Redemption (23 page)

Weight settled on Lucky’s ankles. Cat Lucky getting ready for the night. Damn. Time for a bigger bed.

“
Need
anything?” Bo asked in husky tones. He added four extra “e”s to “need.”

Oh dear Lord. Bo, with his amazing bubble butt, finally making “let’s fuck!” noises. And Lucky too exhausted to move. “I’m tired. Can we just cuddle?” Someone kill him now.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Bo sucked on Lucky’s neck, reached beneath the covers, and slowly stroked Lucky’s interested, if not yet hard, cock. Yeah, it hadn’t gotten a workout like the rest of Lucky had today.

There’d never be a better moment to tell Bo about the house. Bo tugged harder.

Damn. Now what had he been thinking? Good, so good…

Chapter Fifteen

“You got the list, right?” Lucky stopped the car at a red light.

“Sure do. And brought plenty of bags to carry the groceries in.” Trust Bo to bring recyclable bags.

The light turned green and Lucky hit the gas.
Bang!
He barely noticed the car’s backfire. “Oh, add oranges to the list. Those big kind without seeds.”

Bo didn’t reply. “Bo?” Lucky glanced over.

A quivering mass of man sat rocking on the seat. “No, no, no!”

Oh, God. “Bo? Bo!” Lucky pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. “Bo? Are you okay?”

Bo sat frozen, chanting, “No, no, no!” Lucky tried and failed to pull Bo’s arms away from his face.

He squalled tires in a U-turn.

The moment he stopped, Bo ran into the house, Lucky hot on his heels. “Fuck it all to hell!” Bo slammed the door open so hard a picture fell.

Moose whimpered and cowered behind the couch. Bo stopped in his tracks. “Well, damn.”

***

“I need to see Dr. Drake. It’s an emergency.” It wasn’t Lucky’s normal therapy day, but with Bo in meetings with Walter this morning, he’d take the opportunity.

“We’ve had a cancellation. Can you be here at ten?”

Lucky checked the clock on his laptop. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

***

Dr. Drake sat in her usual spot, her normal, unflappable self.

“I don’t get it, doc. He’s not the same man he used to be.”
Before Mexico
didn’t need saying. Lucky paced through the office, dragging a hand through his hair.

“How so?” The doctor regarded him with all-seeing, but unjudging eyes, making spilling his guts a done deal.

“He gets pissed off over nothing, goes into rages, break things. Then gets all upset and kinda, I dunno, disappears into himself. Freaks out over loud noises.”

“You said he served in the Marines. How long?”

“Four years.”

“What has he told you about that time?”

“Next to nothing, except watching someone close to him die.”

“How about sleeping? Does he sleep well?”

“No. And he has nightmares.”

“Before he went to Mexico, did he lose control or have trouble sleeping?”

Had he? Oh yeah. “He doesn’t like sleeping in a bed ‘cause his dad used to tie him up and leave him. But he seemed okay when I was there.”

Doctor Drake nodded. “What was he like before?”

“Kinda reserved, except when giving me a piece of his mind. He’s one of those ‘save the world, let’s all hold hands and get along’ types. Except for the sleep thing and occasionally getting upset.”

“Lucky, what you’re describing are classic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder symptoms. Particularly the cowering when the car backfired. He may also suffer from survivor’s guilt, feeling guilty for living when his friend died.”

Or when workers in Mexico died. “But he didn’t act like this before our last case. Why now?”

“He didn’t show all these symptoms, or he was better at hiding them?” She cocked her head to the side.

Every coffee cup in the cabinet arranged handle out. All cans lined up, labels facing the same way. “Control. He has to be in control.”

“And in Mexico, he had no control, did he? You mentioned a man who’d been maimed.” The doctor glanced at her iPad. “Aureo?” At a nod from Lucky she continued. “How did he react then?”

“He jumped right in, took the guy to the hospital. Did CPR on the way.”

“And when it was over?”

Bo, standing there while the doctors wheeled away the gurney carrying Aureo’s dead body, not a tear in his eye. “He disappeared into Cyrus, the role he played.”

“And during the event at the factory. The shooting. How did he react there?”

“He’d been shot so full of drugs, and I was trying to keep him alive. I didn’t notice.”

