by Eden Winters
And whose fault is that? echoed in his head—in Charlotte’s voice.
The moment he stepped into the living room, Lucky grabbed Bo as hard as he’d grabbed his sister earlier. Right now, without an anchor, he’d surely fall.
“Shh… It’s okay.” Bo held him, rocking a bit.
Lucky sobbed, tears soaking Bo’s T-shirt. Family. He’d lost his family. And no matter how hard he pretended otherwise, they’d left a big, unhealed hole in his heart.
Charlotte alone stood by him. Had always been there. Had even come to his trial and heard him get a ten-year sentence. And cried.
Like she’d cried tonight. Sooner or later, he’d have to stop causing the woman tears. Bo pulled him down onto the couch and held him till his heart stopped breaking.
His fault. His own damned fault.
When Charlotte bustled out of the kitchen a few moments later, the red nose and additional mascara streaks down her cheeks said she’d spent her time the same way Lucky had.
Sniff. “How about the tour now?” She wiped her hand across her face but only smeared her makeup even more.
Yeah. Stay busy. Best thing to do to keep from thinking and regretting too hard.
She turned around in the living room, sauntered over to the backdoor, and screamed. A wall of white hit the glass. The scream turned into a giggle. “Richie, your horse wants in.” She squatted down by the door, tapping the glass and cooing at Moose. “You raising goats now, or what?”
“Found him at the pound. Couldn’t leave him behind.” Not when Moose wriggled his way into Lucky’s heart, reminding him of the Great Pyrenees he’d grown up with as herd dogs for the family’s goats.
Charlotte shot him a “who are you and what have you done with my brother” look. “Can we let him in?”
“Not if you want to stay upright. He’s a bit of a handful right now.” The drool pit of doom whined through the glass, turning adoring eyes on Lucky.
“A handful. Ha! Takes after you then, don’t he?” After a bit of circling, and stopping by the bookcase to admire Bo’s dragon statue collection, Charlotte marched to the hall and waited.
Bo took the hint and shot to his feet. “The bedrooms and bathrooms are back this way. Here’s your room.” He opened the door to the guest bedroom, furnished with Rett’s hand-me-down air mattress and a half dozen boxes waiting to be unpacked. “We’re still moving in.”
Charlotte flipped on the light switch. “This is nice. And bigger than my bedroom back home.”
“The bathroom’s this way.” Bo strolled off down the hall.
Their voices faded. Oh crap. Getting quiet must mean they’d started talking about him. Lucky dashed down the hall and into his and Bo’s bedroom, too late to stop Charlotte from opening the door to the room he and Bo didn’t speak about.
“What a cute nursery!” Charlotte winked at Lucky. “When y’all planning on using it?”
Lucky turned to stare at Bo, who stared back with the same dumbfounded, wide-eyed silence.
Charlotte’s smile fell. “Oops, hit a nerve there, did I? Sorry. Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here prying my foot out of my mouth.”
Lucky opened the bathroom door, getting a chance to change the subject. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do on the house, but this room’s pretty much finished.”
“Lordy, what a bathroom.” Charlotte poked her head into the walk-in closet. “I got closet envy like all get out.”
Her mouth dropped open again in the garage while circling the Harley. “When’d you get a bike?” She managed to hike her leg high enough to hop onto the seat, and sat gripping the handlebars. “Wroom! Wroom!”
Again Lucky exchanged looks with Bo. How much should they tell?
Bo saved Lucky from lying. “I went undercover in a biker gang, and got a sweet deal when the case ended.”
What a relief. Lucky had never been able to lie to his sister—she knew him too well. And Bo hadn’t outright lied. Having a former drug lord hand over the keys to one hell of a ride counted as a sweet deal, didn’t it?
But one day soon, the “drug lord” might call in the favor.
Damn. Lucky might still have reasons to keep Charlotte and her boys at a distance.
Chapter Eleven
“Sure you got enough covers?” Lucky searched the closet for another blanket while Bo trekked out to Charlotte’s car for her suitcase.
Charlotte stopped Lucky’s digging with a hand on his arm. “Any more and I’d never find my way out of the bed.”
