The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book]

by Lauren N. Sharman

  "But now you don't?"

  Blackie shook his head. “I don't know what I think, Angel. All I know is that there I was, angry as shit because she'd broken a promise to us, and what did I do? I turned around and broke one I made her.

  "I knew she could relapse. From what I've heard, most addicts do. It ain't like I ain't never made the same mistake more than once. Hell, I went to prison twice for armed robbery."

  Angel backed away and looked up at him. “What are you saying?"

  "I'm sayin’ that I shoulda been more understandin'. Instead of bein’ angry that she was sneakin’ behind our backs—if that's even what she was doin'—I shoulda offered to help her. She needs help."

  "So you do think she's using again."

  He thought for a moment before answering. “Damn, I guess I do. But—"

  "But what?"

  "But that ain't all. That ain't the only reason I got mad. I was disappointed, too. Georgia's smart, Angel. She may look like Judd and have my bad temper, but she's smart. Smart like Rebel. I know she still needs to get her GED, but that girl could go to college; get an education and make somethin’ of herself. It pissed me off that she was willin’ to throw her life away just to get high."

  "And that's why you lost it?” she asked. “That's why you went after her?"

  He nodded. “That's most of it, I think. Pretty fuckin’ stupid, ain't it?"

  "No, not at all. You sound like, well, like a parent who only wants the best for their child."

  "I do want good things for Georgia. No thanks to the old man, that girl has been through hell. Most of all, I just want her to be happy."

  Without responding, Angel simply stared at him.

  "I'm worried, Angel Face,” he said, hearing the pain in his own voice, “not about her, but about me. I ain't never hit a girl. Never. As bad as I've always been, as nasty as some of the women that I've come in contact with have been, I ain't never touched a single one of them. I've yelled and cussed them out and said things ain't no one should ever have to hear, but I ain't never let my rage get the best of me like I did today. No matter how hard I struggled not to explode, I just couldn't keep it together. I don't know what's wrong with me."

  "There's nothing wrong with you, Blackie, you made a mistake, that's all."

  "I hit a girl, Angel! I hit my little sister and drew blood, for Christ's sake! What the hell kind of person does that make me? She ain't never gonna forgive me. Hell, I'll be lucky if Judd and Rebel forgive me. They had to restrain me because I couldn't get myself calmed down!"

  "Your brothers aren't mad at you,” she told him, but he didn't believe it.

  "You're wrong, Angel. Jay was here. He saw the whole thing. He said somethin’ to me about hittin’ Georgia, and I got pissed and gave him a dirty look. Do you know that Judd stepped in front of him and threatened to kill me if I touched his kid? I wasn't gonna do nothin’ to him, Angel, I was just pissed off ‘cause I knew he was right."

  "No one's mad at you, Blackie,” she repeated. “But they're all worried about Georgia. It's cold out, and your brothers said all she was wearing when she left here was a sleeveless shirt. She didn't take any of her stuff with her, either. Everything's still in her room. She has no money, no clothes, and nowhere to go. I'm afraid of what she'll do."

  "You think she'd leave town?"

  "No. I don't believe for a second that she wants to leave her family. It's obvious that she loves us as much as we love her, and that she's happy here. But I do think she's hurting. If she's not using, then she's got to be hurt by the fact that all three of you ganged up on her, and accused her of doing something she's not. No one likes to feel bad, Blackie. Most people do everything they can to avoid it.

  "What I think,” she paused and tucked a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her right ear, “what I'm afraid of, is that she went down to Franklin Street in search of the one thing that kept her from hurting all those years she was being held by Dolan."

  Blackie didn't think it was possible for him to feel any worse, but he was wrong. What his wife was saying, in a round about way, was that if Georgia hadn't been using heroin as of their conversation this afternoon, then there was a good chance she probably was now.

  Back when she began her detox at the garage, she'd told Blackie and his brothers that heroin had numbed her. That when she was high, she didn't have to think about what was happening to her, didn't have to feel the emotions she didn't want to deal with.

