The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] (13 page)

"She's got a right to be, Reb,” Judd said, jumping to her defense.

Rebel raised his hands halfway into the air, motioning for his brother not to get excited. “Easy, Judd, I know she's been through hell. I just hope Wade can help her sort some things out."

Then Blackie voiced the question that had to be on all their minds. “What if he can't? What if Wade does everything he can, but Georgia don't get better?"

Rebel shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I don't know, Blackie. I guess we'll just have to deal with that if and when it happens."

"We can't abandon her!"

Rebel laid a hand on Judd's shoulder. “No one's abandoning anyone, Judd. We'll figure something out."

All of a sudden, Blackie couldn't help it ... he laughed, drawing dirty looks from both his brothers.

Judd was the first to strike. “What the hell is so goddamn funny?"

"This,” he said, waving his arms, motioning to the three of them, “us. What we're doin'."

Blackie was sorry for the look of confusion that Judd was wearing when he asked, “What do you mean, ‘what we're doing'?” But he just couldn't help his amusement.

"Dammit!” Blackie jumped up and began pacing. “Look at us, Judd! I've survived three serious gunshot wounds. I also spent all that time in a maximum security prison, walking away without a scratch each time I was released.

"You, me, and Rebel survived gun battles with Gypsy's father and his cronies, and the Renegades—with very little ammo. The old man almost burned you alive at Ten Acres, and Rebel's laid his life on the line for almost every McCassey in Hagerstown at least once, and lived to tell about it."

"What's so fucking funny about that?"

Judd was obviously irritated, but Blackie didn't give a damn, he had a point to make. “What's funny, little brother, is that there's a hundred reasons why all three of us should be dead right now, but we ain't. We've survived some pretty serious hits and come out with very few scars."

"And?"

"And it's funny as hell—at least to me—that what's finally gonna bring the McCassey brothers to their knees ain't a battle or a bullet, but a damn nineteen-year-old girl."

Blackie looked from one of his brothers to the other. Rebel's head was bent and he was staring at the ground, but Blackie could see his shoulders moving the way they always did when he was trying to hide the fact that he was laughing.

"That's really not funny, bro,” Judd said, even though he was smiling.

"Yeah it is, Judd, and I'll tell you why. The way you and Rebel fought growin’ up, I musta spent every other day of your obnoxious young lives wishin’ you were girls. I used to think that havin’ little sisters instead of warrin’ little brothers would be so much easier.

"But now, I realize that ain't the case. Even though I watched out for you at home, I never worried about you when you were somewhere else because I knew you had each other. Sure, you fought when you were alone, but if someone messed with one of you, the other was right there for backup."

"Christ, Blackie, what the hell are you trying to say
now
?"

"What I'm sayin', Judd, is that even though you two pissed me off when you were kids, I'm pretty fuckin’ glad that my wish didn't come true. I'm also sayin’ that I need you boys, ‘cause this takin’ care of a little sister shit is gonna be the death of me."

Judd suddenly broke into hysterical laughter. “I feel sorry for you, bro, because if you think takin’ care of and protecting Georgia is hard, just wait until your daughter Lily is old enough to date."

Blackie would've told Judd to shut up, but...

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Georgia still couldn't figure out why he did that.

During the course of the past two and a half weeks, nearly every time she woke up, there was Wade, sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, staring at her; watching her as if he expected her to dissolve at any moment.

At first, it had annoyed her that he was basically living in the apartment over the garage with her. She didn't sleep a wink the first three nights he'd bunked on the hardwood floor in his sleeping bag; fearing she'd become his prey the instant she fell asleep.

But he'd kept his distance; paying absolutely no attention to her until the following morning, when he'd ask if she wanted to flip a coin to decide who got to use the bathroom first.

Once she was comfortable having him around twenty-four hours a day, she'd finally begun to relax. Eventually, he'd even started to grow on her. In fact, when he'd been called to the counseling center for an emergency the previous week, she'd actually missed his company.