“Need another pillow? We got extra pillows.” If not, he’d have more in twenty minutes or so after a trip to the local Wal-Mart.
“Richie?”
“Need a glass of water?”
“Rich!”
Lucky snapped around to face his sister. “What?”
“Would you please stop twirling? You’re freaking me out.”
“I’m not twirling.” Whatever the hell twirling meant.
“Yes, you are.” She cupped Lucky’s face between her palms. Her high boot heels put her right at eye to eye. Finally, someone shorter than him! “This is me. No matter how long it’s been, I’m still Char, you’re still Rich.” Her peck on his cheek brought back a thousand memories.
“But so much has changed.”
Her evil grin didn’t bode well for him. “I can still kick your ass.”
One minute he stood upright, the next she had him in a headlock, rubbing her knuckles over his scalp.
“What the…” Bo dropped the suitcase just inside the door. “Lucky? Charlotte? What are you doing?”
Charlotte let Lucky go. “Reliving old times. A day didn’t go by when we didn’t give each other grief as kids.”
“When we weren’t teaming up on Dover.” The fourth Lucklighter kid learned slow that if he picked on one of the older young’uns, the other wasn’t far away.
Charlotte rounded on Lucky. “You still calling him his old childhood nickname?”
Lucky inched to the side and a clear shot at the door. “Old habits die hard… Talladega.” He squeezed past Bo in the doorway, Charlotte hot on his heels.
“You’ll pay dearly for that, Eugene!” Giggling took the heat out of her threat.
He grabbed the back of the couch, swung himself over, hid a flinch when his bad ankle hit the floor, and crouched, ready to haul ass.
Charlotte’s grin matched his own as she paced him on the other side of the couch. She feinted left and back right.
Nope. Not falling for her ruse. Lucky stood his ground midway of his protective not-leather shield.
Charlotte sprung. Wham! “Gotcha!” Lucky and Charlotte tumbled to the floor in fits of laughter.
Bo muttered, “Kids,” and dropped down onto the couch.
Leave it to his sister to take Lucky from tears to laughs in no time flat. She hopped up first and offered her hand. One of her favorite ploys.
“Aww…C’mon.” Charlotte wriggled her fingers. “Don’t you trust me?”
Lucky folded his arms across his chest. “Nope.”
“Then I’ll do it.” Bo hauled Lucky off the floor. “Tell you what. Why don’t I go polish the bike or something and leave you two alone?”
What? “Stay. You don’t have to go.” In Lucky’s excitement of his sister’s visit he’d totally left Bo out.
Bo and Charlotte shared a look. Oh. They must have already talked this out.
“I’ll be out in the garage working on the door opener if you need me.” Bo brushed his lips over Lucky’s. This time Lucky managed not to flinch. As much as he loved Bo’s kisses, hiding their relationship had become a habit he needed to break. It wasn’t like Charlotte hadn’t witnessed him kissing men before, starting with a summer field hand she’d caught him in the hay barn with way back when and used as blackmail to get him to do her chores for a week.
Charlotte sat down and patted the cushion beside her. Lucky eased down, wary for an ambush. Instead she dragged his arm over her shoulder and settled in. “Oh, Go
d, I’ve missed you some kind of fierce.”
Lucky kissed the top of her head. Sometimes words weren’t enough.
She jostled him with her elbow. “Don’t think for a minute you’re gonna shut me out again when this is all over.”
“I won’t.” No. Never again. His own half-truths came back to him. Sure, he hadn’t spoken with her on the phone or talked to her in person because his own failure stared him in the face. But his biggest fear? Asking a question he’d stuffed down inside for so long.
“Charlotte, I need the truth. Why did the family turn their backs on me?” Or rather, why in particular? He’d certainly given them plenty of reasons.
His sister pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes. Stalling.
“C’mon. Whatever you got to say can’t be any tougher than losing my family.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I honestly don’t know. Once Daddy made up his mind, he refused to explain. And you know Mama. Whether he’s right or whether he’s wrong, she goes along.”
Yeah, Mom had always stood by Dad. Dad did the same for her.
