Seeking Redemption

by Kylie Hillman

  Lifting my broken arm, I point at my fucked right knee with the fingers protruding from the cast, and laugh. It’s a hollow laugh, not the least bit happy. “We both know I’m never playing footy again so I might as well pay you back for the fall you’ve just taken for me.”

  I watch as my father blinks in rapid succession. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was fighting tears. The moment passes as if it never happened, his features hardening as his expression shuts down.

  “What if I am losing it?” he asks, without any heat to his tone. “Would that make you fucking well listen to me?” Dad doesn’t wait for me to answer him before he continues in the same monotone. “All I’m trying to do is make sure you kids are taken care of. You mightn’t agree with my plans, but they’re what I think is for the best, so just do as you’re told for once.”

  Even though he says this evenly, it still gets my back up.

  My own temper sparks. Do as I’m told? He’s got to be kidding me?

  “Jesus Christ. I don’t have a clue what you’re on about. Fuck you and fuck your cryptic bullshit. I’m a grown fucking man.” My nostrils flare as my breathing picks up pace. “You’re a bit late to become a caring father now. Maybe Matty and Lachie will welcome your sudden concern, but me, Joel, and Maddi don’t need you.”

  I want to say so much more. I want to yell every grievance I’ve had with him since my mom died but I force myself to stop. It’s too late. He’ll never listen.

  Bull-headed cunt that he is.

  “I said I’ll prospect. That’s it. I’m not making a play for the president’s patch unless I’m wanted. If that means Mad Dog ends up as Prez, then that’s too fucking bad—”

  For the first time, I’m ready to admit my lack of desire to join the Shamrocks, but I’m forced to shut up when he hurtles forward and grabs me by the front of my hospital gown. Pulling my face to his, he glares at me, running his feral eyes over my face as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Shaking me twice, he throws me back against the bed. There’s nothing left of the father I know in his eyes when he snarls his ultimatum at me.

  “You don’t get a say in fuck all. Everything’s already in motion. You either get with the program or you get the fuck out of this family...” His words trail off as he turns his back on me and walks to the door. “Since we both know you’re a junkie loser that can’t survive without his twin saving his ass, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. Considering I didn’t tell the Club about you hiding Connor and his whore at your house after they fucked-up their takeover attempt.”

  Every ounce of oxygen is sucked from my lungs at his veiled threat. I’m gasping for breath when the door slams behind him, making me jump in shock.

  How the fuck does he know?

  Anyone else finds out what I did, I’m dead.

  Literally.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LACEY

  Present Day

  Oh my God.

  How am I going to get out of this?

  I can’t believe Maddi found me at Benji’s.

  Shit.

  Dr. Patrice was there as well.

  My life. My career. Everything’s heading down the drain. I’m certain Dr. Patrice knew I was high. Her shrewd, green eyes had narrowed when she’d seen Benji’s track marks and I’d watched her search my arms for similar signs. I’m not an idiot. I don’t leave marks where they’re easily seen. The main vein in my groin or the back of my knee are much more discreet, since the only person who sees that part of me is Benji and he knows my dirty secret. Just like I know his.

  Poor Benji. I felt so bad looking at him on the floor after Maddi broke his arm. Professionally, I’ve seen patients in a crystal meth induced rage before, and it’s scary. Seeing someone I care about—someone I injected—in the same state was so much more confronting.

  My panic returns when I think about Benji. I hope he keeps his mouth shut about me. Everyone’s been aware of his problem for years, although I doubt they knew he’d escalated to intravenous use in the last couple of months. If he tells anyone about me, I’m going to lose my job, and that’ll be the final straw. I’m already on the brink of foreclosure on my house because Connor left me to deal with the mortgage on my own, so losing my only source of income would be the final nail in my financial coffin.

  My parents are brilliant, but there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m moving back home with them and my sister and brother, with my tail between my legs.

  Pushing thoughts of Connor away, I look down at my shaking hands. I’ve been hiding in the hospital chapel since we arrived at the hospital to get Benji’s arm fixed. After receiving the cold shoulder from Maddi on the drive here, I knew I had to make myself scarce before she turned her sharp tongue on me. My brain’s fried; I can’t form a rational thought without being distracted by a new one, let alone form a comprehensible excuse for screwing my best friend’s brother behind her back for the last few months. Her twin—the man she confides her worries about to me on a regular basis.

  Pulling my phone out of my handbag, I check the time. I’ve been here for nearly three hours and visiting hours finished half an hour ago.

  Surely, the coast is clear by now?

  ***

  “Bloody hell, where have you been? What the fuck happened last night?”

  Benji throws his questions at me before I’ve managed to close the door behind me.

  I approach his bed on jelly legs. My come down is in full swing, although I’m also nervous about his reaction when he finds out what happened today. My stomach churns from a nauseating combination of anxiety and lack of food. The last time I ate an actual meal is not immediately available to my addled mind. I think it was two days ago—the day I finished my seven-day block of nursing shifts and began my five days off.

