We Found Love (23 page)

Then he saw Jerry in the lobby. His mood plummeted. Fewer visits meant fewer chances to communicate with Riley.

Jerry walked over to Hunter, envelope in hand. “Well, I’m gonna think you’re not happy to see me if you keep looking like that,” he said.

“Just… got some good-slash-bad news.”

Jerry’s sympathetic expression was too much. “Want to talk about it?”

Hunter scoffed. “You people and talking shit out. Tryin’ to drive me crazy.”

“Quite the opposite, actually.” Jerry winked. “Well, I’ve got something for you here.” He held out the envelope. Hunter reached for it, handling the paper like precious crystal that may break with the wrong flick of the wrist.

“He get mine?”

“You know it.”

“How’s he doing?”

Jerry gave him a stern frown. “He’s healthy. You know I can’t go into specifics.”

“Yeah, yeah. The fucking rules. I know.”

More sympathy. Fuck Jerry and having that kindly face that was hard to be too pissed at. “I could be philosophical about this for you, but I’ll just say, you knew how Riley was after you’d befriended him. His situation was ugly and unfair.” Hunter had admitted to knowing Riley’s past, about Andy and the kidnapping, the foster homes between stays at institutions and hospitals. The ugly truth that was Riley’s short life. “We all want him to find his way. Just take care of you, okay?”

Hunter’s mouth opened to complain, but Jerry held up a hand to silence him. “I
know
you’re sick to death of hearing that.”
No shit.
“I’ve been doing this a long time. No one gets better unless they want. That includes you. You’re doing brilliantly. Keep doing what you’re doing. You’re young. Maybe you’ll find a nice wife or… well, I don’t know what you want, I won’t pretend to know, nor do I want to know how much impropriety I’m aiding and abetting here. Just know, in helping yourself you have been helping Riley. He’s much better than when he came two years ago. Knowing someone is pulling for him helps, I think. So—”

Jerry’s pager went off. After checking it, he looked back to Hunter, apology etched in every feature of his face. “I’ve got to go. Just remember what I said, okay? Live your life. See you next week?”

Hunter shook his head in the negative. “Once a month now.”

Understanding blossomed on Jerry’s face, more sympathy. “That’s good. That’s real good.” He laid a heavy palm on Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed. “See you around.” Before he walked away, Hunter asked if Jerry could warn Riley of the change. Jerry promised he would. And then he was gone, slip-resistant clogs squeaking down the hall until he’d disappeared behind the double doors that led to the maze Riley was trapped behind.

Hunter walked out to his truck, feet feeling heavy, heart aching. While he was struggling, fighting to stay sober, not go out with his shitty friends to those smelly bars, he was also proud of himself for having held it together. Cory’s death was a scar now, rather than a gaping wound, and his mother’s death was moving toward healing. Riley was a fresh wound, but he’d been surviving, pushing on. This time a year ago, he’d never have made it through.

When he hopped into his Jeep, he stared at the envelope. It was light, probably only one letter. Disappointing, but it made him feel like Riley was close. He glanced up at the hospital, wondering what Riley was doing right now.

He ripped open the envelope, inspected the surprisingly neat handwriting, the carefully curved letters written in the dying cursive style that was only used by people’s grandmothers anymore. And Riley. Hunter kept meaning to ask why Riley preferred it so much, forming every letter with the same distinct penmanship.

He was disappointed to see how little Riley had written. The typical ins and outs of his monotonously scheduled life. Not much Hunter hadn’t read a dozen times now. He had a few snarky remarks about the staff and new guys. But Hunter’s eyes lit on the lines that made him grin foolishly to himself while aching deep inside at the same time.

Miss you

Yours,

Riley

He sighed, falling back in the bucket seat and staring at the looming brick-faced hospital.

Yours, Riley.

Mine.

I wish.