“He’s not my patient, and I can’t say for sure without speaking to him, but what seems to have changed is his coping mechanisms have gone haywire. Is he getting professional help?”

Lucky snorted. “If you call it that. Poor excuse for a therapist said he could control it if he wants to.”

All color left the doctor’s face. The clenching of her jaw was the only outward sign of anger. “I see. If you don’t mind me being presumptuous, we have a psychologist on staff who’s been through what Bo has. He’s helped many patients—”

Sold! “How soon can he see Bo?”

“I’ll schedule an appointment if you’d like. In the meantime, have you considered a service dog?”

“Service dog? Bo’s stressed out, not blind.”

“Dogs are great companions, make the owner feel needed, and are wonderful in helping fight stress. They also sense when their owners are having difficulties and are trained to intervene.”

“We have a dog.”

“Good. They’re also a reason to get out of the house.”

“The only time Bo leaves the house is to walk the dog unless me or the neighbor forces him.”

“May I ask a personal question?”

“I reckon.” He might not answer though.

“Hypersexuality is another symptom of PTSD. Is he exibiting any of those symptoms?”

She had to ask that, didn’t she? “No. And he’s scared he might’ve shared needles, so he’s avoiding me, worried he’s got HIV, even though he’s been tested.”

“What do you do when he loses control?”

“Do my best to help him.”

“You must stay calm. It’s hard, I know, but if he yells, under no circumstances raise your voice back. No loud noises. No sudden movements. Can you do that?”

For Bo? Anything.

She tapped on her iPad. “Dr. Carter has an opening tomorrow afternoon. What’s Bo’s full name?”

“William Patrick Schollenberger the third.”

“Okay. Margie at the front desk will give you an appointment card.” The lady dropped her businesslike demeanor. “This man means the world to you, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.” Oh hell the fuck yes!

“I believe Jacob can help.”

“Thanks.” Now to research if Dr. Jacob Carter provided the kind of help Bo really needed.

***

“Where’s my car?” Bo’s Durango stood alone in the driveway. Lucky leaned against the porch railing. He’d woken up with a twenty pound, purring weight on his chest, and might be spitting fur for the rest of the day.

At least he hadn’t woken up to visions of blood. No, he’d started his day with a wet tongue on his face and dog breath—and the resulting cat and dog battle because Moose dared to touch Cat Lucky’s human.

Hell. Exhausted before he’d even gotten out of bed. And no morning blow job, not with “the kids” watching.

Bo stepped out of the house and locked the door behind him. “Relax. Since we’re riding together, I had the mechanic haul it to his shop.”

Lucky didn’t need the expense of an overhaul, at least not until he’d set the house to rights. And he needed a way to get around without Bo keeping tabs on his every move.

“You weren’t going to do it. Someone had to.” Bo skipped down the stairs to the truck, zipping up his jacket.

Lucky shivered from more than cold. No telling how long he’d have to wait to get his ride back, and he had places to go and things to do. As much as he’d miss the man, he should talk Walter into sending Bo out of town for a few days to some seminar or other.

An idea hit. “Oh, man! I promised Johnson I’d go running with her after work. She can bring me home.”

“Oh? Why don’t I go with you?”

Damn. Bad time for Bo to be so agreeable. “Sorry. We gotta discuss work stuff. About a case.” Lucky shrugged and attempted a smile while he and Bo got into the truck and fastened their seatbelts. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. Grouting tile and talking drug undercover ops seemed to go hand in hand. Guilt warred with duty.

He should be with Bo.

But he needed to get the house ready.

Bo needed him.

But Bo was going back to work, so he’d gotten better, right?

“Some other time then.” Bo turned the key in the switch. The engine fired up on the first try. Showoff.

“Oh fuck!” Lucky paused and pulled a business card out of his wallet. “I forgot to tell you. I made you an appointment for you this afternoon with a Dr. Carter. My doctor recommended him.”

Bo took the card. “This afternoon?”

“No time like the present, right?” And so convenient. “Want me to cancel my run and a take you?”
Please say no.

“No, I got it.”

Hallelujah.

Bo stuck the card in his shirt pocket. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“What?”

“You’ve made it clear you don’t want a new car, but it wouldn’t hurt to look. Now, what kind do you like?”

“Paid for.”

Bo narrowed his eyes.

