The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book]

by Lauren N. Sharman

  Never having guessed that his cousin Judd had a single, solitary, emotional or caring bone in his body, Wade was shocked when the man stepped forward and knelt beside the bed. After reaching up and tucking a stray, still-damp curl behind her left ear, Judd then leaned in and kissed his sister's forehead. “Wade is a recovering heroine addict, Georgia,” Judd explained more calmly than Wade thought he was capable of. “He's also a certified drug counselor. He can help you a hell of a lot more than me, Blackie, and Rebel can."

  "But—” she started, only to have Judd cut her off.

  "No ‘buts', Georgia. This is the way it has to be."

  "I'm fine!” she suddenly hollered.

  "No,” Judd said, remaining surprisingly calm, “you're not. You weren't fine when I found you sitting on the floor sick and crying two hours ago, and you're not fine now, no matter how hard you try to convince me that you are."

  Georgia sighed and blinked fast—as if she was trying to fight tears—then lowered her head. Her effort failed, though, as Wade spotted a single teardrop slip down her cheek. “Why can't you guys just help me?” she asked. “I don't need anyone else."

  Judd placed his index finger under her chin, tilting her head up until they were eye level with each other. “Georgia, if the kind of help you needed had anything to do with fixing cars, firing a gun, or making moonshine; you wouldn't need anyone else by your side except the three of us.

  "But Blackie, Rebel, and I don't have any experience with what you're going through, honey. As much as it pains me to admit it, there's not a damn thing any of us can do for you. You need someone who's been through detox and withdrawal. Someone who can tell you that how you're feeling is normal, what to expect next, and how long the symptoms are going to last.

  "The boys and I can't do that, so Wade agreed to do it for us. We want you to get better."

  Judd paused, but Georgia didn't speak. She wasn't crying ... she and her brother were simply staring at each other.

  "We want you to be part of this family,” he continued, “to get to know our wives and kids and all your cousins. You're not ready now, and you won't be until you're better.” Then, in a much harsher voice, he added, “I'm sorry, Georgia, but you don't have a choice."

  Looking a little surprised that the brother she thought would take her side, didn't, Georgia silently nodded, then leaned forward and threw herself into Judd's arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He caught her in a bear hug, resting his chin on the top of her head.

  He kissed it lightly, and whispered, “I need you to promise me that you're going to listen to Wade; that you're going to talk to him. He won't hurt you. And if you need anything, the three of us will be right downstairs. Okay?"

  "Okay,” she whispered back.

  "Good girl.” Judd held his sister against him for another few seconds, then released her and stood. They held each other's gaze for just a moment more before he turned around and walked out the door without looking back. Silently, Blackie and Rebel followed, leaving Wade and Georgia alone in the small, quiet room.

  Unsure of what he should do, Wade moved slowly toward the bed with the intention of sitting down and talking to her. Whipping her head around, she stopped him cold with a look that was more lethal than anything that had ever crossed Blackie's face. “Stay away from me,” she warned.

  Stopping short, Wade raised his hands in the air to let her know that he had no intention of coming any closer. He took a deep breath, sighed, and sat down in the only available place ... which happened to be the floor.

  After hearing about everything she'd been through, Wade had known that dealing with Georgia wasn't going to be easy.

  Hell, who was he kidding?

  Trying to help his cousins’ used and abused sister was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done ... providing he survived it.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 11

  While waiting for her brothers to return to the apartment, Georgia had thought long and hard about the one-sided conversation—no, make that, lecture—the guys had given her when she finished in the shower.

  They'd explained that after the way Judd had found her that morning, they felt like they weren't equipped to handle her problem anymore.

  Fine.

  Great.

  They couldn't help her. She understood that.

  It's not that they didn't want to, they'd explained. They just didn't know how.

  And why would they? None of them had ever been a drug addict. They didn't know how it felt to go through withdrawal day after day, feeling so miserable you didn't care if you lived or died.

  And Georgia had wanted to die.

  She'd had it all planned. It was simple. Jump out the window ... and it'd be all over. No fuss, no muss, and no complicated plan.

  Being dead meant there would've been no more pain.

  She would no longer suffer horrifying humiliation and embarrassment every time she looked in the mirror.

  She'd finally be rid of the constant feeling that everyone who looked at her knew who and what she was.

  Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Georgia realized that if she accomplished what she'd set out to do, she'd miss out on three things that she'd longed to find ever since she found out about them ... her brothers. If she was gone, she'd never get to know Blackie, Judd, and Rebel, or the rest of her newfound family.

  That was why, when she hadn't been able to unlock the window, she'd sat down on the floor and cried. She knew that one of her brothers would find her. And once they did, everything would be all right.

  Georgia figured she'd hit rock bottom that morning, and knew there was nowhere to go now but up.

  After the boys had told her that they were going to find someone to counsel and help her through the rest of her detox, Georgia had actually been relieved. She'd been looking forward to getting advice from someone who'd been there; someone she could relate to and lean on when the going got tough.

