Shameless (40 page)

“Shut up, Nina.”

Nina threw her hands in the air. “I’m just saying if both of you are still so set in your ways, there’s probably nothing to discuss.”

Sam sighed again and bit her lip. If only it were that simple.

“Unless you love each other.” Nina stared at her across the console.

Sam swallowed but again said nothing.

“Well? Do you love him?”

After a moment, Sam let out a loud breath and nodded. “Painfully so.”

Nina covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes filled with tears. “My God. I never thought I’d see the day. And John? Does he love you?”

“I think he might.”

Nina was silent a long time. “Well, you know what they say,” she finally said. “True love conquers all.”

“It’s not that simple. There’s a lot you don’t know about. A lot I can’t tell you.” She could tell Nina was studying her, trying to read her.

“If you love each other, things will work out somehow.”

Sam made a frustrated sound through her teeth. “It’s not that simple,” she said again, annoyed with her friend’s elementary take on the situation.

“Trust me.”

Sam wished she could.

A mangy black cat perched atop the overflowing garbage can and licked its paws, staring disinterestedly at the scene playing out in the alley. A drizzly rain pinged softly against the metal lid.

A derelict group of teenagers stood in two parallel lines between the buildings. Brian stood at the end with everyone facing him, his heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed back the bile in his throat, almost grimacing at the bitter taste. But he kept a straight, expressionless face. No fear. Don’t let them see your fear.

Boyo and Razor were last in line. Brian knew the toughest guys were always saved until last. They were the ones who’d recruited him into this gang, so it was fitting in a morbid sort of way that they would be the last to have a go at him.

He’d walked away from the initiation beating with nothing worse than a broken wrist and nose. Then later that night, Mr. E and Mr. D had beat the crap out of Earl.

He still felt kinda bad about that, letting them think Earl had hurt him. They’d have been so disappointed had they learned the truth behind his injuries. They’d have never understood why he’d joined and they’d have hated him. So he’d kept quiet about his involvement with this gang. But as the weeks went by and he and Mr. E grew closer, Brian knew he had to get out.

His gut clenched as he stepped between the lines, and Psycho cocked his fist for the first strike. It hit Brian square across the cheek, knocking him back a step. Then the blows came regularly, hitting all over his body. Nothing was sacred, not his face, not his back, not his balls. Halfway down the line, he staggered from a punch to his temple and fell to his knees. Then they kicked him. His body contracted into the fetal position as kicks reigned onto him from every angle.

All the beatings he’d suffered under Earl’s hands had one positive effect — Brian had learned to block out the pain and withdraw into himself, as if the beatings were happening to someone else. This would all be worth it. He’d be free from the grips of these losers and could get on with his life. He should never have joined. If only he had known then what he knew now, that he had a future. One he looked forward to. Mr. E had seen to that. And that was worth any pain and injury these guys could inflict.

He realized the beating had stopped. Unfurling from his protective ball, he opened the eye that wasn’t swollen shut and saw the guys lined up on each side of him.

He’d made it. If he didn’t have two fat and spit lips, he might have smiled.

“Get up.”

Brian turned his head toward the cold voice. Razor glared at him.

“I said, get the fuck up, bitch. You ain’t done yet.”

“Huh?” Brian struggled to his knees. Two guys came over and jerked him to his feet. He swayed but was able to keep his balance.

Razor stalked toward him. “You ain’t gotten through me yet.” He cracked the knuckles of one hand and then the other. He wasn’t a big guy, but he inspired fear into anyone who messed with him.

Brian swallowed his dread and straightened as best he could, his body throbbing everywhere.
Just one more
. Just one more, and then it would be over. Then he’d be free and could go home.

Razor’s first shot hit him in the stomach. Brian gagged and retched onto his high-tops, provoking laughter from the others. He kept his good eye focused on Razor.
No fear, no fear
. It was almost over. The next succession of blows backed him against the brick building on one side of the alley. Blows to the stomach, the ribcage, the face.

The more he hit, the crazier Razor became, enraged that Brian didn’t cower or go down. With a furious kick, he struck Brian right between the legs, causing him to double over and retch again, this time all over Razor’s expensive sneakers. Incensed, he grabbed Brian by the hair and lifted him into a standing position. With both eyes swollen shut now, Brian could barely see. Through the blood and rain, he saw Razor’s arm cock back. Then a powerful blow hit him in the throat. Something cracked.

Razor let go and Brian slumped to the ground. He couldn’t breath! Grasping his throat, he struggled to get air into his lungs. Panicked, he reached out for somebody, anybody.
Somebody help me
! he tried to yell, but only a gurgling sound spilled from his mouth.