Visions of kissing Riley, Riley’s smile, Riley’s tattoos and scars, visions of making love to Riley, giving himself to Riley, it all danced in his head. Close enough in time that it hurt like phantom pains of a recently lost appendage, but growing far enough in the past that the memories were starting to fade at the edges.

“Knowing someone is pulling for him helps….”

“Live your life.”

Okay, he could do this. He could. He started up the truck, a blast of sour air from the air conditioning blowing over his face, and backed from his parking spot. Time to head back home.
Home.
Back to work, back to his brother and his apartment. Back to life. Life without Riley, but one that couldn’t end just because he wasn’t there.

Chapter 22

R
ILEY
SAT
at a table all alone with a fresh copy of
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
curled in one hand. The cover was stiff with newness. The old one had finally bitten the dust. Jerry had brought that copy in one night and left it on Riley’s nightstand while he thought Riley was sleeping. Big ol’ teddy bear, he was. He even left Hunter’s stack of letters underneath it.

With the spoon in his other hand, he pushed soggy oatmeal around a bowl. The fruit they’d given him with it was crap. The oatmeal… well, it would’ve served better as plaster as far as Riley was concerned.
How do people eat this shit?
With a snarl, he dropped the spoon and slid the bowl away from himself.

“Well, howdy-ho, neighbor.”

That had to have been a ghost. Riley hadn’t heard that voice in months.

He raised his head. A whole bunch of what the fuck slid over his face. Standing over him was the ugly mug of the last person on earth Riley wanted to see.

“Bubba.”

“Sunshine.” That pearly-white grin could’ve blinded.

Bubba sank down in the chair, and Riley immediately got a very firm understanding of what all the commotion had been last night. The banging. The thuds. The cursing. The yelling.
Thump. Thump.
Then everything had gone silent. And Bubba looked like he’d been run through a cheese grater and been completely fucking content about it.

Sick bastard.

“What are you doing here? Again?” Riley asked, leaving off the
and why the hell are you sitting next to me
?

Bubba grabbed the bowl of cold oatmeal, pushed some around with the spoon Riley had abandoned. “Apparently, street racing earns you a night in the looney bin.”

Screw you.
Riley rolled his eyes.

Bubba scooped up a heaping portion and lifted it to his nose. Whatever the fuck he was thinking there, Riley had never seen anyone sniff oatmeal, not even Humming Guy in the back.

“What are you doing?” Riley asked.

Bubba dipped out the tip of his tongue and touched it to the soggy gray matter about to roll off the edge of the spoon. Riley was about to lose his dinner from last night.

“What the fuck?”

“How does anyone eat this shit?” Bubba asked, letting the spoon clank against the bowl.

Riley snorted.
Okay, that was kinda funny.

“Hunter’s working on my car,” Bubba continued. “Have you heard from him at all?”

“Why?”

“Curious.”

Curious my ass.
That sounded like the psychobabble way of segueing into talking about feelings and shit. Well, Riley had news for Bubba: any discussion of Hunter was off-freakin’-limits with this guy.

“They don’t lock you up with the crazies for having a little wreck,” Riley said flatly, almost mockingly. “You go off the deep end again, skipper?”

Bubba smirked. Apparently Riley struck a nerve, and didn’t that satisfy the shit out of him? He laid his book facedown over the table and crossed his arms over his chest. Now who planned to psychobabble whom?

“I hear Hunter’s doing good for himself.” Bubba arched a brow. “Workin’ and shit, takin’ care of himself. Wonder if he’s seein’ anyone.”

“You know what? Fuck you, okay?” Riley jerked up, but a sudden hand jerking him back down stopped him from storming away. They were nose to nose now, close enough that if Riley jerked his head just right, it would be lights out for this dickhead. But he couldn’t do it. There wasn’t any malice in the way he looked at Riley. The teasing, tormenting shit was gone. Something dark took over, something Riley might’ve missed twentysomething months ago.

“Get the fuck out of this place, Riley,” Bubba said, eyes wide, pupils dilated. He sincerely looked like one of the
crazies
he always made fun of. “You don’t belong in here any more than Hunter did.”

