Between Here and the Horizon(56)

“Fuck you, Crowe,” he spat. “If you don’t want to go, then that’s on you. I won’t live the rest of my life knowing I could have helped and I didn’t. I’d rather burn to death along with those poor bastards.” He shot to his feet, about to take off, about to do something, to act, to help whoever he imagined was trapped inside a truck somewhere, but he didn’t make it more than three feet toward the front door before his knees buckled out from underneath him and that was it. He was out cold.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





Taking Liberties





I stayed the night. I had no other option available to me, unless I was okay with leaving Sully passed out on his living room floor in a pool of his own vomit, which I wasn’t. So I stayed. Thankfully Rose was having a grand old time taking care of the children, so that wasn’t an issue.

It was an issue that Sully kept dipping in and out of consciousness every fifteen or twenty minutes, and he thought I was Magda more often than not. Strangely, he didn’t seem all that happy that I (she) was taking care of him.

“You made your choice, Mags. I told you. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. I…just leave me the f*ck alone, goddamnit!”

His fever broke at four in the morning. He was running with sweat, his t-shirt soaked, so I ran upstairs to find him something clean to change into, and found myself having a surreal, how-can-this-be-happening? moment standing in his bedroom at the foot of his bed. He didn’t have much by way of furniture in his room: a simple twin bed, covers rumpled and turned back (he hadn’t been up here since he woke to see the disturbance down by the beach the night of the storm), a chest of drawers, a three tier bookshelf that was overflowing with books, and a huge black, plastic packing box with Captn. S. Fletcher stenciled on the side of it in gray paint.

It smelled of him up here. Ronan had smelled of Armani Code, Old Spice deodorant, and laundry detergent. Sully smelled like wood shavings and whiskey, and something I could only hope to describe as specifically Sully. There was a pair of socks balled up on top of the chest of drawers, and a book, open and face down on the floorboards beside his bed. “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” He was halfway through.

I found his clean t-shirts folded and stacked methodically by color in the second drawer of his chest of drawers. Grabbing one, I then went on the hunt for a clean pair of shorts for him as well.

Downstairs, Sully was shivering silently on the couch, blanket up around his chin. He glanced up at me standing at the foot of his spiral staircase, blinking with all the solemnity of a pissed off owl. “So you’re still here huh, Lang?” His voice was croaky, no doubt from shouting so angrily at Crowe (me) for hours.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

Sully glanced around his living room, flinching. “Man. I take it I trashed the place and not you?”

“You were delirious. You refused to keep your ass sitting down, let alone lying down. I think you messed up your ribs pretty good.”

“Yeah.” Wincing. Pressing fingertips gingerly against his chest over the covers. “I think you’re right.”

“Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?”

He looked at me uncertainly. “Yeah. If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great.” His tone was soft and almost…almost repentant? Could it possibly be? I never thought I’d see the day when Sully Fletcher might show a little remorse. Or gratitude for that matter.

“No problem. I’ll be right back.”

I made him some toast, too. He’d thrown up another three times while he was feverish, and he could have probably used some food in his stomach right about now. When I took him the plate I wasn’t surprised that he refused it, however.

“Thanks, though. I mean it. I just can’t right now.”

“Do you want to take something for the pain yet?”

A shadow of anger flickered in his eyes. “I said no, Lang. I could be in pieces, bleeding out on the sidewalk, and I would still rather die than take any of that shit. Don’t ask me again.” Looked like he was feeling well enough to tell me off. That was an improvement. “What time is it, anyway?” he asked, trying to turn to look out of the window behind him. I put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s five forty,” I said. “Dawn’s right around the corner. Been a long time since I pulled an all-nighter twice in one week.”

“Such a rebel.” He cracked a smile, and two deep, heartbreakingly perfect dimples formed in his cheeks.

“Yeah. If you say so.” I smiled, ducking my head. “I have to go, Sully. I can’t leave the children for much longer. I was wondering if you’d let me ask you something before I go, though?”

Wariness appeared in the lines of his face. “Sure. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer if I don’t like the question, though.”

“Naturally.” No lying with Sully. Just the point-blank refusal to hand over the information you’d requested. Sounded about right. “While you were burning up, you kept shouting at someone. Someone called Crowe. I just wanted to know who he was.”

Sully went very, very still. For a long moment he held his breath, eyes on me, eyes on the ceiling, and then he sighed, long and heavy. “Crowe was a guy I served with in the army. He was a jerk and a coward. He and I were not friends. That good enough for you, Lang?”