Never Die Alone (A Bentz/Montoya Novel Book 8) (21 page)

C
HAPTER
21

Stroke, stroke, stroke.

Oh, I like
, he tried to say, but the words were trapped in his throat and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth radiating from the juncture of his legs. Don’t ever stop.

Arianna?
He tried to call through his muted lips. Arianna, where are you?

Where the hell had she gone?

No! Hold on! For the love of God, hold on!

Arianna!
He was screaming her name, no sound issuing from his throat as the whirlpool dragged him swiftly into its vortex.
Arianna!
He nearly reached her, his fingers touching the tips of hers, only to slip away as she was spun farther and farther into a dark funnel.

No! No! No!
Again he tried to swim to her, to dive deeper to reach her, even though he knew she was already dead.

I’m sorry
chased through his mind, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t change the past, couldn’t—

What
?

Jase flinched and awoke with a start.

He lay in his bed, his eyes opening to the darkness that was his room, the display on his clock radio showing 3:15 in the damned morning. His heart was pounding as the dream receded. He’d barely gotten to sleep and now someone was banging on his apartment door?

Not bothering with his bathrobe, he strode in boxers to the front door and peered through the peephole. His brother, Prescott, scowled into the fish-eye lens.

Jase unlocked the door and threw it open. “What the hell, Pres. Do you know what time it is? My neighbors—” His gaze slid from his seething brother, jaw set in anger, to the man who stumbled to keep his balance beside him.

Edward Bridges, his weathered face more lined than Jase remembered, swayed slightly. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he blinked against the harshness of the porch light.

“Dad?” Hell, what now?

“Hey, son,” Ed said, his greeting lopsided, his mouth barely moving as he clamped hard on his Camel straight. He reeked of booze and smoke, and swayed a little as he stood, his condition far past tipsy.

“What the hell is going on?” Jase asked, his gaze moving to his brother.

Prescott’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, that’s what I’d like to know. He just showed up at my door an hour ago and Lena hit the roof.”

“I bet.”

“Drove himself, if you can believe it. Parked his stupid truck almost on the front porch. Really lucky in his condition that he didn’t wreck and kill or maim someone! Damn it, Dad, what were you thinking?”

Edward didn’t react, just tried to squint through the smoke curling up from his cigarette.

Swiping his hair back in irritation, Prescott said to his brother, “So, are you gonna let us inside or what?”

“Yeah, Jase,” their father said unsteadily, slurring his words. “You gonna less in or what?” Then he chortled and the laughter turned into a coughing fit. He let the cigarette drop and crushed it out with boots that had seen better days.

Jase swung the door wide open, and Prescott clamped one hand on the old man’s arm and dragged him inside to the living area. “This has got to stop!” he said, letting their father fall onto the couch as Jase switched on one of the lamps. “Lena is beyond upset.
Beyond
upset! She doesn’t want the kids to see Dad like this.”

“Like wha’?” their father asked.

“Falling ass-down drunk, that’s what. Caleb might think you’re funny, but you’re not, and Trinity is at that age where she’s impressionable and—oh, hell, why am I even trying to explain? You won’t remember, you probably don’t care.” Prescott wasn’t in the mood to pull any punches. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that was inside out, evidence that he, too, had been sleeping when Edward had landed on his doorstep. “This is not acceptable, Dad.
Not
acceptable.” To Jase, he added, “He needs treatment. Now.”

Edward tried to struggle to his feet, failed, and sat back down. Hard. “I ain’t goin’ to any of those rehab places, and you two know it. I jes’ need a little cash to get me back on my feet.”

“Not happening!” Prescott crossed his arms over his chest. “But there’s the matter of money. Rehab isn’t cheap, and I’m tapped out with the new house and all.” He stared pointedly at Jase. “You’re up.”

“I thought I was buying you out.”

“The farm?” Ed blinked, the sodden wheels in his mind beginning to turn. “You buyin’ the farm?”

“We’re talking, that’s all,” Jase said to him. “Sit down, Prescott.”

“Hell, no. I’m not sitting down. Lena’s already beyond pissed. Wants to call the preacher for an intervention, but what then? How do we swing that? The church has got some sort of program, but—”

“I ain’t goin’ to no fancy-pants holier-than-thou church camp. It ain’t my style.”

“Not camp, Dad,” Prescott reminded him. “Treatment. It has nothing to do with style, but everything to do with addiction.”

“Sheeeit. I don’t need no treatment. I just need a little—”

“Cash. Yeah, I know. Jase knows. We all know.” Prescott threw up his hands. “God, do we all know. Dad, I’ve had it.” To Jase, he said, “Lena wants nothing to do with this. If we go with the church program, you and I have to sponsor him. Lena’s out.” He pointed to Jase. “We set it up. Get the preacher and his wife involved, and by the way, that’s going to kill Lena to have them know, but . . . whatever. If we do this, Jase, you and Dad set up some kind of payment program. Otherwise he’s your problem! Totally. I’m out!”

“Problem?” Edward pulled a face, chewed on that. His head wobbled, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. “I ain’t nobody’s problem, least of all you boys. And you know I don’t mean to trouble you boys, but I’m just a little short this month.”

Prescott shot Jase a look that said can-you-believe-this?

“You are a problem, Dad. For me. For Lena. For my kids. And for Jase here, who is stupid enough to send you money to feed your addiction.”

Ed waved his oldest son off. “I’m just talking about the rent money now.”

“Right.” Prescott skewered their father with a hate-filled glare.

“So what happened? Why are you here, Dad?” Jase asked. “I told you I was sending a check.”

“And I told you I’d pick it up.”

“You said maybe. Remember? And that doesn’t explain why you’d turn up at Prescott’s.”

Edward turned a bleary eye up at Jase standing above him. “Got a little turned around. You know, isss dark out there.”

There was no use arguing when the old man was in this state; Jase had learned that sorry fact long ago. “Maybe you should just sleep it off, Dad.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ed agreed.

But Prescott was having none of it. “No way. He’s ‘slept it off’ too many times, and the problem never goes away; it just gets bigger.”

“I told you, I’m not a problem,” Ed demanded.

“Yeah, right, Dad.” Prescott walked to the fireplace, sat down on the hearth, and clasped his hands together, letting them drop between his knees. His breath came out in a groan as he tried to rein in his anger. “This is the end. I can’t have you showing up at my place, three sheets to the wind. Lena was still going ballistic when we left. Freaking out about the kids and their grandpa and all kinds of crap.” He set an angry scowl on his father. “This is it, Dad. As far as I’m concerned, treatment is your only option. If you don’t go with that, you stay the hell out of my life. And my wife’s life and my kids’ lives. That’s it.”

“And you?” Ed asked, twisting his neck to look at his younger son.

Jase couldn’t back down. “I have to be with Pres on this one, Dad.” His voice was a little less stern than Prescott’s. “You need help. End of story.”

“That’s right.” Prescott stood. “So you crash here tonight and sleep it off.” With a glance at Jase for confirmation, he added, “We’ll sort all this out in the morning.”

“Nothin’ to sort out,” Ed insisted.

But as Jase walked Prescott to the door, the old man was already stretching out on the couch.

“This isn’t over,” Pres said as he stepped outside. “Not by a long shot. I will not have him coming to my home and disrupting my family. And don’t give me any guff about him being family, too. This is not okay, Jase. And let’s face it, you and I, we have enough problems. I think I told you I ran into Brianna.”