  Pressing my fingers against the back of the hand peeking out of his cast, I watch the color return to his skin straightaway. Good, he’s not having any circulation problems. I’m running my fingers through his messy, midnight black hair, checking the knots he sustained during his fight with Maddi, Smoke and Tally, when he winces and pulls away from me.

  “Fucking hell, Lacey. That hurts.”

  Lowering my gaze from the top of his head, I meet his eyes for the first time since I entered his room. As I take him in, my heart sinks. My fingers ache to smooth his furrowed brow and lift the corners of his drooping lips back into their normal, jovial positioning.

  “Jesus, Lacey. You look as good as I feel.” Benji says, attempting to laugh. The moment I was having is broken by his comment, his bleak expression replaced by the devil-may-care mask he always presents to the world.

  Taking a step away from him, I put space between us. Benji made it very clear after our first drunken night together that we’re only “fuck buddies”. At the time, I’d agreed without hesitation. Connor had disappeared months earlier, leaving me with a pile of debt, a suspicious Club, and my crumbling confidence to deal with in his wake. I was at a loss as to how to put my life back together, and a few nights in Benji’s bed had seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. Reports of his prowess and stamina have circulated the Club for years, so I knew I was in for a good time.

  A good time that should’ve also been a short time.

  Yet, here we are three months later—one of us nursing a broken arm, the other a fractured heart that’s afraid it’s about to be shattered—while we both come down from our latest drug binge together.

  Even Nostradamus couldn’t have predicted that.

  “I’ve never seen you this spaced out. You feeling okay?”

  My body jolts with shock when he interrupts my reverie. I am more spaced out than usual, my synapses refusing to fire together as the remainder of the crystal meth is purged from my system.

  “I feel like shit.” I smile thinly as I answer him. Jerking my head towards his broken arm, I continue. “Probably not as bad as you, though. Today’s been intense.”

  I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was
holding, when Benji regards me with confusion clouding his electric blue eyes.

  “You don’t know what happened?”

  “Not a fucking clue. Woke up here with Dad talking riddles that meant nothing to me. He’s the only one who’s been to see me.”

  He seems upset that only Beast has been to check on him. Conversely, I’m relieved because it means he hasn’t been able to say anything that’ll get me into trouble at work. I doubt I was a topic of discussion between Benji and his father.

  Mentally prepping myself to give him the explanation he wants, I grab his uninjured hand and settle myself next to his legs on the bed, facing him. Without thought, I lace my fingers through his, only realizing what I’ve done when I feel him close his fingers around mine.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Fucking you against the wall in my hallway.” The smirk that covers his face makes me shake my head at him, even as I laugh. He should be proud of himself, he’d made me come twice within minutes against that wall.

  “Okay.” I slide my bottom lip through my teeth as I think. “Once we’d finished up, I went to the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. I was going home, but you talked me into staying and getting on it again with you—”

  “No wonder I feel like fucking death. What was that? Three times in one night?”

  I swallow the lump that’s made its way into my throat and nod at him. Letting go of his hand, I pluck at the sheet on the bed, refusing to look at him. I know what will be written on his face. We both know our use is increasing, yet it’s easy to make promises that we’ll only do it once a night when we’re coming down. It’s when the craving starts again, when we feel the walls closing in on us once more, that it becomes harder and harder to stick to the decision. And after we’re high, the main objective we share is how to keep feeling the euphoria for as long as possible.

  Benji nudges me with his closest knee.

  Wiping my runny nose on the back of my hand, I watch his face as I begin recounting what happened. I need to word what’s coming carefully so that he understands how important it is to keep my usage to himself.

  “After we got high, we screwed some more before passing out on your couch. We’d just woken up and were going at it again when Maddi and that redhead Timber’s seeing walked in without knocking. Smoke was with them. They wanted you to go to the hospital and see Joel with them.”

  He closes his eyes and presses his lips together at my mention of Joel. I’m guessing that in all the drama, he forgot about Joel’s attempted suicide by OD the night before. That was why he’d been so keen to get high last night—to take his mind off it, he’d claimed.

  “Fuck.”

  I ignore him, moving forward with my retelling. He needs to be up-to-speed before anyone comes to see him.

  If they do.

  “Anyhow, you and Maddi got into because she figured out you were shooting up. You threw your best and fairest trophy at her, and then the DVD player, before tackling her to the ground.”

  Benji’s mouth drops open. I can imagine his inner turmoil. He idolizes his sister, especially after what she went through for him, although his actions today and in recent months don’t reflect that.

  “She’d scared me out of the room with that glare of hers, but I was watching from the hallway. She said you needed rehab and you lost your mind. Timber’s girlfriend ran outside screaming for Smoke. Him and Tally came rushing in and tried to get you off of her. I thought you were going to choke her to death so I tried to help her as well. That’s when she broke the arm you had around her neck.”

  My stomach turns when I remember the inhuman scream he’d made when his arm snapped, a shudder running through me.

  He hasn’t moved. I don’t think he’s blinked.

  “Even then you wouldn’t stop trying to get at her. Smoke or Tally pulled her out from under you, and both of them were trying to pin you to the floor, and failing spectacularly, when Maddi knocked you out with a kick to the head.”

