Page 27 of One Last Rainy Day
“Try harder.”
“You’ve been no help to me recently,” he snaps.
“A little busy here,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Tell me,” he urges, not as the shot caller but as my brother. His emotional whiplash tells me he’s just as on edge as I am.
“My job has been a little hectic lately, but our pension is looking pretty fucking spectacular.”
“Good to hear,” he muses. “How are things at home?”
Delphine.
“The definition of insanity.” I scrub my face thinking about my aunt rotting away in that house—how I watched her pour a drink from the porch just after parking her in her recliner earlier today. She’s shackled herself to that house for as long as I can remember now. It’s as if she’s serving a self-imposed prison sentence.
“Don’t let her miss a treatment,” he orders.
“I’ve got it,” I snap.
Silence. The clink of ice.
“Try not to resent me too much, brother,” he finally says, recognizable guilt coating his tone. He’s either on his third or fourth drink and getting antsy due to the time away—mostly from me. The paternal concern is starting to kick in. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m just as fucking worried about his situation. On that, I’m done obeying orders and formulating a plan instead.
“Youtell meabout home,” I prod.
“I’m talking to home.”
“Youdo knowthe definition of insanity, don’t you?”
He circles his glass, and I realize he’s drained it already. That knowledge grates on me.
“It’s repeating the same actions over and over again and expecting different results. That’s wherewaitinghas gotten us.”
He releases my name like it’s a nuisance as a text comes through my personal cell.
Ginger: He’s here.
“Don’t let my shit keep you from sipping your guilt away, brother, seeing how it’s worked out so fucking well for the rest of the family. I have shit to do.”
Smashing the phone into my dash, I toss its remains on my passenger floorboard. Reveling in the timing of Ginger’s text, I allow the residual anger to snake its way into my vision. Downshifting, I fly in the direction of her apartment. Once parked, I grab what I need from my glove box. As I do, recent, concerned looks of every single one of my inked brothers flit through my mind...along with Tobias’s warning. Pressing send on a last-minute text to Sean, I slam my door closed and make a beeline for Ginger’s apartment.
Ginger opens the door just as I approach, and I see the source of her fear standing next to a littered coffee table. Nearby, a baby no older than a year bounces in a chair. Rage engulfs me, and I zone in on the motherfucker who barely has time to drop his glass pipe before I’m on him. Clamping a hand on his neck, I drag him toward the open front door.
“What the fuck?!” he shrieks, attempting to turn his head as I keep him bent but walking.
“Dom!” Ginger’s sister, Marie, screams my name as if she has some ability to reason with me.
“Pack his shit,” I bark at Marie as Ginger holds the door open so I can take the trash out.
Stopping just outside it, Marie starts to berate Ginger, and the greasy piece of shit in my grip gets it together enoughto start questioning me. “What the fuck, man?! Who the fuck are you?”
Gripping his hair, I pull his head up enough to scan the parking lot.
“Which one is yours?”
“The S10, fuck, please ease up, Jesus Christ!”
“He’s not answering today,” I inform him before pinning him to his rust-eaten Chevy. “I already called.”
