The Last Thing He Needs (3 page)

“I do,” Bobby murmured, looking over at Tommy and then down at Zoe. He tightened his hold on her, as if he intended to keep her to himself.

Before long, both babies were sleeping peacefully, seeming comfortable and in need of the rest. “I hate to put ’em down, don’t wanna wake them…,” Tommy whispered as he started to rise from his seat.

“They’ll sleep better in their own beds.” Bobby stood with him. “Which way?”

Another crunch of unease bit at Tommy. He didn’t want someone who had the ear of social services seeing anything in their house, let alone the tiny bedrooms with too many beds crammed into them. “Upstairs.” He swallowed his nervousness as he led the way.

The twins shared what would be a master bedroom with Collin, Davey, and Mike. One crib and two bunk beds. The babies were already too big to share the crib, but they slept better when they were together, and hell, there was no room for them anywhere else. When Max was older, he could take the spare bottom bunk, and Zoe could go into Colleen and Carrie’s room, but until then, this was it.

Leaning over the crib railing, Tommy gently set his brother down. He found Max’s blanket and draped it over him before tenderly sweeping his hair back from his face. Bobby did the same with Zoe then stood back as Tommy raised the side again, locking it in place before switching off the small lamp on the dresser next to them.

“I’ll get Collin,” Bobby said, starting to turn out of the room.

“Nah, he’ll flip if he wakes up and you’re carrying him. He’ll think he’s headed to foster again.”

Bobby looked as if he was going to say something meaningful, but all that came out was “Oh, right.”

They all remembered the one time the kids had been removed from the home. Collin was only three at the time, but even seven years later, it still put a chill in his eyes whenever they talked about it. The boy had fought like a lion, raging against the caseworker as she tried to pick him up and carry him to the car. Collin bit the hell out of her. She let her temper flare with a totally unprofessional curse.

Tommy, only fifteen at the time—not old enough to stop it, but old enough to understand—told the woman she should’ve minded her own damn business and let them be. Then he added that that’s what you got when you messed with an O’Shea, and Collin was a good boy.

Several months had passed before they were all home again. They were worse off in the state’s hands than they were in their own parents’—and that was saying a lot.

As much as he resented Cal and Cheryl, he had to be grateful to them for pulling it together long enough to get the kids back. Cheryl could have easily bailed on them. She had only been a part of their family for a few short months, and Christ knew she didn’t care about any of them.

Their first night back home that summer, Tommy promised them he’d never let it happen again. A stupid thing for a fifteen-year-old kid to promise, but so far, he’d made good on it. “
I’ll keep us together, or I’ll die trying
,” he had told them.

“I was there that day,” Bobby blurted out suddenly as they crept into the hallway.

Confused, Tommy stared at him. “What?”

“That day… the day social services picked you guys up. I was jogging by and stopped when I saw the cops and stuff. I….” Bobby glanced at the floor before looking back to Tommy. There was that half smile again. “I was glad you didn’t have a gun.” He snorted a laugh and added, “I wasn’t sure who you would’ve shot first, the social worker or the cops hauling your parents off.”

Tommy took that in, ignoring the faint glimmer of embarrassment trying to spark up inside him. “The social worker. She had the kids.” He knew it was a harsh thing to say, but he remembered how he’d felt that day. He had never been so angry and scared. He shook off the memory and quietly made his way downstairs.

He found Collin still asleep on the couch and scooped him up with a small grunt.  The kid was turning ten in a few weeks, and pretty soon he’d be too big to lug around. Tommy stepped around Bobby at the foot of the stairs and carried his brother up to bed.

When he returned, Bobby stood awkwardly at the door, shifting from foot to foot and—Tommy could swear—blushing slightly. He had his beef jerky in his hand. “I…. Well, I guess I better get going. Unless….” Not finishing whatever he was going to say, he looked oddly hopeful and nervous at the same time.

“Yeah, I need to hit the sack soon. Twins’ll probably be up again when that stuff wears off.”

“Right.” Bobby started to turn for the door, then hesitated and took another step before he turned back to Tommy. “Look, I….”

“Hey, yeah, hang on.” Tommy went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard under the sink. He had to snake his arm back so far it hurt, but he found the plastic bag under a strip of duct tape and peeled it from the wall. Their emergency money had dwindled down to tens and twenties instead of a few hundreds and fifties, but he had enough.
Thank Christ
, Tommy thought as he turned around on his knees. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Bobby standing over him.

“Jesus, warn a guy instead of sneaking up on him.” He huffed out a small laugh as he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from the bag and passed it up to Bobby.

Tommy caught an expression, quick and surprising on Bobby’s face, something that looked almost hurt when he saw Tommy pass the bill to him. “Oh… no, I don’t…”

“I’m not a charity case, Bobby. I take care of my own.” He knew it was a stretch considering the relief he felt every time they got food stamps, and he didn’t even blink over lifting something one of the kids needed, but there were limits and he preferred good, honest thievery and state support over owing anyone anything. Ever.

“Then why were you… if you had money here….” Bobby looked confused as he took the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “And I didn’t think it was charity, just… I’d do that for a friend, ya know?”

Tommy got to his feet, knowing he couldn’t have kept his eyes on Bobby’s face with Bobby’s crotch inches from his nose. “Because it would’ve taken another hour to come home, get the money, go back out…. The babies needed it sooner, not later. Colleen and Mikey were needed here and Davey and Carrie and Collin are too damn young to be out on the streets at two o’clock in the morning.” He answered all of Bobby’s questions on one breath and chose to ignore the friend comment, thinking they were far from friends. He didn’t make friends with people who could toss him in jail.

“Yeah, that… that makes sense, of course. I….”

