Nobody’s Hero (22 page)

“Texas Hold’em.”

“Poker? You lost that much money playing poker? Who were you playing with, the mob?”

Ray rubbed absently at the tiger tattoo on his arm. “There’s this underground club, a moving poker tournament. At first it was cool. I got an invite. It’s completely elite, and
I
was invited. It was the coolest thing. It was a two-hundred-dollar buy-in and the first night I left with eight hundred dollars. The second tournament, a couple of weeks later, I won twelve hundred dollars. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“Let me guess, your luck ran out.” If Danny weren’t lying in the hospital, Brad would almost have found it amusing. Hadn’t Ray ever watched television or read a book?

“Yeah.” Ray pulled into the driveway at the Ortegas’ house. He closed his eyes and slumped in his seat. “They let me borrow the money to keep playing. I was so sure I could make it back, that it would just take the right hand.”

“And now you owe ten thousand dollars.”

Ray nodded.

Brad angled in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you telling me this?”

“When Danny fell off the roof, I knew it was supposed to be me. I thought Danny would die and it would have been my fault.” Ray’s eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been crying, but there were no tears at the moment. “He almost died because I got in over my head. The worst part, now that we know Danny will be okay, is even after this, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Mamá and Papá don’t have that kind of money. Maybe if I borrowed from all of my relatives I could scrape it together, but, Jesus, ten thousand dollars.”

Brad didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have any answers to give the older boy. And knowing Ray was responsible, however indirectly, for Danny’s injuries pissed him off. Part of him hoped Ray wallowed in guilt for decades.

“Don’t tell Mamá or Papá, please.” In his agitation, Ray grabbed Brad’s arm, gripping along the gauze that covered his scrapes—his own memento from Ray’s stupidity.

Brad jerked his arm free, hissing at the sting. “You’re going to have to tell them. If you have any chance of getting the money you need to pay off the thugs who are after you, they’re going to need to know.”

“I know. But...I want to wait until they’re not this keyed up about Danny.”

“Have you considered going to the police? I’m assuming an underground gambling club is probably illegal. You didn’t go to one of the casinos, right?”

“No, the tournaments weren’t run through one of the casinos. And I can’t go to the police. If they were willing to shoot me off a roof because I owe them money, what would they do if I narked on them?”

“Why would they shoot you off a roof, though? If they’d killed you, you couldn’t have paid them anything.”

Ray sighed. “That’s why they used a paint gun. They wouldn’t have wanted me dead, but they for sure wanted me to know how easy it would be for them to get to me. Or one of my family.”

Ice cold inside, Brad opened the truck door and jumped out of the jacked-up truck. “You’ve got a week before I go to them. And if anything happens to anyone else, they’re going to hear about it. From me. You need to man up and take responsibility for your actions.” He slammed the door behind him and went to his apartment without looking back.

Brad spent the evening on his couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to process the events of the day. Danny had fallen off the roof. Brad had nearly followed him off. And all because Ray owed money to some assholes who ran an underground poker game. It was something out of a movie. Except real people got hurt when they fell off a roof, unlike stuntmen with a trampoline to break their fall.

Night fell and Brad didn’t bother turning on the light. Usually when he felt like this he’d go run for a few miles, but he couldn’t summon the energy.

A quiet knock sounded from the door. It was so quiet at first, he thought he’d imagined it. When it came again, he struggled into a sitting position and then to his feet. He opened the door and looked down to see Veronica there, a foil-covered plate in her chubby hands.

“I’m bringing you supper.” She pushed the plate at him.

It looked like it would slip out of her hands at any moment, so he took it from her.

She said something he couldn’t quite decipher, but her face was easy to read. “You want to come in?” he asked.

She grinned and ran to the couch and jumped onto it.

The smell of the food reminded his stomach that he hadn’t eaten since the PB and J at lunch, which seemed like days ago. He peeled the foil back to see grilled chicken with rice and beans. “Did your mom make this?”

