Out of Nowhere (33 page)

I cross my arms and pinch myself to try and set myself back on course.

“So, listen,” I say, sinking deep into the busted couch cushions. “Um, we need to figure out what’s going on with the shop. Do we want to keep things the same for a bit or start accepting different kinds of business? Do we want to take a little time?”

Brian’s not even looking at me.

“Callie didn’t call me back,” he says softly.

“Huh? Who’s Callie?”

“
Callie
. I told you about her!” Brian’s voice rises an octave.

“Call—oh, the girl you puked on.”

“I didn’t puke on her!” Brian whines. Then he mumbles, “It was on her cat. I don’t think she likes me anymore.” Brian’s eyes are unfocused and he sounds like a second grader. A drunk second grader. He reaches out blindly for a beer can and takes a swig. He immediately sputters and gags.

“Not from today?” I say as he wipes his tongue with his sleeve.

“Ugh!” He throws himself down so he’s lying on the floor.

I trap my hands beneath my thighs so Brian can’t see they’re in fists. It took all the energy I had to get over here today so we could figure shit out about the shop. I really don’t feel like hearing about Brian’s latest random obsession.

“Uh. Right. Anyway, about the shop….”

“Are you still gonna let me work there?”

“What? Of course. What are you talking about?”

“Well, everyone knows I’m not good at it the way you and Pop and Sam are. Hell, even Daniel was better with cars than me.”

He’s right. He’s not great with the complicated fixes and doesn’t have the focus the rest of us do, but… I didn’t actually think he knew that.

“You all just send me to make coffee and pick up the old ladies anyway. Probably doesn’t pay enough to keep the house now that it’s only me.”

“Bri,” I say, “that’s—I mean, you’re—we…,” I start. He snorts. “This is a family business, is what I mean. And you’re part of it. Okay, yeah, maybe if you were a stranger, I wouldn’t hire you over someone else. But that’s not the point. You know the business and you’re one of us, so shut up about that shit.”

I was shooting for comforting, but the way Brian’s looking at me, I think I may have missed the mark.

“What if—what if I didn’t want to do it anymore?” Brian says softly. “The shop. What if I want to do something else?” His voice is almost a whisper and he’s looking at me like he’s afraid of what I might do.

Brian’s always done what we told him to, but I always thought it was because he liked it that way. Liked not having to worry about figuring shit out on his own. He’s looking at me expectantly, nervously. And I can’t help but think of what Daniel said. About how the things I said had an effect on him when I always thought he didn’t care.

“That… would be okay.”

Brian’s eyes go wide and his face relaxes. “Yeah?”

“Well, yeah, man. It’s your choice. Do you know what you wanna do instead?”

“I—you’re gonna think it’s lame,” he says. I shrug. “I want to be a bartender.” I look at him, unsure what to say. “Well, okay, I thought maybe someday I could have my own bar.”

“That’s… that’d be cool, man. Really.”

“Yeah? Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything before?”

Brian’s eyes immediately cut toward the recliner. “Yeah, ’cause Pop
wouldn’t
have totally killed me. And he definitely wouldn’t have let me keep living here.” His face falls and his lip starts to tremble all of a sudden. He looks around, like he’s just remembered Pop isn’t here anymore.

“Colin,” he says, and it comes out as a whisper. “I… I’m a total loser, man. No wonder Callie doesn’t want to be with me. I mean, I don’t even—I don’t even fucking know how to take care of… anything.” He gestures around the house. “Pop always….” He shakes his head and he looks so lost.

“Told you what to do,” I finish for him. He bites his lip like he thinks I’m about to make fun of him, but nods. “Yeah, I know, man. But, look, maybe… well, maybe Pop wasn’t the best at knowing how to take care of everything either.”

Brian looks surprised.

“Just, you know. You can do it.” Yeah, I’m definitely not very good at these pep talk thingies.

He nods again, but he’s already distracted by something else. “Hey!” he says. “Who’s the guy?”

“Um. What? Who?”

“The big guy with long hair.”

My stomach drops.

“I don’t—what?”

