Blood Love

Now: Day 3

As expected, since hearing Hayley's voice, he didn't sleep a wink that night. He had to bide his time and wait. That was the worst part; the waiting. Every minute, every second, something could be happening to her, and all he could do was twiddle his thumbs and hope he wouldn't be too late. It was enough to drive a man insane.

             Still—still—all he had was a broken address to nowhere.

            What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

            Around two that morning he slumped on the bed, beer in his hand, vacantly watching some trashy movie on the cheap TV. He didn't want to watch it. Didn't even know what he was watching, exactly. He just needed the distraction. Needed his mind off Hayley and their child and the danger he had put them in.

            Your child.

            Your own flesh and blood.

            It was still weird. Still foreign. For someone like him who hadn't expected to live passed twenty-two, who faced the prospect of reaching thirty, and now the potential of a family . . .

            Overwhelmed. He was overwhelmed.

            The night crawled by. He burned through an entire six pack and contemplated heading out to buy another, but changed his mind. Then there was only the TV, and maybe it was all in his head, but every single program that air reminded him of her, or his failure, or his guilt, and he couldn't stand it.

            In a fit of helpless rage, he shoved the television set to the ground and delighted in the crackling pop as it fizzled and died. He released his rage on the wall, denting the cheap plaster, but bearing the brunt of the impact when he reopened the weeping wounds on his knuckles. Whatever. Whatever. Pain was enlivening. Pain was better that nothing. And for everything he did, for everything that might happen . . .

            He deserved it.

            In fact, he wound his arm back for another go when someone knocked on his door.

            He stopped, lowered his fist, grabbed his gun and braced himself. He hoped to God it was somebody he could shoot. Jason was in the right kind of mood to shoot an asshole.

            But when he peered through the peephole, the reality was worse.

            He yanked open the door as far as the latch would allow, and glared at the red-headed man on the other side. "Leave."

            "Jason—"

            "No. Get out of here. Go."

            Ricky's eyes narrowed, wholly unimpressed. "Uh, how about no way in hell? In case you forgot, she's my sister, and I'm gonna help get her back."

            "I don't need your help."

            "No, but you should want it. Look what's happening to you, Jason. In therapy we call this a 'relapse'. Hayley wouldn't want that."

            You hear that? She wouldn't want that.

            Wouldn't want you.

            He shook the thoughts from his head and undid the latch, opening the door. Ricky sauntered in. It actually physically hurt to look at his red hair and think of her and have the numbness sweep over every nerve ending in his body.