Didn’t you hear him take your car?”
“He took my car?” Felix’s voice rose out of his cautious whisper, loud with annoyance. “I was out with Hadiyyah. She drove me home about midnight and I came in the front door instead of the garage. What was he thinking?”
Penta made a mental note to ask who Hadiyyah was later. For now, her focus had to be Cyril. “I don’t imagine he was thinking in general.” She swung her feet to the floor, back aching, and shoved to her feet. “Come on. I’ll explain everything over a cup of coffee.”
Felix’s expression swung from alarm to anger to anxiety as she related the events between sips of caffeine. “You’re right. He really wasn’t thinking,” he agreed when she got to the end of her tale. “I never thought he’d be so stupid. His door was closed when I went down. I should have checked he was there. Maybe if I had, we could have found them sooner.”
“It’s not your fault. I don’t expect you to keep tabs on him.”
“That’s exactly what you asked me to do.”
He was right. She had, shortly after Cash had apprehended Cyril. “That was a short-term thing. It’s my job. I’m the one who should have been here last night.” Instead of having bone-melting sex with Cash. The guilt she’d buried under concern for Cyril broke free. Acid churned in her empty stomach.
“Or maybe Cyril shouldn’t have been an idiot and just stayed home.” Felix threw his last bit of toast into his mouth and drained his milk. “I have to go.”
“Are you really not going back to university?” Sleep deprivation must have lowered her inhibitions. The words escaped her without conscious thought.
Felix paused in the doorway. “Mom—” His tone held warning and frustration in equal measure.
Still, she couldn’t let it go. “Hear me out. Just for a second.” She drew in a deep breath. “You know I went to university, right?”
“Yeah.” His expression remained guarded, but at least he was listening.
“I know I did the right thing, quitting school to take care of my family. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. I don’t want you to feel the same way.”