“Yep. You’re ‘sposed to eat.” She bounced in her seat.

His stomach growled in agreement. He grabbed a fork from the counter by the sink and settled on the couch next to Veronica. She sidled up next to him and rested her head against his arm. She tugged at his sleeve and he looked down at her.

“Unca Danny’s hurt.”

Brad put his fork down. Her big dark eyes were serious and looked on the verge of tears. “Oh, hey, you don’t need to worry about him. He’s going to be fine. The doctors have patched him up and he’ll be home tomorrow. I bet he’ll have a cast you can sign for him.”

“You saved him?” She stuck her thumb into her mouth while she waited for him to answer.

“I tried.” He picked up his fork again, but his appetite had deserted him.

“You’ll make it better.” She looked at him as if she had no doubt he could swoop in and save the day. But it was too late. Danny was already hurt and nothing he could do was going to fix him up.

“I wish I could,” he said, pushing at the beans. His eyes landed on the envelope on his desk. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thrown the plane ticket away after his mother had left, but there it was, crisp and white, next to his laptop.

An idea formed in his head. He couldn’t do anything to make Danny better, but maybe there was something else he could do. He reached for his phone and dialed before he had time to talk himself out of it. On the third ring, it was picked up.

“Hello, Mother. I want to make a deal.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They finally released him from the hospital the next afternoon. Danny was groggy and crabby and his arm throbbed like a bitch. He’d spent the morning in X-ray and then got his arm casted. He was lucky, the doctor told him, it had been a nasty break but it was clean. They were able to set the bone and put a cast on it. They didn’t think he’d need any kind of pins or reconstruction. Danny had them wrap the cast in neon green and fluorescent purple, an eye-searing combo that made him smile, or would if it didn’t hurt so much.

The painkillers they gave him took the edge off the pain, but even the slightest movements made his arm explode in agony. His head didn’t fare much better. His brain throbbed like it was too big for his skull. Probably the effects of the drugs, but the small amount of energy it required to be wheeled out to the parking lot and ushered into Mamá’s minivan sapped his strength. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for another twelve hours. That, and to see Brad.

Papá had reassured him Brad hadn’t been hurt when Danny fell off the roof—
I
can’t believe I fell off the fucking roof!—
but Danny wanted to make sure, to see for himself.

For the first time in his memory, the house was quiet. Kids and relatives weren’t running around or talking in the kitchen. “I suppose Brad’s working today?” Danny said.

Papá and Mamá looked at each other and some kind of silent communication went on between them.

“No,
mi hijo
, Brad left about noon.” His father kept his voice gentle, as he would if he were telling Danny someone had died.

“Left? What do you mean, left? He left? Where did he go?” He didn’t give his parents a chance to answer his questions; he barged out of the kitchen and into the yard, then stalked up the wooden steps leading to the garage apartment. He ignored the throbbing in his arm and the pounding of his head.

The door to the apartment was unlocked—which was a good thing, since it hadn’t occurred to him to grab the extra key—and Danny pushed the door open without knocking.

The apartment was empty. Brad hadn’t had much stuff, but everything he’d brought with him was gone. The desktop was clear, the wardrobe empty. None of his shower things were in the tiny bathroom. Danny sat on the edge of the bed, which was made with military precision.

He ran away.
He fucking ran away again.

Danny let the anger swell within him. Better the anger than the betrayal. His body hurt enough without adding emotional pain into the mix. He didn’t think the pain pills the doctors gave him could numb his broken heart.

He walked back to the house in a daze, ignoring the worried expressions on his parents’ faces when he crossed the kitchen.

“Daniel,” his father began, but Danny interrupted.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to my room.”

“
Mi hijo
—”

“No! Leave me alone.”