As Bobby trailed off again, Tommy watched him for a minute. He half wondered what was going on inside Bobby’s head, and at the same time he tried to force himself not to care.

“But anyway, thank you for the loan and for the lift and… all that. Just… thanks.”

“Yeah, anytime, Tom, I… well, hell, anytime.”

There was that look again, like Bobby had more to say but couldn’t decide how to say it. After another long pause, he turned and headed for the front door.

T
HE
ALARM
clock would have been bad enough, but a crash and a curse and a loud cackle woke him up not even two hours later. Tommy swore and scrubbed his hands over his face before he ripped the covers back and shot out of bed. He wasn’t sleeping too well anyway. He’d been having dreams about Bobby McAlister standing over him in his kitchen with him on his knees. Only he wasn’t passing a twenty up to Bobby in his dreams. He was reaching a hand out, pulling open the snug-fitting jeans, and stroking Bobby’s cock, feeling its hard length pass through his fingers. Not the most restful sleep, but a lot better than going downstairs at half past four in the morning and dealing with the two useless excuses for life he had the privilege of calling his parents.

They hadn’t even managed to close the door, hadn’t made it as far as the living room. Cal and Cheryl were sprawled in the entryway, rolling around and laughing like the town idiots. A potted plant had broken and spilled out around them. Tommy cursed again, knowing how hard Carrie had worked to get those cuttings to take root and how Davey had lifted pots for her to plant them in. It was a nice little thing she wanted to do after learning about plants and seeds and shit at school. Leave it to Cal and Cheryl to ruin something as simple and innocent as that.

Clenching his fists as he stood over the two, Tommy gave a light kick to his father. “Shut up,” he said, reaching to close the door. He jumped back when he saw a stranger on the porch.

The guy looked more embarrassed than dangerous. “I just need my fare.” He’d tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and looked at Cheryl and Cal as if they were a freak show.

“You’re shitting me.” Tommy was talking to the cabbie, but he glared down at his father and stepmother.

“I… no, they got out and said someone inside would pay. I….”

“You must be new,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head. Anyone within a fifty-mile radius of their house knew better than to give a lift to his parents without seeing the money first.

“Only been in town a few weeks,” the driver said, still staring at Cal and Cheryl as they tried to get up. Neither of them managed it.

Tommy leaned over Cheryl and stuck his fingers under the top edge of her blouse. He found a small wad of bills tucked in her bra strap. She protested loudly and slapped at his hand, but Tommy ignored her.

When he glanced over his shoulder at the driver, Tommy noticed his wide eyes and brows reaching for his thinning hairline. He couldn’t bring himself to care what a stranger thought of him or the rest of his family. “How much?”

“Uh, eighteen eighty. They promised me a good tip, but….”

Tommy counted out thirty dollars from the money and passed it over. “Promise is a promise, but word to the wise”—he nodded his head at his parents—“they ever hail you again, ask to see the money up front. You might not be so lucky next time, and it’s a pain in the ass when you gotta call the cops for this kind of shit.”

The cabbie muttered a thank-you and practically ran down the steps, as if he was escaping with his life and nothing else. Tommy could identify. Cal and Cheryl had that effect on people.

“Gimme my money back,” Cheryl demanded in a whiny slur from his feet. “I need that.”

“Yeah, well too damn bad, your kids need it more.” Tommy had never been so grateful for a little cash. With nearly eighty dollars left, he could take the twins to the clinic as soon as it opened.

“You give that back!” she hollered, swiping at him. “You don’t know what I had to do for that!”

Cal seemed completely unaware of anything going on around him, and Tommy wondered what else was in his system because drink had never made him quiet before. He turned his attention back to his stepmother. “What? Sucking cock out at the truck stop? Yeah, I know, and I don’t give a shit. The babies are sick, and they need to see the doctor, so consider this your good fucking deed for the day.” He was furious, whispering down into her face in the hope that the twins might sleep a little longer. Cold rage slid through him knowing they were out getting shitfaced when two of their kids were hurting and sick and sad. It wasn’t new, it wasn’t a surprise, but it was the kind of thing that made him see red.

“I’m sick too! I
need
that.”

“Sick in the head,” he offered, still glaring down at her. “And shut the hell up because, I swear to God, you wake the twins and I’m locking you and Cal in the goddamn basement till you shrivel up and die.” His tone was murderous, and Cheryl must have believed him because that was the last he heard from her all night.

As he stomped back up the stairs, he wondered to himself why he didn’t do it. Locking them in the basement seemed like a trick out of a sitcom, but hell, it would be one way around their bullshit.

E
VERYONE
WAS
already moving when he got up again. The twins had only stirred during the Cheryl and Cal Comedy Hour, and he’d managed to get them back to sleep and catch a little more for himself.

Stepping over his parents and tripping on an enormous toy truck in the living room, Tommy was nearly run down by Carrie as she blazed past him with a piece of toast in her hand. He made his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Colleen was there. The babies were sitting up in high chairs and working on small servings of oatmeal, getting more on the tray than in their mouths.

“Time is it?” he asked, stretching and reaching for his mug.

“Almost seven.” Colleen passed over a small carton of half-and-half.

Nodding toward the living room, Tommy asked, “Where’d that truck come from?”

Davey smiled proudly as he scooped more oatmeal from his bowl. “I found it.” He had just turned thirteen and his blond hair and dimples made him look a lot more innocent than he actually was.

Tommy walked over to his brother. “Found it where?”

“Other side of town,” Davey answered amiably. “It was just sitting out in someone’s yard. Figured the babies might like it.” A brotherly tap landed on the back of Davey’s head and he flinched. “What? I found it!”