And Bo did the same for Lucky.
Still, he had to know. “It’s important. Anybody you can ask besides the folks who might have some idea?”
Charlotte’s snort reminded Lucky of many other snorts over the years, a sure sign of his sister putting her foot down. And no Mama around to give her what for. “Bristol wouldn’t tell me for love nor money. Dallas can’t keep a secret for shit. If he knew, he’d’ve told me by now.”
“That leaves Daytona.” They both winced. Daytona hadn’t been the most reliable of sources back before Lucky’s life went to hell. No telling what another decade worth of drugs had done to the kid. “I don’t suppose he’s gotten any better. You told me he couldn’t donate his liver because of his drug abuse.”
“Poor kid. He’s tried.” Charlotte wriggled, settling closer to Lucky’s side. “Lord knows he’s tried. Been in and out of rehab since high school, but he’s never quite gotten his act together.”
“But if he knew something, would he tell you?”
“Remember how scared he used to be of the Noogie Monster?” She cracked her knuckles. “He never quite got over his fear of us.”
“And we never touched him.” Much.
“Well, you were the one giving him noogies three times a day. I just short-sheeted his bed.”
“…put a dead rat in his sock drawer, tossed a handful of corn on his plate whenever Grandma brought over a pot of chitlins.”
They both made a face. Many more chitlin ordeals in his youth, and Lucky might’ve joined Bo in being a dedicated weed eater, especially as he’d believed he saw the pig’s last meal when someone hid corn on his plate. Who the hell decided, “Hey! Let’s eat pig innards!” “We gave our brothers hell, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, but remember on the bus, those guys tried to pick on Day?”
Boy, did Lucky remember. He and Charlotte both got kicked off the bus. She’d come home with scratches and bruises, and Lucky sported a black eye.
The other guys came out worse. All five of them. Bigger, heavier, and only half as mean as two pissed off redneck farm kids defending the baby of the family.
And the bastards never even looked crosswise at Daytona again.
“I could call him. He’s living with Mama and Daddy now.” Charlotte dug her cellphone out of her purse. “If you’re sure you want to do this.”
Good thing Lucky wasn’t in the hospital hooked to a monitor yet. Nurses might come running for all the energetic bumps and thumps his heart made.
One phone call might solve years of pain. But what if whatever Daytona said carved Lucky’s heart out again? Or what if Day didn’t know jack shit? Bo. Lucky needed Bo here. But Bo wasn’t here. He’d given Lucky space. Lucky took a deep breath. “Call him.”
Charlotte hit a few buttons so the ringing came through the speaker, and set her phone down on the coffee table.
One ring, two rings, three rings…
“Hello?” came a groggy-sounding voice. Lucky’s heart lurched.
“Hey, Day.” Charlotte leaned over the coffee table and probably spoke louder than necessary. “It’s me. Did I wake you?”
“No,” the voice from Lucky’s past said through a yawn. Daytona Jerome Lucklighter, his pest of a little brother who’d once idolized Lucky. How he’d followed along like a puppy.
And yet he’d wasted years of his life to drugs. While Lucky wouldn’t trade his life for anything, being law-abiding meant he’d grown a conscience over the years. He’d failed Daytona, like he’d failed Charlotte. And his parents. And Dallas.
A band of angels couldn’t have helped Bristol.
Even after all these years, Daytona made an awful liar. Wouldn’t have surprised Lucky a bit to hear snores.
“Why you got me on speaker?” Had the kid always sounded so suspicious?
“’Cause painting my toenails takes two hands.” Charlotte? Now there was one dyed in the wool liar. Lucky never had been able to beat her in poker.
“I take it there’s a reason for you to call me this late,” came over the speaker.
Nine P.M. was late?
“As a matter of fact, there is. You know I’ll be staying there while daddy’s in the hospital and while he’s recovering.” For the past sixteen years she’d lived in the great Northwest, yet sounded more Southern than Lucky, who rarely strayed north of Tennessee without a warrant.
“Yeah. Need something?”
“Just information.” Charlotte hardened her face into a mask of determination. Daytona might run if he saw her.