  Blackie and his damn out-of-control temper had driven his sister away from her family ... most likely right back into the arms of the drug that had almost killed her.

  If something happened to Georgia before they could find her—whatever it was—it would be his fault.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 24

  In the seven years he'd been clean, not once during his annual March eighteenth trek down Franklin Street had Wade felt an intense urge to get high.

  Until today.

  As he strolled casually up and down the sidewalk in the fading sunlight, Wade buttoned his flannel shirt in an effort to keep warm in the dropping temperatures. As he glanced periodically at the abandoned, drug-infested houses that lined the street, the same questions that had plagued him for the past thirteen years were running rampant through his mind.

  Why had Tommy looked up to me so damn much?

  Why did he have to follow me around and want to be just like me?

  What if I hadn't given my little brother the heroin that killed him two days before his fifteenth birthday?

  As he passed the boarded-up house where he used to meet his dealer, Wade fought that old feeling of anticipation mixed with excitement; the feeling that used to rush through his body just before he shot up. It was, as always, a struggle to pass by without going inside; for even though the house appeared to be abandoned, Wade knew it was inhabited, and that there was a flurry of activity going on just behind the crumbling brick façade.

  But every year, he did it. His willpower won, and he moved on, surviving the self-imposed torture.

  This was the first time since he'd gotten clean—since he realized exactly how many lives he'd ruined the day he'd put a needle in his brother's arm—that he questioned what it was all for. Sure, he'd helped a lot of people over the years. At least he thought he had. But after his parole had ended, he'd continued counseling for purely selfish reasons; feeling as though helping others would somehow erase the fact that he'd been responsible for ending his brother's life before it even had a chance to begin.

  Visiting Franklin Street on the anniversary of Tommy's death—tempting himself with the one thing he knew he could never have—was the harshest way he knew to punish himself for what he'd done. Still, it never seemed harsh enough. Nothing he did was going to change the fact that Tommy was dead, or that Wade was the one responsible.

  This year, his morbid trip down memory lane was twice as painful.

  This year, he was missing more than just his brother.

  He was missing Georgia, too.

  Reluctant as he was to move into McCassey's Garage back in December, he'd enjoyed his time with Georgia. After she'd gone through withdrawal, started accepting his help, and they'd gotten to know each other, he'd realized what a smart, funny, and amazing person she was.

  Once he'd left the garage and moved back into his apartment, he'd realized something else, too ... that he was in love with her.

  Seeing her only once a week for an hour was far more torturous on him than the temptation he was now feeing to get high. Heroin, he could have anytime he wanted. Georgia, on the other hand, was something so far out of his reach that he'd be likely to sprout wings and fly before she looked at him as anything other than the guy who held her hair back as she puked into a bucket.

  To make matters worse, if, on the off chance that she did happen to return his feelings, her brothers—mainly Blackie—would put an end to that ... probably by putting an end to Wade's life.

  But that wo
uld never happen.

  Georgia was better now and had her entire life in front of her. Blackie, Judd, and Rebel were seeing to it that she got her graduation equivalence degree, and Georgia had mentioned that they were trying to talk her into taking some classes at Hagerstown Community College. She had no business keeping company with Wade. She was better than that. He would only drag her down.

  Rather enjoying his self-pity party, Wade continued down the street. The sun had almost completely set, and the temperature was now dropping rapidly. The dealers and junkies hovering in the doorways and shadows of the alleys would soon be seeking refuge in the warmth of the bus station, as he himself had done many times when he was a homeless addict.

  More down on himself than he'd been in a long time, Wade wondered half-heartedly what kind of an effect shooting up again would have on his body. Could he handle it? Would he be able to just use the drug once and walk away? And if not, was a few hours of ecstasy worth throwing away everything he'd worked so hard to accomplish?