“Oh, I do. I have issues.”

“Why, because some suit says you do? Just because some asshole has a certificate on his wall he’s allowed to judge?”

Okay. Yeah. No. Now Bubba was getting scary. This wasn’t the same guy who’d come in like four months ago and pissed all in Riley’s Cheerios just because he could. That guy was a facade, Riley surmised. This had to be the real Bubba—the one who
needed
to spend time in a padded cell.

“Dude.” Riley reached for Bubba’s hand and started carefully trying to pry the fingers back, but Bubba’s death grip didn’t budge. “Ease up, now. You’re hurting me.”

From over Bubba’s shoulder, Riley got a glimpse of Jerry moving in. Riley flicked his eyes down at the lunatic on his arm, then back up to a man twice their combined size. Jerry was moving in fast, stealthily for someone so big, and bear-hugged the shit out of Bubba, dragging him back from the chair. Julio was coming around from the other side, syringe in hand. He got a little trigger-happy with the good-boy drugs, but whatever, Riley was all safe and sound now, ready to return to his book… had Bubba not sown little Hunter seeds in his head.
He’s workin’. Doin’ good. Takin’ care of himself.

“Wonder if he’s seein’ anyone.”

Riley balled his fist, with every intention of slamming it down on the table hard enough to break the damn thing in half. But he didn’t. He didn’t even raise his hand. The thread of jealousy he’d felt came and went faster than it ever had when Riley had thought about what Hunter might be leaving out of those letters. He wanted Hunter to be happy, and if that meant meeting someone, then….

Dammit, that would hurt like hell. Riley could admit as much. Had admitted as much to Dr. Landers during one of their many
this is about you
sessions. But he also had finally admitted he couldn’t be anything to anyone, especially a recovering alcoholic, until he could be someone for himself. Until he learned to stand on his own two feet and stop blaming his past for all his problems.
You need you.

S
CRUBBING
HIS
hand over his face, Riley sat down on the edge of his bed. The session with Dr. Landers had been a pretty good one. Well, save for being chastised about triggers and group participation. He’d looked at the good doc and jokingly said, “Group is my trigger.” Dr. Landers was unamused. Truth. Talking to group was another hurdle that stood high enough on the recovery trek to trip Riley up. Talking to people he didn’t absolutely trust still didn’t work for him.

It had been three days since Bubba’s arrival at Hartfield, and Riley couldn’t seem to escape him, but he was finally becoming tolerable. He had stopped with the Hunter jabs and actually seemed to be aiming for nice guy. Admittedly, that was a little weird for Riley, seeing Bubba be all…
normal
. Bubba would probably get to go home soon and leave Riley all alone again.

Well didn’t that just suck? He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the loon go.

Shit.

He eased his head back on his pillow, eyes fluttering closed. In the last month or so, Riley had become a pretty regular sleeper. Shocking, considering he hadn’t managed real sleep since he was a kid, long before Mimi and John had taken him. He’d almost forgotten what closing his eyes and finding peace felt like. Oh, and he was exhausted too. Ready catch some z’s.

“Che—oh shit! Wally, get down here. Quick!”

Riley jerked straight up in his bed. The voice was as clear as day and had the kind of urgency no one wanted to hear in a place like this, and it was coming from the direction of Bubba’s room.

Without a second thought, Riley flew from the bed and rushed to the door. His feet carried him across that small room before his brain had a chance to issue a cease and desist. He charged the doorway, stormed the hall, and barreled straight into a wall of wide man in Pepto-pink scrubs. Riley’s nose collided with the valley of two hard-as-rock pecs. The guy wrapped Riley tight in the thickest arms he’d ever seen, picking him up as if he didn’t weigh a thing.

Riley kicked and bucked and jerked, yelling, “Let go of me,” as he struggled to break free. The orderly didn’t loosen his grip, not for a second. “I’ll stop fighting. Just let go of me.”