Brian rolls his eyes. “The guy who was at your house. I swung by your place yesterday because no one had heard from you—hell, I even called Daniel!—and I saw this guy. I, uh, I remember you got mad the last time I just showed up without calling, though, so I didn’t ring the bell.”

My heart is hammering in my throat, and I feel like I’m going to puke. I keep opening my mouth to try and say something, but nothing is coming out.

Brian saw Rafe. In my house.

My breathing stutters and my mouth goes dry.

What’s confusing, though, is that I feel something treacherous and unfamiliar trying to claw its way out. And I have to get the fuck out of here, because what’s trying to get out is the goddamn truth.

I try to stand up casually. “Gotta take off,” I say, already halfway to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.” And I rush out before he can say anything.

I drive home on autopilot and get in the shower. My hands are shaking and I can’t figure out where that impulse came from. Tell Brian about Rafe? That’s crazy.

Isn’t it?

By the time the water goes cold, I still have no clue what’s going on with me. I’m shaky and fidgety and every time I start to calm down, I get really aware of my breathing and then I start sweating and my stomach hurts. I want to call Rafe, but he’s at work and I don’t want him to think I can’t even get through a day without him.

Finally, after clicking over to his number for the third time, I throw my phone onto the couch and grab the whiskey from the cabinet. I just need something—anything—to make this feeling stop. After two drinks, I feel a little calmer. After four, I start to panic because I know Rafe hates when I drink. So I try and tell myself that it’s no problem: I just won’t see him tonight and he’ll never know I’ve been drinking. But then the idea of not being able to see him makes me feel panicky and fucked up. And
that
requires another drink.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and I call Rafe.

“Hey,” he says when he picks up. “I’m actually on my way to your house—that okay?”

“Yeah” is all I get out before he says, “See you in a few,” and hangs up.

“Shit, shit,” I mutter. I wash my face and brush my teeth three times to try and get rid of the whiskey on my breath, but I can’t make myself call and tell him he shouldn’t come, even though I know he won’t like it. I need to see him.

I fucking need him.

Oh god.

“HEY,” RAFE
sighs when I open the door. He looks tired but happy to see me. I still can’t get over the way he’s actually
happy
to see me.

“What’s wrong?” he says, immediately wary as he looks at me closer. “Did something happen?”

He reaches a hand out to me and I stumble as I go to him.

“Sorry,” I say. “Sorry, sorry, but Brian saw you, and he asked who you are and I don’t—something’s wrong with me because I wanted—just, I don’t know—and I had to get out of there, and—”

“And get drunk,” Rafe says, holding me at arm’s length.

I squeeze my eyes shut. A child’s logic that if I can’t see him, then I can’t be seen. He sighs loudly and lets go of me, going to sit on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” I say, sitting on the other side of the couch. “I know you’re mad. But I didn’t mean to. I just… I was freaking out, and I couldn’t—look, don’t be mad, okay?”

He shakes his head tiredly.

“No, I know you are,” I try. “I mean, you seem mad. And I’m really sorry. But—”

“It’s not about you, Colin.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s about drinking. You don’t like it. I know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but—”

Rafe shakes his head again, not looking at me, and bites off a bitter laugh.

“No, I mean, it’s not actually always about you, Colin!”

“I—what?”

“Do you know why I was on my way here when you called?”

Oh. Shit. I didn’t even ask. I shake my head and he grabs my wrists, looking right at me with such intensity that I want to look away.

“You said you needed me. You said you
needed
me, Colin.” Heat rises in my face at how desperate I was with his arms around me and his breath on my neck. “And what did I say to you?”

I search my memory, but all I come up with is how safe he made me feel. Well, and how hard he made me come.

Rafe winces. “I said that I need you too.” He pushes me away and starts pacing the living room. His hands are on his hips, and I notice for the first time that his hair is coming out of its braid, like maybe he’d forgotten it was tied back and run his hands through it anyway.

“I—did something happen?” I ask.

“Do you know what that means to me?” he asks.

Shame washes over me when I remember the conversation we had before Pop’s funeral. Rafe said he was jealous of his sisters because they have him to go to. Because they know that he’ll always be there for them. Because that’s what he wants: someone who he knows will always be there for him. Fuck.