  I lean forward and run my hand over the largest area of swelling on the side of his skull. He doesn’t acknowledge me, staying still even when I press harder to get a response from him.

  “That’s what Dad meant,” Benji whispers. “I’m fucked. I’m either all in or I’m out.”

  “What’s wrong? Maybe I can help?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s none of your fucking business. I’m interested in your snatch, not your bullshit sympathy,” he snaps in answer to my questions.

  I recoil, pushing off the bed and standing at the side of the bed. Screw him, I’m not sugar coating it anymore. Not after his reminder of how unimportant I am to him.

  “Smoke’s shitty at you for fucking me. He’s always had a thing for me—which you already knew—and he didn’t take too kindly finding us together. Plus, you told Timber’s woman that even though she’s fuckable, she wasn’t hot enough to risk a beating from him. She wasn’t impressed by your mouth or you standing in front of her with your cock out, taking your sweet time to get dressed—”

  “They’re going to kill me. Fuck! This just keeps getting better and fucking better.” Benji buries his face in his hands as well as he can with one arm almost immobile.

  As nasty as his previous words were, I can’t stop myself from feeling sorry for him. Having Mad Dog, Timber, and Smoke upset with you isn’t a good position for anyone to be in. They’re lethal, violent men who take no prisoners and feel little remorse for anything they do. I should know, since Connor was once one of their group, doing their dirty work, and embracing his violent side. With vicious intent, I curl my fingernails into my palm so the pain will stop me from thinking about how he started bringing that violent side home to me.

  It works after a moment.

  Stepping forward, I pat him on the shoulder. Hitting him with the whole situation at once was petty of me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you like that.”

  Raising his head, he glares at me until I move away from him.

  I raise my hands in surrender, unsure how to proceed. If I didn’t need to get him on board with my story before he sees Dr. Patrice or any of his family, I’d leave him to his sulking. My head’s pounding, my body alternating between shivering and sweating, and my mouth could rival the Finke desert for dryness at the moment. I need a cold drink, a sandwich, and eight-hours of sleep—in that order.

  “You should be sorry. This’s all your bloody fault. I was handling my shit until you talked me into shooting up. Hell, you’re the one who shoots me up. You turned me into a fucking junkie and now, thanks to you, my life’s fucked.”

  My eyes water and I bite my lip as I try not to cry at his accusations. He’s not being fair.

  Yes, I brought the needles and syringes to his house that first night, but he asked me to.

  Yes, I am the one who injects him, but only because he misses his vein most of the time. I didn’t turn him into a junkie, any more than he turned me into one. We just happened to make the transition together, at the same time, in response to our individual inability to control our lives.

  “Fuck you, Benji. God, you’re a prick. Don’t blame me because you can’t control your own urges.”

  Stomping my way to the door that leads out of his room, I pause with my hand on the doorknob when he whispers, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m the world’s biggest fuck-up. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

  My heart hurts, feeling as if someone’s shoved their hand into my chest and is squeezing the fragile organ as hard as they can. Now that he realizes none of his family is coming to see him after what he’s done, he’s as alone in this crappy world as I am, at least until the dust settles and he makes amends. I know how lonely it can be, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies—on Connor and his skanky sidekick, Sherri—let alone the troubled man I’m beginning to fall in love with.

  Turning on my heel, I walk back to the bed and climb onto it. Benji lifts his good arm in invitation, so I slide under, laying
my head on his shoulder and curling my body into his side as he lowers the bed into a sleeping position. We don’t say another word to each other as the sliver of sunlight that’s shining through the gap between his hospital window and the curtain slowly fades. I trace random patterns on his chest and he strokes my hip until his hand falls still as his breathing evens out.

  I lay here listening to him for a short while before succumbing to my own exhaustion, all thoughts of what tomorrow might bring quelled by the sweet relief of sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BENJI

  Present Day

  Two fucking nights.

  Two long, boring nights in this hell-hole of a hospital, yet not one member of my family could be bothered to come and see me. If it wasn’t for Lacey visiting each day and bringing me the stuff I need, plus Timber’s strange woman poking her nose through the doorway a couple times a day to say hello and see how I’m doing, I would’ve spent the last sixty odd hours alternating between staring at whatever dumbass sitcom was on the miniscule television hanging from the roof or just plain staring at the pin-holed ceiling. I’d tried to count the number of holes one night, losing count at two thousand, four hundred, and fifty-seven.

  Tilting my head, I decide to give it another go before I’m discharged in a few hours.

  “You ready to go?” Smoke’s gravelly sounding voice scares the shit out of me, making me jump like a nancy-boy.

  My cousin looks as impressed to see me as I am to see him. His blonde hair and sea-green eyes remind me of my dead mother, which always puts a lump in my throat and makes my eyes feel scratchy. As usual, it takes me a moment to swallow my emotions so I can answer him.

  “With you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. After the radio silence from my family, I’d assumed I was stuck catching a taxi home. “Why?”

  Lifting one side of his top lip, he scowls at me. “Do you see anyone else here? I’m it. Maddi sent me because she’s busy.”