  She'd been expecting a woman who'd seen and done it all, someone who could tell her things about her body ... like if and when her monthly cycle would get back to normal, if she'd ever again feel comfortable being around any men other than her brothers, and if she would ever stop feeling so dirty and used.

  Georgia desperately needed answers to those questions, and had been ready to open up to another woman.

  Instead, Blackie, Judd, and Rebel had brought her the last thing on Earth that she'd needed.

  A man.

  It didn't matter that the man was their cousin, or that they trusted him.

  He was still a man, he wasn't her cousin, and she didn't trust him.

  He wasn't coming anywhere near her ... if she had anything to say about it.

  Breaking the awkward silence, Wade cleared his throat. “I promised your brothers I'd try and help you,” he informed her.

  Georgia turned her head to the side and looked down at him. “Why?"

  He shrugged. “Because they asked me to, darlin'."

  Why was he so relaxed? Didn't he care that she didn't want anything to do with him? “Stop calling me that!"

  Completely ignoring her outburst, Wade reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He placed one between his lips and lit up before acknowledging that she'd spoken. “Sorry,” he spat, his demeanor changing instantly, “maybe you'd like, ‘bitch’ better, because that's what you're acting like. You sure as hell ain't a sweet little darlin'."

  Shocked by what Wade had just said, Georgia wasn't sure how to respond. No one had ever called her a bitch before. Had she really come across that bad?

  Never taking his eyes off her, Wade took a long drag on his cigarette and calmly released the smoke in rings. “Well?"

  "No,” she said, hesitantly, “I don't want you to call me ... that. Georgia's fine."

  "Okay, then, Georgia, ever since I cleaned myself up, I sort of have this thing about keeping my word. You know, part of the recovery bit and all.” He paused and look
ed up at her expectantly. But, not understanding exactly what he wanted her to say, all she could do was stare.

  Obviously aware of her confusion, he let her off the hook. “I made a promise to your brothers,” he explained. “They're pretty desperate to help you, and I gave them my word that I'd try. So what do you say we get started?"

  Georgia scowled down at him. “Keeping your word?” she asked with over-exaggerated sarcasm, “is that all this is about?"

  Wade shrugged, this time lifting his hand and running it through his light hair. “Lookit, Georgia, I don't even know you. I came over here at the ass-crack of dawn on a Monday morning as a favor to my cousins.” He paused then added, “And what the hell is wrong with keeping my word?"

  Nothing.

  Everything.

  Oh, hell, she didn't know.

  The only thing Georgia did know was that she now felt like nothing more than a charity case. Sure, she wanted to get better, to unearth the person she was before life as she'd known it had ended with one violent, disgusting act committed by her father.

  But Georgia didn't think Wade would be able to help her with that. Or anything else, for that matter. How could he even want to; knowing that she'd had sex with her own father? No, he knew too much about her. He'd probably already tried and convicted her and would never be able to look at her as anything other than what she was; a dirty, worthless whore.

  Ready to tell him that he was free of his obligation, that he could leave and there would be no hard feelings, she opened her mouth to speak; but wasn't able to get more than two words out. “I don't—” Oh no, she said to herself as a wave of nausea hit her, not now. Please, not now!

  Unfortunately, trying to talk herself out of being sick didn't work. Wade was on his feet and grabbing for the bucket the instant her hand flew to her mouth. He dropped it in front of her as she leaned her head over the side of the bed, and grabbed a handful of her hair just in time to keep it out of her steady stream of vomit.

  When her stomach had settled and she was through embarrassing herself, Georgia took a deep breath and nodded to Wade. He released her hair, and handed her one of the paper towels that had been sitting on the stand next to the bed.

  Mumbling a quick but quiet thank you, Georgia jumped out of bed and raced to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

  After rinsing out her mouth and washing her face, she raised her head and took a good look in the mirror. Georgia stared at her pale, gaunt face. She noticed the circles under her eyes were so dark, that it looked like she had black eyes. Her hair, which used to have so much shine and bounce, was now flat and dull, even though she'd just washed it.

  Allowing her eyes to travel downward, Georgia lifted her shirt and gazed at herself—bare from the waist up—noticing for the first time exactly how thin and frail she really was. The outline of every one of her ribs was visible. Her waist was so small that had she wanted to, she could probably fit her hands all the way around it. But she was afraid to try; afraid she'd really be able to do it ... afraid of admitting to herself just how close to death she probably was.

  There were also black and purple bruises all over her body, caused by nothing other than simply bumping into things.

  After staring at herself in the mirror for a good five minutes, Georgia finally admitted to herself that she looked like death warmed over ... and much older than her nineteen years.

  God, she was miserable.

  Maybe she ought to give in and let Wade try to help her. After all, thanks to her brothers, he already knew everything there was to know about her. He'd been told all the gory details from beginning to end, and even after all that had still been willing to try and save her.

  Releasing her shirt and allowing it to fall, once again covering up her emaciated figure, Georgia opened the bathroom door and walked into the hall.

  On her way back to the apartment, she wondered vaguely what crow tasted like ... for, like it or not, she was now going to have to eat it. And she wasn't even hungry...