The suspicion returned to Daytona’s voice. “What kind of information?”
“Mama got to crying, talking about what a shame it was ‘bout Richmond and all. And she started to say something but stopped when Dad called her. So, I’m hoping you can fill in the blanks. What happened to make them stop talking to him?”
Silence. Then, “Daddy said we weren’t never supposed to mention that asshole ever again.”
Wow! Even Lucky didn’t growl so low unless really pissed. Whatever had he done to deserve his brother’s anger?
Charlotte mouthed to Lucky, “What the hell?” To Daytona she said, “Well, now I’m asking. I need to know, and you’re gonna tell me.”
She probably used the same no-nonsense tone on her boys to keep them in line.
Daytona muttered, “Fuck” too low to have intended Charlotte to hear. “It’s over and done with. That’s what Daddy said. Besides, Rich is dead. Mama always told us not to speak ill of the dead.”
Charlotte turned down her demanding tone, sweet talking like she’d once done to Lucky to get him to share candy. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Please, Daytona, he’s… he was my brother too.”
Lucky mouthed back, “Nice save!”
“Oh, alright. I don’t s’pose it’ll hurt nobody now.”
Charlotte grinned and fist bumped Lucky. “I want anything you can tell me.”
Another silence followed. At last Daytona said, “Remember when I overdosed my first week at college and nearly died?”
“Yes.”
He’d nearly died?
Lucky opened his mouth but Charlotte shushed him. “Go on.”
The silence stretched, nothing to hear but the air conditioner’s soft whirring and Moose barking in the back yard.
Cue the dramatic music and they could be on an episode of Lucky’s favorite soap opera, South Bend Springs.
After a small eternity, Daytona said, “It was all Richmond’s fault.”
Chapter Twelve
“Do what?” Folks three states away probably heard Lucky’s yell.
Charlotte slapped a hand over his mouth. “It was Richmond’s fault? How could it be his fault?”
Daytona sounded small and lost. “It was right around my birthday. I’d only been in college for a couple days, and I got a present from Rich—ten grams of heroin. Purer than any shit
I’d ever had before.”
“Ten fucking grams?” Lucky yelled and yanked Charlotte’s hand back over his mouth.
“Ten grams? That happened a long time ago, but are you sure it came from Rich?” Charlotte made an “I’m sorry” face and squeezed Lucky’s hand until he no longer felt like screaming.
But wait! She hadn’t whapped him, so she must not believe Daytona.
“I’m sure. It was addressed to my dorm and had his return address. The card was in his handwriting, and he told me to have myself a party.”
“Are you sure that’s what he said?” Charlotte asked in hopeful tones.
“Positive. In fact, I still got the card. Hold on a minute while I go get it.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Lucky and hit the mute button. “Brother, I love you, but I’ll kill you myself if you sent the kid drugs. He nearly died!”
Lucky knew better than most the effects of a heroin overdose. He’d rounded up enough bodies in his time with the SNB. But he hadn’t dealt with anything as base as heroin during his own drug trafficking days, only pharmaceuticals. “Think about it. Would I spend close to a thousand dollars on the twerp’s birthday?”
Her scowl eased up. “Not saying you’re cheap or nothin’, but no, you wouldn’t.”
Daytona came back on the line. “Got it.” Was that a sniffle? “It says, ‘I know I shouldn’t encourage your vices, but here, knock yourself out.’”
What the fuck?
***
Lucky lay back on the couch, vision going a little black. Sure, he’d sent his brother birthday presents. He’d sent them to all his family members. But not drugs. Never drugs. His cheap nature might be the only thing keeping him from dying for real at his sister’s hands—that and Victor’s unwillingness to hand over large amounts of cash.
Addressed to Daytona, at school, Lucky’s handwriting on the card. Lucky whispered, “Ask if he still has the package, showing his address.”
“You didn’t keep the package, but any chance, did you?” Charlotte nibbled her lower lip.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Damn.
“Thanks, Daytona. I appreciate you telling me. Now I gotta go. Love you, kiddo.” Charlotte snatched her phone off the coffee table and gave Lucky the evil eye. “Start talking.”