  Hardly able to believe what he was considering, Wade stopped in front of one of the houses. Staring at the boarded-up doorway, he knew that all he had to do to get in was slide one of the loose boards to the side. He knew that in a matter of minutes, the same amount of money that bought him lunch everyday would buy him enough heroin to make him forget his troubles ... at least for a little while.

  Mentally reprimanding himself the entire way, Wade took one, two, three steps toward the door. He walked until a shrill scream from somewhere inside the house stopped him dead in his tracks. A scream followed by a voice that was eerily familiar...

  * * * *

  "You've got two choices, honey,” the man told Georgia. “You can either pay cold hard cash, or,” he reached out and seductively ran his hand down her bare arm, “you can have it in trade. Your choice, but make it quick. I don't have all day."

  Fighting the urge to vomit, Georgia shivered as the man's hand ran the length of her arm. She wanted to get high, needed to get high. She craved the numbness that the heroin would give her; needed it to help her forget that she'd just lost her family and any chance she had at a normal, happy life. Her brothers already thought she'd relapsed, so if they happened to find out where she was and what she was doing, they wouldn't be surprised. And if she happened to do too much and overdosed, they wouldn't care. Why would they? Blackie had thrown her out and Judd and Rebel hadn't done anything to stop him. They obviously didn't love her like she thought they had.

  But drugs cost money, and Georgia didn't have any. The dealer she'd found had offered to give her what she needed, but at a price she wasn't sure she was willing to pay. She'd have to have sex with him, and that was something she didn't want to do ... with anyone. She could barely stand the thought of another strange man touching the most intimate parts of her body.

  "Look,” the middle-aged, surprisingly well-dressed man said as he started to leave the room, “when you decide, you come find me. Until then, I have paying customers I need to see to."

  When Georgia realized that he was leaving with the one thing she knew would make her feel better, her decision was suddenly very easy to make. “Wait!” she said when he turned his back to leave, “I'll do it."

  The slow smile that crept across his face gave Georgia the chills. When she realized that there was no going back, she also realized that it didn't matter, because she had nothing to go back to.

  The man, whose name she'd already forgotten, walked farther into the room and came to a stop in front of her. He reached into the vest pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small plastic baggie, and dangled it in front of her. She reached for it, but he yanked it away.

  "Sorry, honey, I have my fun first then you can have yours."

  No way. That wasn't the way it worked and he knew it. “No deal,” she spoke firmly, and turned away. “I can get what I need from any one of a hundred dealers along Franklin Street. I don't need to stand here and play games with you."

  When she started to leave, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Fine,” he spat, shifting her around to face him, “here you go."

  He let go, then shoved the bag, along with a rubber tourniquet, and the other things she needed, into her hands. “You've got two minutes. If you're not finished by the time I come back, that's too damn bad."

  The man slammed the door on his way out, but Georgia didn't care whether he was mad or not. She'd gotten what she wanted, and in a few minutes, he would, too.

  Taking a seat on the mattress, Georgia set everything next to her and inspected it. Then, going through the motions as she had so many times before, she tied the tourniquet tightly around her upper left arm and got to work preparing the syringe.

  When she found a good vein, Georgia took a deep breath, inserted the needle, and emptied the syringe. As the familiar, euphoric feeling washed over her, she pulled the needle out of her arm and dropped it to the floor.

  She had just untied the tourniquet and leaned back onto the mattress when she heard the door open. The man was back, and he wanted payment for what he'd given her.

  It'll be easier now, she thought. Easier to forget about what had happened at Blackie's house, and easier to pay the price for what she'd just done. She was numb, and right now, there was no better feeling than not feeling anything at all.

  On her back with her eyes closed, Georgia was only vaguely aware of her shirt being pushed up to her to her neck and her bra being unfastened. She jumped slightly when warm hands cupped her breasts and rough fingers pinched her nipples, but she put it out of her mind, concentrating on anything she could in order to forget what he was about to do to her.