  * * * *

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, dragging casually on a Winston and waiting for Georgia to return, Wade looked around the nearly empty apartment. Knowing that one McCassey sibling or another had lived in this room for the past twenty years, Wade wondered if Georgia would live long enough to be the next in line. She looked as bad—if not worse—than any other strung out, half-dead addict he'd ever come into contact with ... including himself.

  There was no doubt in Wade's mind that he was probably Georgia's last chance. Her brothers had told him that she'd been on her way to California when she showed up at the garage. They were so worried about their sister right now; he didn't have the heart to tell them that by the looks of her, she probably never would've made it. Most likely, she would've OD'd somewhere along the way. Three-bag-a-day heroin addicts were playing a dangerous, deadly game with their bodies. As small as Georgia was and as often as she was shooting up, she was lucky she'd survived this long.

  And if she didn't overdose, chances were good that someone would've taken a ‘liking’ to her and that would have been the last anyone saw of Georgia Virginia McCassey.

  Wade had known Georgia was unique from the moment he met her—smartass comments and all. Even as sick as she was right now, she still had spunk. She'd been ready to tell him off, and would have, had her brothers not put a stop to it.

  He didn't know why her actions had surprised him. Blackie, Judd, and Rebel didn't necessarily need alcohol; they could talk a man under the table. Each one always had an answer for everything, and if they were so angry at someone that they were ready to fight, anything and everything was fair game.

  Wade figured Georgia was probably the same way.

  It didn't matter that she hadn't grown up with the boys. She was a McCassey. They were all battle-ready warriors, born and bred. Judging by the hard time she'd given him with her brothers standing there, where they could, and did, reprimand her for her actions, Wade didn't have any doubt that had the boys sent him up to the apartment alone, Georgia's sharp tongue would've ripped him to shreds in minutes.

  She still had fight left in her.

  That was why he already respected her.

  Why he now knew there was a good chance that he could help her.

  She hadn't given up yet, hadn't given in to the pull of a world where she knew she'd no longer be miserable. According to what he'd been told, she'd apparently come close to taking her own life that morning, which was why Rebel had called him.

  Although Wade wouldn't know how close to the truth their opinion was until he actually had the opportunity to sit down and talk to Georgia. There was one thing he knew for sure; she wasn't meant to die a nineteen-year-old heroin addict.

  The sound of creaking wood floorboards outside the apartment door captured Wade's attention, pulling him from his thoughts. He raised his head and looked up just in time to see Georgia, who appeared to be feeling much better than she did a few minutes ago, cross the threshold. Once she'd closed the door behind her, she looked at him, opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it.

  "What?” he said, deciding they could wind up sitting in silence all day if one of them didn't break the ice. “You can't think of a single nice thing to say to me after I not only dragged my ass out of bed to come and see you, but also stood here holding your hair back while you puked?"

  She was walking toward him, albeit slowly, and Wade decided that she was either angry enough about his presence to slap him, or she was going to torture him with silence until one, or all, of her brothers came upstairs and forced her to talk.

  "I didn't ask you to come here,” she stated matter-of-factly, as she passed him and rounded the corner of the bed, climbing onto the mattress at the spot farthest away from him.

  Even though he knew what she'd been through at the hands of both her father and other men, it still surprised Wade that she'd gone to such an effort to avoid contact with him.

  He wondered if being around men was really that uns
ettling for her; or if it was just him who was upsetting her.

  Once she was settled in bed and leaning back against the headboard, Georgia pulled the sheet up until it was covering her legs, then looked at him. “But I'm glad you did."

  Well that was a surprise. So much, in fact, that Wade didn't know how to respond ... so he didn't.

  Georgia sighed and grabbed hold of a handful of the sheet, as if holding onto the material was giving her confidence. “I want my life back, Wade,” she said, staring at him with her royal blue eyes. “I want to be the person I was four years ago: the girl who had friends and was happy, and—"

  Why did she stop? He tilted his head in question. “And what?"

  Her gaze suddenly left his, and was now focused on the bed sheet. “Nothing."

  "Georgia?"

  "Nothing,” she repeated harshly, lifting her gaze to look at him once again. “I just want to feel normal again."

  Wade decided to take advantage of the fact that she seemed to be in the mood to talk, and didn't even bother taking one last drag on his cigarette before leaning over and dropping it into the longneck bottle on the nightstand ... which was already a quarter of the way filled with butts. He smiled to himself; wondering whose bright idea it'd been to recycle the bottle and forego the ashtray.

  Returning to his sitting position on the edge of the bed, Wade cleared his throat. “I was a heroin addict for six years before I went to prison for heroin possession, illegal possession of a firearm, as well as armed robbery,” he told Georgia in a soft voice. “Unlike your brother, Blackie, who didn't really need the money he stole from the liquor store the last time he went to prison, I needed the cash desperately."

  With his eyes on Georgia, who was silently staring at him, Wade continued. “I was shooting up almost four bags a day back then. Things eventually got so bad that I couldn't even enjoy my highs anymore. As soon as I shot up, I'd immediately start worrying about how I was going to get my next fix. I'd lie, cheat, steal ... anything to get my hands on enough money to buy a bag of heroin.