“I like two-door, vintage, with ripped seats and a non-functioning heater.”

“I supposed you like the stunning bondo and faded pink paint too.”

“It is not pink, it’s candy apply red.” Or had been once upon a time, except for the one blue fender.

“If you say so.”

They didn’t kiss in the parking garage at work the way Lucky wanted to. Not when they got mobbed on arrival.

“Oh my God! Bo! It’s so great to see you!” The blonde receptionist ran up and hugged Bo’s neck.

“Bo? You’re back?” Another woman squealed and click-clacked over in high heels.

They came from everywhere, swarming Bo and carrying him along on a human wave to the elevator, leaving Lucky by the truck.

“Don’t mind me, folks, I’ll find my own way.” It’s like they didn’t even see him. They piled onto the elevator, leaving Lucky to hobble over alone and catch the next one. His bad ankle and recent ass-whooping left him shuffling along at a snail’s pace.

“Hey, it’s good for him to know they missed him,” the voice of reason intoned from behind Lucky, in the guise of Loretta Johnson, who turned to the man at her side—the younger and shorter man at her side. “You go on, honey. I’ll catch you later.” She swatted Phillip’s butt when he passed.

Arms folded across her chest, she watched the man walk away. “Mmm… mmm… The boy is so bad for me, but he’s so good at it.”

Lucky glared.

“Hey! You ain’t the only one around here gets to make goo-goo eyes.”

“I do not make goo-goo eyes.” Much. “I need you to cover for me.”

Johnson snapped to attention. “What you need?”

“I told Bo we’re going running after work. If he asks, back up my story.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll make an honest man of you.”

Grouting and a three-mile run? After a major ass whooping in a boxing ring? That is, if his bad ankle cooperated.

Kill him now.

Johnson wiped at a grout spatter with the back of her hand, smearing pale gray across her cheek. “Nice choice of tile. The boy has good taste.” She eyed Lucky up and down. “In some things.”

“Hardy, har, har.” Just for that, he wouldn’t tell her she’d gotten more grout on her than on the floor. At least Lucky hadn’t guessed too wrong on the tile.

Where was Bo? Lucky paced back and forth between the couch and the front door, dragging a heavy weight.

“Grrrr…” Moose clamped down on the leg of Lucky’s jeans, shaking his head back and forth. After a million years, or ten minutes, the truck pulled into the driveway.

Lucky met Bo on the porch, dog still attached to his ankle. “How’d it go?”

“I think I’m gonna like Dr. Carter.”

Chapter Sixteen

Charlotte, I bought a house.

Lucky attached a link to the real estate listing he’d downloaded and hit “send”.

While he checked local ads for appliance sales, a chime announced an incoming e-mail.

Rich,

It needs work, but it’s gorgeous! What does Bo think?

She had to ask.

Char,

He doesn’t know. He’s going through work-related shit, and it’s better not to tell him.

Lucky never disclosed work details to his sister and never confessed to her what happened in Mexico.

What? How could you not tell him? You intend for him to live there, right?

Lucky swore her heard her scream of outrage all the way from Spokane.

Of course I do!

She countered with:

But it’s in just your name, right?

Lucky replied:

What’s that got to go with anything?

She answered:

Lucky, if it’s his home, he should have gotten to help pick it out. But besides that, what if anything happens to you? Does he have to lose you and his home too?

Lucky sent:

What do you mean? I’ve added him to my will.

Charlotte wrote:

I wish you’d talk to me on the phone like a normal person, but since you won’t, here goes. Just adding him to the will isn’t enough. Trust me, I checked all this out when I got my divorce and house. He’s not related, and family can fight a will.

What? No one would do that.

You’re the only family that knows I’m alive, and you wouldn’t challenge him.

A message arrived thirty seconds later:

What about Bristol?

Fuck. Bristol. Lucky and Charlotte didn’t talk about the family much, but even when Lucky’d been a part of the Lucklighter clan, Bristol had been a pompous, money-grubbing son of a bitch. He’d been the one to put the bug in Lucky’s ear for Victor to pay for his college.

Bristol would fight Bo. He’d fight tooth and nail for every ill-gotten cent.

What do I need to do?

Three seconds later:

Talk to a lawyer. Now. And tell Bo about the house.