The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] (9 page)

"Oh yeah?” Blackie asked as he extended his hand to the cousin he hadn't seen in a good ten years. “Well, you've changed a lot."

Blackie was amazed at the difference in Wade Pickett's appearance. The last time they'd seen each other, Wade had been strung out on heroin, sickly looking, and his entire six foot, three inch body couldn't have weighed more than a hundred and thirty pounds. His long, thick, wavy blonde hair had looked as though it hadn't been washed in weeks, and he'd been wearing a sleeveless shirt; doing nothing to try and hide the tracks running up his arms, even though several of the needle marks had been red and irritated.

Today, Wade was a completely different man.

He'd gained a significant amount of weight, probably a little over a hundred pounds. He was now slightly on the heavy side, but not fat. Blackie thought that, ‘stocky’ or ‘husky’ would've been a good way to describe his cousin's body type. His hair, which was shorter than it used to be, fell to just above his shoulders. It was clean and sort of shaggy and unkempt, like Judd's. Even the wild, untamed look that had always been present in his hollow, gray eyes was gone.

Except for the faded blue jeans, white T-shirt, flannel long-sleeved shirt, and worn brown cowboy boots that Wade was wearing—an outfit Blackie swore the man had been born in—Wade was definitely a changed man on the outside.

But Blackie didn't give a damn what he looked like. He was more interested in how much he'd changed on the inside.

Wade grabbed onto Blackie's hand and shook it firmly before letting go. “Prison will do that to you, you know?"

Yeah, he knew. Unfortunately, until the last time he was released, Blackie had always come out of prison meaner and more violent than when he went in.

He nodded to Wade. “It's good to see you, man."

Wade nodded in return. “You, too."

Their small talk was cut short when Rebel and Judd joined them.

After a quick round of handshakes, Rebel wasted no time in getting down to business. “Thanks for coming,” he told Wade. “We could really use your help."

Blackie winced. Hearing Rebel's plea didn't sit well with him. He hated having to ask anyone for anything, even family. But he knew that in this situation, asking for help was necessary. That's just the way it was.

He didn't have to like it.

He only had to learn to deal with it.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Locked in the office with the three McCassey brothers, Wade sat quietly as he listened to Rebel add more details to the story he'd relayed on the phone earlier that morning.

If Wade hadn't experienced life as a heroin addict for himself, known exactly what it was like to need a fix, and exactly what someone would do in order to get one, he wouldn't have believed a word Rebel had said.

But he knew that every bit of the story was true.

And although it sounded like Georgia had gone through an unbelievable amount of suffering, he also knew that her experience had probably been much worse than what she'd told her brothers.

"Can you help her?” Rebel asked.

Wade shook his head. “I don't know, Reb. It sounds like Georgia needs a lot more help than I can give her, both emotionally and physically. And if she's suicidal—"

Judd suddenly jumped out of his chair and got in Wade's face. “No one said she was suicidal!” he yelled defensively.

"Rebel said—"

Judd spared a quick glance at Rebel and turned back to Wade. “I don't give a damn what Rebel said! You have to help her! Didn't you take some kind of oath or something to help those in need?"

It was obvious to Wade that even though Blackie, Judd, and Rebel had known their half-sister less than a week, they already loved her, which was why he didn't slug Judd for acting like such an asshole.

Trying hard to keep his cool, Wade put his hands on Judd's chest and pushed him away. “Only doctors take the Hippocratic Oath, you idiot, not drug counselors. I only volunteered for the job in the first place because it was part of the community service hours that went along with my parole. The last thing I wanted to do after having to detox cold turkey in jail, was put myself in a situation where I'd be around heroin addicts all damn day—recovering or not.

"But it actually turned out to be a good thing for both me, and the handful of people that I like to think I got through to over the years. And, yeah, I completed my service hours a long time ago, but decided to stay on at the counseling center anyway. It's the only productive, non-self-destructive thing I've ever done."

Judd's body seemed to relax a little, as if some of the tension had gone, but the scowl on his face remained. “So then why won't you help Georgia?"

