“My thoughts exactly. Where’s your lady?”
“She wanted to come but said she couldn’t do another funeral.” Kodiak met Tate six months ago when her mom passed away and I don’t blame her for skipping this one. I nod.
“Y’all headed back to the clubhouse for the wake?” Moose asks and I shake my head.
“I gotta go try and find my brother.”
Kodiak sighs and I shake my head.
“Don’t fucking start with me.”
“You’re killing yourself with this and he doesn’t even care, Smith.”
“I said “don’t”,” I grumble even though he’s right. Clay doesn’t care that his addiction is eating away at me just as much as it is him but what else can I do? Abandon him?
“Just give it a break. At least for today,” he reasons and I shake my head.
“Can’t. Tell Rodriguez I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” I say as I back away from them. No one tries to stop me as I walk to my truck and once I’m inside, I lay my head against the headrest and take a deep breath.
My phone buzzes with a text and I dig it out of my pocket.
Quinn:
Thank you for last night.
I smile, my stress melting away for a second as I type out my reply.
Me:
Pretty sure that’s my line.
When can I see you again?
Instead of waiting for her reply, I decide to get my search over with so I can hopefully stop by and see Quinn and Brooklyn tonight. On my list of to-dos, that is the only thing I really want to do.
I pull away from the cemetery as the rest of the guys climb on their bikes and I turn toward Clay’s favorite place to get high, hoping I don’t have to search too hard tonight. Kodiak’s statement keeps repeating in my head and the more I think about it, the angrier I get. I know that he’s absolutely right. Clay doesn't care about anything but the drugs. It is his sole focus and nothing else matters, not even me and each night I go out searching for him, I want to throw in the towel. Why am I killing myself when he doesn’t give a shit? But I know if I gave up and he died from an overdose, I would never forgive myself. Sometimes, though, that just makes me hate him more.
Pulling into the parking lot of a dingy old bar on the outskirts of town, one of Clay’s favorite hang-outs, I park my truck in the back of the lot and smash my fists against the steering wheel again and again until my hands drop weakly into my lap. As I look up at the door to the bar, I consider leaving and never looking back but something, maybe my guilt or the fear of being completely alone, keeps me moving forward. With a heavy sigh, I turn off the truck and climb out. There are a few people hanging out around the entrance but other than that, the lot is quiet. No one would come to a place like this unless they were looking for trouble. Which is exactly why Clay likes it.
As soon as I walk in, I want to turn right around and leave but I press on, working my way into the smoke-filled room as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. A painfully thin woman glances up at me from behind the bar and I nod.
“Clay here?”
She points to the back room and I mutter a “thank you” as I pass her. As I step into the back room, I stop and take in the scene, my stomach turning at the bodies draped over every available surface - their eyes glassy and vacant.
Jesus Christ.
My gaze drifts to the corner of the room and I release a breath at the sight of Clay curled up in a chair. His hair is greasy and it looks like he hasn’t eaten anything since he walked away from me four days ago. Sighing, I run my hand through my hair before making my way across the room and crouching down in front of him.
“Clay?” I whisper, shaking him a little and his head slowly turns to look at me but his eyes are empty. There’s a pipe in his lap and I shake my head as I grab it and set it on the coffee table behind me as a deep, aching sadness takes hold of me. How did everything go so wrong? How did we end up here? Pushing down my pain, I put my hands around my brother and pull him out of the chair. I try to encourage him to support his own weight but it becomes clear fairly quickly that he can’t and tears burn my eyes as I lift him into my arms and turn toward the door.
“Luke,” he whispers, his eyes drifting closed and I jostle him to keep him conscious as I carry him back into the bar.
“Yeah, I’m here, bud. Stay with me.”
He opens his eyes and licks his dry, cracked lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure him and his eyes close again. It’s dark when I step outside and once I get him to the truck, I buckle him into the passenger seat and press my fingers to his neck to check his pulse. I release a breath when the steady beat of his heart pounds against my fingers and I drop my head, a mix of relief and anger flooding my body. I’ve gotten so used to this, so accustomed that I’d forgotten how fucked up it was to spend my night hunting the city for my drugged out brother. It wasn’t until I met Quinn that I was able to look at this all with new eyes and it makes me sick.
Glancing up again, I stare at his face as I try to decide where to take him tonight. Usually, we’d go back to the clubhouse but I don’t want to interrupt the wake and I’m in no mood to be around a bunch of people right now. That only leaves one option but it’s one I’ve been avoiding. With a sigh, I push off the truck and slam the door before rounding the front and slipping behind the wheel. He doesn’t even stir as I fire the truck up and pull out of the parking lot.
As I drive toward Iris’s house, I try to think of what I’m going to say to her, how I’m going to explain all this but I know no matter what I say or how I say it, she’s going to be disappointed in me and that kills me. I’ve failed at protecting my brother and I certainly don’t need her to tell me that but I also know that I can’t do this alone anymore.
Her house is dark as I pull into the driveway but as I turn the truck off, the front porch lights turn on and Iris steps out of the house, clutching her robe around her.
“Lucas? What are you doing here so late?” she asks, squinting into the darkness as her voice drifts in through the open window. I open the door and climb down.
“I need your help.”
Her gaze darts to the passenger seat. I don’t know how well she can see Clay through the windshield but after a moment, she nods and I walk around to the other door and yank it open. Clay opens his eyes for a second before they drift closed again and I lift him out of the truck.
“Oh my god,” Iris breathes as I step around the front of the truck with Clay’s body in my arms and she runs over to me, fear marring her pretty face. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s high,” I answer, my voice lifeless as I continue walking to the front door and her soft gasp drives a stake through my heart. She’s stunned but after a second, she catches up with me and holds the front door open for me as I carry Clay into the house.
“Take him to his old bedroom.”
I nod and turn toward the hallway, leaving her in the dining room. Clay’s room is just as he left it and I guess that makes sense since neither one of us technically moved out. I lay him in his bed and pull the covers over him before checking his pulse again. His heart is still beating steadily and I sigh as I step away from the bed and leave him to sleep.