It wasn't so much what Wade had done for Georgia that had gotten her to trust and open up to him ... it was what he hadn't done. He never once pressured her to talk about what happened to her during the past four years; instead, he let her take the lead, picking and choosing what she wanted to discuss. To her surprise, she'd found it easy to tell Wade personal things she would've been mortified to tell her brothers. He just seemed to have a way about him that made her want to open up and share her experiences.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he'd told her one day after she'd finally given into her emotions and broken down.

"You may think that's true,” she said from the comfort of his embrace—a place she hadn't even realized she'd gone to seek comfort until his arms were wrapped tightly around her—"but it's not."

"Anything that's said in this room, Georgia, is in strict confidence,” he assured her. “You have my word that nothing you tell me will go beyond these four walls."

His promise had made Georgia feel better, because she knew how much keeping his word meant to him. “I appreciate that, Wade, but I grew up in a small town. Rumors spread fast and easy there, just like they probably do here. If anyone ever hints about the kind of life I used to lead, I'll never live it down. No matter how much I turn myself around, people will always judge me by what I used to be, instead of what I am now."

"And what are you now?” he asked in a voice she'd come to know well, the voice he always used when he was about to teach her a lesson.

What was she? “Clean?"

He chuckled. “Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"Telling,” she said with a confident smile. “I'm clean."

"As long as you're sure of yourself, Georgia, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Let them talk if they want. But I assure you, they'll have nothing to talk about. Nobody but me knows the intimate details of what happened, not even your brothers. I'm not going to say anything to anyone, so the only way people will find out is if you tell them yourself."

"But what about my uncles and cousins?” she asked, referring to the men who worked downstairs in the garage. “What makes you think they won't mention it?"

"They're your family, Georgia, and the McCassey's are a tight bunch. It doesn't matter that you haven't been downstairs to meet any of them yet, not a single one of them would betray you."

Georgia thought about that for a minute.

Just down the single set of metal stairs—less than a hundred feet away—she had family ... three brothers, three cousins, two uncles, and an aunt. They were there five days a week, nine hours a day, which she knew, because she heard them. Every morning at six-thirty, someone would open one of the large bay doors. Fifteen minutes later, like clockwork, she heard the roar of the tow truck's diesel engine as Judd fired it up to get it warm. And finally, at seven o'clock on the dot, she'd hear the guys’ voices, talking and laughing as they began their day.

It hadn't taken much to get used to the sounds of doors slamming shut, air compressors turning on and off, air guns being used, and tools being banged around. In fact, she'd gotten so accustomed to those sounds, that hearing them actually comforted her, made her feel secure and at home.

The trouble was, Georgia felt so comfortable in the little apartment, that when Wade asked her if she was ready to take the next step and meet some of her family, she panicked.

"You haven't stepped foot down those steps for twenty-three days, Georgia. It's time."

Georgia looked up at him from where she was sitting and shook her head vehemently. “I'm not ready."

Wade sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Yes, you are. I've been counseling addicts for years, Georgia, and I believe I'm capable of judging someone's progress. If I didn't think you were ready to take the next step and move on, I wouldn't have suggested it."

"I can't go down there and face all those people at once, Wade! I don't even know what I'd say. What if they ask me questions I'm not ready to answer?"

"Meeting Rose and all the guys at once wasn't exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking you should start small, like with your sisters-in-law."

Her sisters-in-law?

Was she ready to meet Angel, Dusty, and Gypsy, the wives her brothers had spoken so much about?

For nearly three and a half weeks, she'd been eating food they'd cooked for her, wearing clothes they'd sent over, and hearing stories about them. Not only did she now feel as if she knew them all, but, she realized, she
did
want to meet them.

She wanted to have contact with other women, be able to laugh and joke and talk about girly things, things her brothers wouldn't understand.

There was nothing stopping her.

Nothing but fear.