Had Judd even bothered to listen to a word he'd said? “I didn't say I wouldn't help her, Judd. I just don't know if I
can
help her. Aside from the fact that I've never coached anyone through detox, there are several other issues that Georgia's going to have to deal with.

"Being stolen from her mother and raped by her father at the age of fifteen has probably done more damage to her than heroin ever could. Drug addiction she can get over. The rest of the stuff—the rape, being held captive and forced to have sex with God only knows how many men over the last four years—that's some pretty heavy baggage for a kid to be carrying around."

Shrugging his shoulders, Wade backed up, leaned against the receptionist's desk, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Georgia needs professional help, guys, not a drug counselor who lives day to day hoping he doesn't get the urge to go out and get high."

"She's not a kid,” Judd protested, even though it was obvious that he didn't believe it. Wade could tell Judd was trying to protect his sister; solve her problems for her because right now, she wasn't able to do that for herself. “She's nineteen."

"Come on, Judd,” Wade refused to allow him to slip into denial, “you know what I mean. Physically, Georgia may be nineteen. And although her experiences over the past four years have probably aged her to the point that she can relate to people Blackie's age—no offense—” he said quickly, pointing to Blackie but keeping his attention on Judd, “but you have to face the fact that the last time she was a productive member of society, Georgia was a fifteen-year-old girl.

"One minute she was a sophomore in high school who probably did things like shop at the mall, go to dances, and prank call boys. The next thing she knew, she'd been stolen from her mother, had non-consensual sexual intercourse with her father, and was a two to three bag a day heroin addict being forced to have sex with men who gave your father money to use her body.

"
That's
the stuff I can't help her with.
Those
are the things that are going to be the hardest for her to deal with. Georgia has a long road ahead of her; kicking her drug habit is going to be a piece of cake compared to what she's going to have to face once she's clean."

"Why do you say that?” Judd looked a little confused, and Wade hope he wasn't wasting his breath explaining everything to the brothers.

"Because of everything I just mentioned, Judd. Once Georgia doesn't have the heroin to dull her emotions, she's going to start feeling again. She's going to be sad. She'll feel hurt, anger, pain, humiliation, and every other possible emotion that goes along with everything she went through. I can't help her with that because I'm not trained for it. I wouldn't want to take the chance of making things worse."

"But before she can deal with all that stuff, she has to get over her heroin addiction, right?"

Finally, he got it. “Right."

Judd backed away even more, retaking his seat. “Then can you help her with that?"

How could he say no? Most recovering addicts were lucky if they had one person willing to stick by their side. Georgia had three people who were desperate to save her. Even though, after hearing the rest of the story, Wade didn't believe that he'd be able to do Georgia much good, he agreed to try. “But I'm not making any promises."

"Thanks, man.” Judd was the first one to step forward and offer Wade a hand. After he shook it, Blackie and Rebel offered theirs, too. “You ready to meet her?"

Wade was never ready to meet anyone at seven o'clock on a Monday morning. “Sure,” he slurred as if he'd been drinking—although he was completely sober—then began digging in the breast pocket of his flannel shirt for his Winston's, “but before we do that, tell me something. Does she know you boys called me? Because if she's not expecting a strange man to walk into her room—"

"She knows,” Blackie interrupted, “sort of. Once she got outta the shower and calmed down, we told her we were gonna find someone to help her. She probably ain't expectin’ a man, but that's just too goddamn bad. She'll get over it."

Get over it, my ass.

If everything the brothers had told Wade about Georgia's experience with not only her father, but countless other men, she was going to go ballistic when he walked into her room. The last thing she needed right now was a strange man anywhere near her.

But he wasn't going to try and explain that to the brothers. They'd find out for themselves soon enough.

"Well, let's get going, then. Where's she staying?"

"Here,” Blackie told him, “she's upstairs in the apartment."

Cigarette lighter in hand, Wade stopped mid-light and looked at Blackie. “Here?"

"The garage was closed for a long weekend because we were supposed to go huntin',” Blackie explained. “We thought it'd be better to have her detox here so she'd have some privacy. The three of us have been takin’ turns stayin’ with her."