“I needed you tonight,” he says softly, and the hurt and disappointment in his voice make my stomach curdle.

“Tell me what happened.” I reach for him but he shrugs away from me.

“I don’t want to talk to you when you’re wasted,” he says.

“I’m not. I swear. Not anymore. I can listen, I promise.”

He narrows his eyes. “You don’t understand.” His hands are fists at his sides and his teeth are clenched. “When I’m around it… any of it…. I still want to use, okay?” He sounds disgusted with himself. “It’s always there, at the edges of my mind. As an option. As a thing I’m
not
choosing. It’s never just… gone. Even after all these goddamned years, I still remember what it felt like.” His voice goes dreamy. “What it feels like to get away. To escape. To breathe because it’s not all my responsibility. To make a move without thinking through every possible consequence. To take something because I want it. To shrug and have every fucking thing fall away.”

He shakes his head and shrugs for real, like he hopes it’ll have the same effect. When he meets my gaze, he looks ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. You can count on me. You can.”

It sounds hollow even to me, and Rafe’s face makes my heart sink because I can see how much he wants it to be true and how much he doesn’t believe me.

“I’m not sure I can do this.” Rafe’s voice is the shocked whisper of someone confessing a secret he has only just now realized.

My heart starts to pound so hard it makes me light-headed.

Rafe puts his hand over his mouth.

“Oh god,” he murmurs. He sinks down to the floor, looking up at me, his hand still over his mouth. “Oh god, I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Rafe, no,” I say, kneeling in front of him.

He’s trembling, his eyes wide.

“Rafe?” I put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes have gone distant, like he doesn’t even see me.

“I want you all the time,” he says. “I would do anything for you. But—” He bites his lip and shakes his head. “—but if I have to worry that every time something is hard, you’ll…. And if I don’t even have…. Oh god. Colin….”

Rafe’s eyes are wild. Desperate. I’ve never seen him like this before, and a kind of panic I’ve never felt before rises in me. It’s huge. And instead of feeling like darkness, like sticky tar, it’s just need—need that I can’t let go. While I’m used to the darkness, I don’t know what to do about needing someone. About a yearning for something beyond myself so strong that it wants to push out through my skin. He’s there on the floor and everything in me is sparking toward him, like a live wire, desperate for a ground.

“
Rafe
.” I hardly recognize my voice. His eyes snap to mine. “Please. Please, just tell me what happened.” I have this idea that if only I can get him talking, then this won’t be happening. If I can figure out what the problem is, then I can solve it. Like a leaky valve or a cruddy engine. He won’t leave me. He won’t give up on us.

“It’s all over,” he whispers. “I just didn’t expect it all at once.”

“Tell me!”

“I failed all of them. And Javi. He trusted me, but everyone else…. They think I’m trash. Just a fucking criminal. I should’ve known. I can’t… I can’t believe I thought they actually had faith in me.”

“Who? What happened? Please.”

When he doesn’t answer me, I straddle him and put my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. He looks surprised to find me so close.

I lean in and kiss him, just a soft touch of our lips, and his eyes flutter closed. I kiss his cheeks and his chin.

“What happened?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his hands settling on my hips automatically. I’m dead fucking sober now.

“Youth Alliance has a board of directors. They don’t really do much day to day, but they’re in charge of grant writing and the budget for programming and salaries, and writing press releases or providing info to other groups who do similar work. And they’re in charge of keeping records for all of the kids and the staff and volunteers at YA.”

“Okay,” I say, not understanding the problem. Rafe’s shoulders slump.

“Javi hired the original people who worked there. The board came later, once YA grew. After it became a 501(c)(3). A nonprofit,” he explains at my blank look. “Javi hired me long before there was a board or any official process for hiring. I started out volunteering, then just kind of segued into working there part-time. They needed all the help they could get. The board knows me, of course, but I’ve never been involved with them. When Javi died and I started, you know, doing more, we didn’t really talk about it. Things were crazy and I was the one who knew the kids, knew how everything worked because I’d always been with Javi. Nothing was official. We were just trying to… keep it all together.

“But today,” he says, “Carly, the board representative, called me and asked if I’d have a meeting with them. They found out that I’m a… that I have a record.”