"I want to,” she admitted. “But I'm ... afraid. I've been up in this apartment all this time and I feel comfortable here, Wade, safe. What if, when I leave, I can't handle the pressure of living an everyday, normal life? Even worse, what if I can't figure out
how
to live a normal life? What if I get the urge to get high? How will I stop myself?"

Knowing she was getting herself worked up, Georgia took a deep breath in an effort to relax. It was working until Wade let out a long sigh.

In anticipation of what he looked like he wanted to say, she watched him lift his hands to his temples and massage them for a moment before turning his attention back to her. “I'm not so sure you're ready to hear this, Georgia, but I'm going to tell you anyway, and I want you to listen carefully. Are you listening?"

Believing he was joking around with her, she smiled and rolled her eyes. “Of course."

"My philosophy,” he began, “is that once an addict, always an addict. Do you know what that means?"

She shook her head, hoping he didn't mean that she'd never be completely clean.

"It means that, yes, once in a while, you're going to have the urge to get high. You'll crave the immediate rush, that euphoric feeling you used to get the instant you emptied the syringe into your vein. But you'll fight it, Georgia, because you're strong. Because a junkie isn't who you are anymore, and because you have plenty of people to help, stand by, and support you. You're a lucky girl,” he reminded her, “a lot of recovering addicts don't have that."

There seemed to be a hint of sadness in Wade's words, making Georgia wonder if he was talking about himself.

Did Wade have support from anyone when he'd been trying to clean himself up, or had his family abandoned him? And what did they think of him now that he'd been clean and sober for nearly seven years? Were they proud that he'd remained a drug counselor and turned his life around?

It had disappointed Georgia that he'd outright refused to discuss any details about his family—his entire life, for that matter—since the day he'd mentioned his deceased brother. “We're here to discuss you,” he'd told her when she'd brought up the subject again, “not me."

His statement, of course, had only made her more curious. But she'd put the questions out of her mind; figuring she had enough on her plate to think about without adding Wade's personal business. But it didn't mean that she wasn't going to pursue those answers once she herself was a little more together.

"I know how lucky I am,” she assured him, because she really did. “I also know that if I'd continued on that bus to California, I probably wouldn't have made it. At the rate I was going, I would've OD'd for sure. I know how easily heroin kills, and that if I'm not strong enough to resist the cravings and relapse, it could, and probably would, kill me."

Then, after she paused and thought about her statement, she added, “And if for some reason it doesn't,” she said, “Blackie will."

She looked at Wade, who was grinning. “That wasn't meant to be funny, Wade."

"I know it wasn't, Georgia."

"Really? Then why are you laughing?"

"I'm not laughing, I'm only smiling."

Only smiling my ass. I know I heard him at least chuckle.
“Why?"

"Because you're a smart kid. Because I wish all the people I try to help were as positive and hardworking as you. And because I know, without a doubt, that you're right. If you ever consider—even for only a minute—using again, Blackie
will
kill you."

Georgia failed to see the humor in being murdered by her own brother, but let Wade's comment slide. She was more interested in how, where, and when she was going to meet her sisters-in-law.

"So when are we doing this?” she asked, “when do I get to meet the girls?"

"Whenever you feel you're up to it. Today, if you want."

"Today?” she asked with a sudden bout of nerves.

He shrugged. “Or tonight. It's up to you."

"Tonight? I don't know, Wade, I thought I'd have at least a day or two to—"

"To what,” he interrupted her, “chicken out?"

"No!” she shouted, because his guess had hit just a little too close to home.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know,” she said, doing her best to avoid eye contact with him. “I just need time."

Wade let loose with an all-knowing laugh. “You've had time, Georgia. Twenty-three days is a long time to monopolize the time of other women's husbands. Sure, those husbands happen to be your brothers and they helped you because they wanted to. But they've all got families; families they have, for the most part, neglected since you came into town ... and during the holiday season, at that."