“Shit, man. You killed him,” shouted one of the members. “Let’s get outta here!”

Rain drizzled onto Brian’s bloodied face. Through the slits of his swollen eyes he saw the gang scatter into the darkness. In the distance, he heard sirens.
I did it, Mr. E, I did it. You’d be proud of me. I’m free
.

Chapter 23

John paced the family room and checked the mantel clock for the umpteenth time. “You’d better have a good reason for missing your curfew, young man,” he muttered. His eyes fell to the small box on the tile counter. Despite his anxiety over Brian’s whereabouts, he grinned and picked up the velvet parcel, flipping it open. A diamond solitaire winked brilliantly in the overhead lights.

John’s heart turned over. He was really going to do it. The thought had him nervous and excited all at once. Tomorrow he was meeting Sam at her place to talk about the future. Although the thought of being a real father to her baby still scared the hell out of him, the thought of walking out of her life scared him even more.

He couldn’t wait to see Brian’s reaction. Last night, the boy had been razzing him for his odd relationship with Sam. “It’s only obvious you guys love each other. I mean, you’d have to be a moron not to marry her, Mr. E.” Then with a goofy grin, he’d added, “But then again, you
are
a moron so—” He’d never finished that sentence because John had tackled him to the ground and pinned him until he’d retracted his words.

John closed the box and set it on the counter, glancing again at the clock. Maybe he should call the —  Someone pounded on the front door. He rushed to the entry way, his anger rising even as relief washed over him. Not only was the boy late, he’d also forgotten his key. What kind of discipline did tonight call for? This parenting thing sure wasn’t a cake walk.

Flinging open the door, the stern reprimand on the tip of his tongue froze when he saw the two uniformed police officers on his door step.

“John Everest?” one of them asked, her face expressionless.

“Yes, is there a problem?”

“Are you the guardian of a Brian Carsten?”

Damn. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into now? “Yes, I am. Has he done something wrong?”

The officers exchanged a look, and the woman officer cleared her throat. “There’s been an accident.”

John rode downtown with the officers. As the ER nurse led them into a room to reveal a sheet-draped body on a gurney, John was reminded of all the movies in which he’d seen this same scene. The sheet would be pulled back and then the victim’s family would identify the body, break into sobs and turn away in their grief.

But this wasn’t a movie. If it were, his heart wouldn’t feel as if it had been ripped apart as he saw Brian’s bloodied and distorted face. He wouldn’t feel as if a wrecking ball had just slammed into his world, shattering everything in its path. If this were a movie, he would be able to gaze at the boy with nothing more than pity and appreciation of the good make-up job. This, however, was real. The credits weren’t going to roll at the end.

John stared at Brian, his eyes burning from unshed tears. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently touched the boy’s hair, the short strands feeling no different than they had last night as they’d wrestled on the floor of the family room. Heaving a loud sigh, he dropped his hand. Nodding curtly to affirm the identification, he swung away.

The next few hours were a blur. Alex came to the station, the two men answered countless questions about Brian, John signed some papers, then Alex drove him home.

Later, alone on his deck, John crumpled the beer can in his fist and flung it into the darkness. It landed with a metallic PING against the others on the lawn. He reached for another. When it was empty and had joined the can mortuary, he leaned back in the lounge chair and stared at the sky, the Seattle lights from across the lake coloring the cloudy horizon orange.

Rain wept onto his face and plastered his clothes to his body. He should have been freezing, but he was numb to all feeling, his gut and soul as empty as the half-dozen beer cans on his lawn. The rain plinked a sad song against the tin.

Brian had died in the rain. He’d lain in an alley and died in the rain.

Alone.

John wondered if he’d listened to the raindrops as they hit the pavement. He wondered if he’d felt the chill of his wet clothes. He wondered if he’d felt pain.

The whole thing was enough to make John want to vomit. Instead, he reached for another beer, downed it, flung it.

He’d failed the boy. He’d tried to steer him clear of gangs and that sort of violence, but he’d failed. With all their progress, Brian had still turned to that lifestyle and now he was dead, the victim of a brutal initiation as far as the police could tell. Why had he ever thought he could be a father to the boy, that he’d have what it takes? He’d spent the past twenty years convinced he didn’t have the right to be
anyone’s
father. Why had he changed his tune with Brian? Maybe if he hadn’t, the boy would still be alive.

“An eye for an eye.” His father’s words mocked him from the depths of his mind. “You’ll pay the rest of your life for the deaths of those little girls.”

John cried out in anguish, pressing his palms to his temples as if he could squeeze away the reminders. He pressed harder and harder until his head felt ready to explode from the pressure.

The skies opened up and an onslaught of water drenched him. He reached for another beer.