  Then, suddenly, he let go. Georgia relaxed even more when she felt his weight leave the mattress, and gave in even more to the peace that had spread through her.

  Her eyes still closed, she prayed she would pass out before he decided to do anything else to her.

  The room was silent until, from somewhere too close for comfort, Georgia heard him unzip his pants. Georgia's eyes flew open. When she noticed the man straddling her—his large erection only inches from her face—she suddenly understood what he wanted her to do. “No,” she slurred.

  The man laughed and reached out to caress the side of her face. “Oh, yes, you're going to do it, and you're going to love it."

  The hell she was. He was going to have to kill her before she gave him head. Gathering what little energy she could, she yelled, “No!” and tried to sit up.

  "Get down!” He pushed her and moved farther onto her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. “You'll do as I say, or I'll kill you right here and now."

  She decided that was an acceptable alternative to what he originally had in mind, and gave him encouragement. “Go ahead,” she told him weakly, “kill me."

  He sighed, and Georgia wanted to laugh. He obviously hadn't been expecting that.

  In turn, she hadn't been expecting the hard slap to the left side of her face; the same side where Blackie had slapped her earlier.

  "Stupid bitch!” he yelled, then slid off her chest.

  Georgia closed her eyes again and lay back down. She thought for a second that he was either giving up on her and leaving, or that he really was going to kill her.

  Then she felt his hands close tightly around her ankles and felt her legs being spread apart. Before she could react, his knees were between her legs holding them open, and he was fumbling with the button on her jeans.

  Her eyes opened again, and suddenly, the man she saw in front of her wasn't someone she was paying back for heroin. He was Dolan McCassey, and she was a scared fifteen-year-old kid trapped in the front seat of a pickup truck with a man who'd torn her clothes off and shoved her down onto the seat. She'd screamed back when her father had started raping her, but no one had heard her. Now, they were in a house with other people. If she screamed, there was a good chance someone would hear.

  Doing what she could to struggle against him, Georgia took a deep breath and screamed as loud
as she could, hoping to draw attention to what was going on.

  "Shut up, you goddamn bitch!"

  Georgia's body was tired and lethargic from the heroin, and she was powerless to defend herself as the man tore at her jeans, pulling them down past her knees.

  "Get off of me!” she screamed again, hoping someone, anyone, would hear her.

  "I said, shut up!” he yelled.

  Still struggling, Georgia cringed when the man grabbed his hard member and moved closer to her. Using his arms to prop himself up, he was just about to enter her when the door flew open, ricocheting off the wall with a loud ‘boom'.

  Startled by the sound, both Georgia and the man froze, and turned their heads in the direction of the door. Relief, followed by fear and mortification flowed through her.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 25

  Oh God, oh God. “Wade!” she screamed as he slammed the door closed behind him.

  Wade ignored her and crossed the room in four long strides, stopping only when he reached the mattress. Without saying a word, he lifted his booted foot, kicking the man in the side so powerfully that he actually flew off of Georgia's body and landed on the floor.

  "Hey!” the man yelled hoarsely as he gulped for air, “this is private business!"

  "Nothing's private business when someone's screams can be heard all the way out on the street,” Wade said through clenched teeth as he hauled the man—whose pants were down around his ankles—to his feet by the front of his shirt. “And it sure as hell isn't private business when you're upstairs in an abandoned house with your pants down, trying to stick your dick in an unwilling girl!"

  "Hey, man, she asked for it!"

  After landing a punch in the man's gut, causing him to grunt and once again struggle to breathe, Wade took a moment to spare a glance down at Georgia, who, up until that point, had been too terrified to move. “Get dressed,” he ordered, coldly.

  As she struggled to do as she'd been told, Wade continued to punish the man, landing punch after punch as he held him in the air by the front of his shirt. “She owes ... me ... dammit,” he tried to explain, but Wade never stopped to listen; never even let up.