Wade nodded and clicked the lighter with his thumb until a tall flame rose into the air. Dragging on the cigarette until it was lit, he stuffed the lighter back into his pocket, then turned his head and released a lung-full of smoke.

Watching Blackie, Judd, and Rebel watching him, waiting expectantly, Wade suddenly envied Georgia; wishing that just once in his life, he'd had the kind of support that she was getting from her brothers. Hopefully one day, she'd be able to appreciate everything they'd done for her.

"You ready, Wade?” Blackie asked.

"Ready."

The four men strode out of the office just as the rest of the McCassey's Garage employees were coming in. Wade recognized them all; Georgia's uncles, Frank and Jimmy—two of Dolan's seven younger brothers—and Brady, Kane, and Flynn, three of her cousins.

Wade nodded to Frank, who he knew wasn't more than a year or so younger than Dolan, which would put him in his mid to late fifties. Jimmy, the youngest of Dolan's brothers, was the same age as Blackie ... or was it Rebel? Brady and Kane were a few years younger than that, and Flynn was only in his mid-twenties.

They were a motley looking crew. But they were as tight-knit as families came. Wade knew that their motto, ‘mess with one McCassey, mess with them all’ rang painfully true; he'd seen the boys in action too many times to doubt their loyalty to one another.

Frank nodded to Wade in return, as did the rest of the boys. He could only assume that they knew what was going on, since neither Brady nor Kane—two of the most obnoxious people he knew—hadn't attempted to make a single joke.

As Wade followed the brothers up the metal steps that led to the apartment, he finished his cigarette; relishing the taste of the nicotine—the only one of his addictions that he hadn't been able to let go.

He held his breath as Rebel knocked lightly on the door, then cracked it open and stuck his head into the dark apartment. “Georgia?” he called, “you awake?"

She mumbled something Wade was too far away to hear, but assumed it was permission for them all to enter the room, since Rebel opened the door wide and disappeared inside.

Lagging behind, half-expecting Georgia to begin screaming the instant she saw him, Wade followed the brothers into the apartment.

Waiting patiently for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he was relieved when someone turned on a bright, florescent light in the tiny kitchen.

But his relief was short-lived.

When Wade caught a glimpse of the mixture of fear and anger on Georgia's face, he knew he was about as welcome in the room as Dolan McCassey would've been if he'd suddenly shown up.

This is never going to work
, he said to himself.
She's terrified of me already.

Just as Georgia opened her mouth to speak, she was effectively silenced by Blackie, who did nothing more than flash her a look that, quite frankly, scared the shit out of Wade. He could only imagine how it had made Georgia feel, but got the basic idea when she shut her mouth immediately, not uttering a single word.

Wade stepped forward, deciding to take advantage of the control Blackie seemed to have over his sister, and extended his hand. “Wade Pickett,” he said to Georgia, even as her eyes seemed to be boring holes through his body.

He stood there, hand out, for a good ten seconds as Georgia stared at it. She made no move to shake it. Not even when Rebel cleared his throat loudly, and Blackie—who had sat down next to her—elbowed her in the arm.

It wasn't until Judd said, “Georgia, this is our cousin, Wade. He's here to help you,” that she finally acknowledged his presence.

The expression on her face remained stoic as she looked him dead in the eye, furrowed her brows, clenched her teeth, and said, “Get out,” pretty much summing up how she felt about him being there.

"Georgia!” Judd roared, causing her to jump.

It surprised Wade that out of her three brothers, Judd was the one Georgia seemed to respond to the best. He figured it would've been Blackie, since not only was he the most intimidating, but because she'd listened to his body language earlier and kept her mouth shut.

But Georgia's expression had softened a noticeable amount when Judd had spoken; making Wade wonder what it was that seemed to connect the two of them.

"Fine,” she drawled slowly, “get out,
please
."

Wade almost laughed when he saw the brothers’ reactions to Georgia's smartass comment. Rebel was obviously embarrassed by her behavior, Judd was shaking his head, and Blackie looked like he wanted to strangle her.