He made sure the blinds were closed over the window and he didn’t turn on the light. He stumbled over a tennis shoe he didn’t remember leaving in the middle of the room and groaned as pain tore through his arm. He kicked the stupid shoe aside and sat down on the edge of his bed. Unlike Brad’s bed, his was not made. The light blanket and cotton sheets were pushed to one side, his pillows in a messy heap at the head of the bed. He stared down at the work boots on his feet. Mamá forgot to bring his regular shoes when she’d brought him clothes to wear home. There was no way those were going to come off without help and there was no way he was going to call for help. “Screw it,” he muttered to himself, and swung his legs up, not caring that he’d probably get smudges on his bedding. He propped his broken arm on one pillow and his head on the other and closed his eyes.

I
can’t believe he ran again.

I
can’t believe he left.

I
can’t believe he left
me.

Danny thought of Brad’s idiotic belief that his ex-boyfriend had been hurt because of him. No doubt Brad saw Danny injured and reached the same boneheaded conclusion. Someday someone was going to have to convince Brad he wasn’t to blame.
Someone else
, Danny’s mind whispered.
It won’t be you
,
because he didn’t stick around to give you the chance.

Unable to stand the thoughts circling his head like vultures, Danny reached for the iPod on the stand next to his bed. He needed some music to distract him. He pushed the tiny power button but nothing happened. Damn it, it had died a couple of days ago and he hadn’t had a chance to charge it yet.

“Argh!” He bellowed and threw the iPod at the opposite wall, getting a savage satisfaction at the pop of sound as it hit.

Gratefully, he succumbed to the effects of the pain pills and fell asleep a few minutes later.

* * *

Two days later, Danny lounged in the living room watching Saturday morning cartoons. None of the cousins or nieces and nephews were there, but it seemed like too much effort to actually change the channel. Though he’d never experienced it before, Danny suspected he was suffering a bout of depression. Or the concussion scrambled his brains. It didn’t matter which. Either way, here he sat. Watching cartoons.

“They were better when we were younger,” Ray said, coming into the living room with a bowl of cereal in his hand.

Danny grunted.

“Seriously, I don’t get the stuff kids watch these days. Like, what’s wrong with the classics?”

Danny rolled his eyes.

Ray set his bowl and spoon on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Look, Danny, I need to talk to you about something.”

Danny tore his eyes from the television. His brother was serious. Muting the television, Danny turned to Ray. “What’s the matter?”

Ray laced his fingers together where they hung between his knees. He tapped his foot in a rapid, mindless way that had his arms bouncing up and down with the motion. “I owe you an apology. A
huge
apology. And an explanation.”

The last time his brother had apologized to Danny, Ray had been ten and Danny nine, and he’d been coerced by Mamá
.
Ray was serious. And sincere. “What are you talking about?”

“The guy who shot you with the paintball, it wasn’t some dumbass kid. It was one of the towny guys I’ve been hanging out with.”

“Why would some towny want to shoot me with a paint gun? Unless it was Rob what’s-his-face, the one with the groping hands?”

“No, not Rob. It was one of his buddies though, probably Blaine. They weren’t trying to hit you, though. They thought you were me.”

His mind went blank for a moment, then understanding dawned. Danny rubbed his head, feeling the short bristles of hair under his fingers.

“Yeah,” Ray said, “with the haircut and from a distance...”

“But why? I mean, why would they do that to you?”

“Like the damage at the worksites, it was meant to be a warning.”

Dread spread through Danny. “What did you do, Ray?”

“I got in over my head.” As Ray told the story of the Texas Hold’em games, his increasing debt and his desperate attempt to bring in enough cash to hold off the game organizers, Danny didn’t ask any questions. He let Ray explain the events leading up to the incident on the roof.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Danny demanded. “Not just to me, but to Brad and Papá
?
The company is in financial trouble, and you’re pawning tools Papá can’t afford to replace. Brad left, he left
me
, because I was hurt, and it’s all because you
gambled?
” Another thought occurred to him. “Oh my God. Brad was right. You really were pimping me out. What, did they agree to shave off some of your debt if I went out with Rob? If I had sex with him?”

