Page 32 of Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself)
Sixteen
“Are you fucking kidding me, Ben? What the fuck?” The frustrated shout woke him, and Benny lifted his head, looking with bleary eyes towards the stairs.Shit.
The pounding in his head was sickeningly familiar. So was the sight greeting him. A disappointed face. Andy’s. “Shit.” He muttered this, but his voice was loud enough for Andy to catch it.
“Yes, shit. Shit again. Mighta shit on yourself, from the smell of it.” Andy—Slate, he tried to remind himself to call his brother Slate.He likes that. “What the fuck did you do last night?”
He’d played. Gotten onstage and played, pushing through the terror-driven shakes threatening to derail the performance even before they’d started. Bear and Chase took the stage with him—Bear’s presence promising to help make it easy, Chase’s making it better because Benny was able to focus on giving the kid his own brand of reassurances. Lucia in the audience, front and center, sitting at a table near the stage so he could see her every time he looked up from his hands. Belief and love so clear on her face he nearly froze at first, from the full knowledge of what she was giving him.
While Bear had been recovering at home, they hadn’t been able to take much time for themselves. Quick lunches in the family kitchen instead of leisurely dinners out, stolen moments on the phone. With Luce out of the picture a lot of the time, he’d dialed in on Chase, working with the boy every day, bringing him along faster than he’d believed possible. Vic and Chase formed the other two legs of his musical tripod at the moment, and he let them balance him as often as they could all be in the same room. So they played, and the music flowed from his fingers, if not his head. Lyrics were still a scarce commodity, but when they did come, they were good. The kind of curl-your-toes, make-you-shiver, raise-the-hair good.
Last night had been good, too. The last half of the set was rocking, the bar filled to capacity in a party for DeeDee’s man, Jase. A music lover, if not a musician, Jase had sat in with them one night at Bear’s place. Proving while he could carry a tune, he couldn’t be trusted with an instrument, he had broken four strings on one of Bear’s guitars before the guys could wrestle it away from him.
The gig had been so good, Benny let it go to his head. Thinking to himself,If I can get back on stage, then I can handle anything. Right?
Wrong. So fucking wrong.
After they finished playing, he was only three swallows into the first beer and had already been thinking how he could get another without anyone seeing. Three beers and he was in the alley out behind the bar with a different gang of bikers passing a joint around, accepting the jug of moonshine when it made it to him, hooking a finger through the handle and lifting it to his lips as if he did it every day. Laughing men loaded him into a van with shouts of a party, and vaguely he remembered seeing Lucia standing on the walk in front of the bar as they drove past, looking side-to-side. Another bar, another back alley. Another drunken night ending in a blackout.
Now was now, and he was on his brother’s couch with no memory of getting there. Focusing on the floor, he found the remains of the night in the form of a single empty bottle on the floor next to the couch.If he doesn’t know how bad it was, maybe I can bullshit him.
“What?” Quiet, so he didn’t wake the babies, he flipped over on the couch, pretending the movement didn’t set his stomach churning. “I’m up. Was there something you needed?”
Standing close, so close Benny could see every detail of the seam stitching on his jeans, Slate glared down at him. For several long minutes, he bore the weight of that stare, and then Slate shook his head. His brother’s eyes slowly closed, and Benny watched as Slate made a visible effort to get himself under control. Voice vibrating with anger, Slate hissed, “You fucked up.”
“I slipped.” No chance of lying now, not if his brother already knew. “That’s all. Just a slip.”
“Fucked.” Slate leaned down, shoving his scowling face into Benny’s. “Up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Save it.” Slate whirled, hands to the air, fending off something Benny couldn’t see. “You.” His voice rose to a shout. “Fucked up.”
On cue, the cry of a baby trailed down the stairs, and Slate turned to look that direction, the expression on his face so torn it twisted something sideways in Benny. For a moment, it felt like things were unbalanced, on the cusp of something huge, and then slowly Slate turned to look at him. Eyes bleak, he said, “I got kids, brother.”
Benny nodded, shoving to a seated position on the couch. “I know you do.”
“Want them to have an uncle they can love.” Benny knew Slate saw the flinch his words caused, watched as matching pain moved through his brother’s face. “Want them to have a family who loves them.”
“I love them. You know I do.”How do I make this right?
“Love the booze more.” Slate looked down, hand to the back of his neck, fingers kneading and rubbing. “You need more than I can give you, Benny.” His words came slowly, seeming forced out. “Time to go back to Phoenix.”
“No, Andy.” Benny was near tears, hating the disappointment in his brother’s voice, wishing he could turn back the clock to before he got in that van, took the first drink, climbed the stairs to that goddamned fucking stage. “Please, God. I can do better. I will. I promise. It was just a slip.” In his head he heard Chase’s words from the darkness around a bonfire,“Right to the mother. Fuckin’. Curb. Muthafuckin’ curb.”
“You slip then you use whatever you need in order to get your feet under you again so you can stand strong. Rehab is a tool. You need to work it.” One hand shoved deep into his pocket, Andy pulled out his phone and placed three calls.
Two hours later, Benny was on a plane. Seated on the aisle next to him, boxing him in, his silent escort, was none other than DavisfuckingMason.Jesus.
