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Fuck.
He inhaled, then released the breath. He should drink some water or get a soda or something from the vending machine out there. Or some chips. They also had cookies. He licked his dry lips. But he didn’t have money. He’d have to beg Zander for something to eat.
Shit.
He hated that. Hated having to ask someone else for something as necessary as food. Don had always made him feel so ashamed when he’d ask for stuff as a kid.
Something nudged his shoulder. “Hey.”
Scotty glanced over at Vince, who was peering at him through heavy-lidded eyes.
“You okay?”
Scotty had stopped being okay long before his tenth birthday, but he didn’t know Vince and the other man didn’t know him, so he simply nodded. Vince didn’t seem to believe that answer because he just stared at Scotty, gaze heavy, searching—and finding. Scotty wrenched his attention away, going back to glaring at the floor.
Nobody knew about the things he’d seen and endured. Don had made it so their extended family—as sparse as they were—would never believe Scotty about anything. And he didn’t have any friends. It had always been just him, even when he’d been under his uncle’s roof.
“Scotty, right?”
Apparently, Vince wasn’t done with him.
Scotty met the other man’s gaze. “Yes.”
“Scotty, you don’t look so good.” Vince frowned. “You need to eat something?”
He did. But the sick feeling in his gut was growing, making his stomach churn at the thought of food. “I’m okay,” he croaked.
Vince glanced toward the door that hung open, then back to Scotty, repeating, “You don’t look good.”
This wasn’t news; he’d never looked good a day in his life. He tried lifting a hand to wave away Vince’s concerns, but for some reason, the limb refused to cooperate. He blinked at Vince and then looked down at his hand. Even his head felt heavy when he moved it, as if it weighed a million pounds. Breath left him in gasps, his chest heaving as panic set in. His body felt foreign. In his chest, his heartbeat grew louder and louder. Faster, too, as if attempting to burst out of him. He recognized the panic attack but couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Sounds filtered to him, probably Vince speaking, but Scotty ignored him. He tried to get to his feet. It took three attempts before he was able to make it onto his knees. Vince moved then, reaching for him, maybe to help him, but the other man collapsed back onto the couch, pain twisting his features. Scotty didn’t need his help anyway; he could do this himself. He could make it. He was fine.
He managed to stand, finally, but his legs weren’t steady. They wobbled. And his vision was?—
He grabbed his stomach and doubled over, throwing up all over his shoes. All over the floor. Vince started shouting. Scotty heard the words, but he couldn’t make them out as he moaned and staggered. His head pounded and he couldn’t stop throwing up, hunched over, muscles in his stomach cramping painfully as he emptied everything onto the floor.
Zander was there suddenly, scowling, grabbing Scotty by the shoulder.
“I’m fine.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth. Shame swept over him in a wave of heat that made him perspire.
Zander thrust a bottle of water at him, then gestured to the mess on the floor. “Clean that up.”
“I will. I just—” Scotty’s head spun and he took a step, crashing to the floor as he lost consciousness.
6
This motherfucker.
Zander glared down at Scotty where he lay passed the fuck out on the floor and contemplated leaving him right there to choke on his own filth.
Would be one less hassle for him to deal with.
“Help him,” his second unwanted guest barked. Vince tried sitting upright only to fall backward with a groan.
Zander rolled his eyes.
“Zander!” Clearly dealing with his own pain, Vince pointed a shaking hand at Scotty lying so still. “Help him.” When Zander just stared at him, Vince continued, “I’m sure whatever you’ve got going on, you don’t want a dead body on your hands.”