“No!” Ray jerked back as if stung. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like, then?”

“I didn’t
sell
you. It... I... They said they’d give me an extension on when the loan was due if I hooked Rob up. Rob had seen you and thought you were hot.”

“Jesus, Ray, that’s not much better!”

“Hey, for all I knew, you two could have hit it off.”

Danny surged to his feet, ignoring the distant throbbing of his arm. “Hit it off? You honestly thought I would hit it off with a guy who was threatening Papá’s company and you? You thought I’d hit it off with some kind of...of
loan shark?
”

Danny paced the room, his head spinning. Part of him wanted to hate his brother, to separate himself from their relationship. He couldn’t believe his brother had been so selfish, so stupid.

Something Brad had said about his brother flashed in his mind.
I
hate him for what he did.
But...I
love him too.
What had Danny said in return?
You can hate someone for what they do
,
but still love the person.
No, Danny couldn’t hate Ray. Even if he deserved it. “What are you going to do? I mean, you still owe them money, right?”

Ray shook his head, not in denial, but in wonder. “Your boyfriend—”

Danny slashed out with his hand, halting Ray’s words. “He’s not my boyfriend. My boyfriend wouldn’t have run away like a fucking coward.”

“You don’t know what you’re—”

“I know I came home from the hospital and he was gone. That’s all I need to know.”

“No it’s—don’t interrupt, damn it—I won’t let you talk smack about Brad. He’s fucking amazing and if he hurt your feelings because he had to fly to—”

“Since when do you stand up for Brad? Aren’t you the one who called him a thieving fag?”

Ray cringed. “I know I did, but I didn’t mean it. I just needed everyone else to believe he was the one responsible for stealing from Papá
.
And I felt like shit for it, so I treated him like shit. But he’s a good guy. Better than you or I could ever deserve.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He gave me the money to pay off my debts.”

“
He did what?
”

“Yeah, all ten thousand dollars. In cash.”

“What the fuck? Where in the hell did he come up with that kind of cash? By God, if my boyfriend robbed a bank or something equally stupid to save your sorry ass—”

“Now he’s your boyfriend? You don’t need to worry. He didn’t do anything illegal. He asked his parents for the money. He said his family is loaded. I told you his jeans were more expensive than a kid working construction could afford.”

“Oh, shit.” Danny closed his eyes and leaned back. “Damn it, Brad.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He doesn’t get along with his family. They tried to get him to fly out for his brother’s appeal...” Danny’s voice trailed off. Of course. The appeal. He’d somehow gotten the money in exchange for attending his brother’s appeal.

“Dumbass Brad and his hero complex.”

“What?”

“His family is messed up. Cold, I mean frigid-cold. His brother’s in prison for trying to kill Brad’s ex-boyfriend. His parents want him to go to some kind of court appeal for him to show a united, supportive family front. They tried to convince him it was his fault his brother and a couple of his friends tried to burn a boy to death. If he weren’t gay, after all, they wouldn’t have had to teach the fag a lesson.”

Horror and disgust laced Ray’s voice. “That’s bullshit.”

“I know that and you know that, but Brad feels guilty all the same. But he had pulled himself away from his family, to try and live his own life without having to deal with their narrow-minded, completely absurd views. And he went back. For you.”

“What are you going to do?” Ray asked.

“What do you mean, what am I going to do? What can I do?”

“Well, you can’t leave him to deal with this alone. I’d go to him, but he’s pretty pissed at me for getting you hurt.”

“You think I should go to St. Louis?”

“Yeah, dude. It sounds like he could use a little support.”

Danny considered his bank account, his work schedule. Then he looked at his cast. He wouldn’t be working anytime soon. Not that work would have stopped him. He was going to go to St. Louis and bring Brad back, even if Danny had to knock him unconscious with his purple-and-green cast to do it.

“I’m going to need some help.”