Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(102)

“He was burned today in a fire. You’re missing the point! And you reek of beer.”

“I spilled some.”

“I cannot believe you came here drunk.”

“I took a cab. While you were toughing it out alone at the hospital, I was still trying to give that stupid presentation, when I should’ve been with you. But you would never call me, would you? You’d never let me help.”

“You’re the cause of this problem.”

“I said I was sorry. I am sorry. But Jess, I have to say I think you’re the one missing the point.”

She got very, very still. Connor was not so drunk that he didn’t recognize this was not a good sign. “Oh, well, then please, illuminate me, because you must know I love when a drunk person gives me a lecture.”

Well, he was in it now. Might as well go for broke. He took a deep breath. “I think you need to let him go a little bit. Let him do things without you watching all the time?”

“So you’re an expert.”

“I’m not. But he actually can cook. With supervision, yes. And today, all by himself, when confronted with a crisis, he took care of it.”

She just glared at him.

What the hell. He was f*cked now, might as well go for broke. “Have you ever considered that maybe instead of him needing you, you’re the needy one here? That you get more out of this than he does? That if you’re not Davey’s savior, then you just have to be a person like the rest of us?”

She slapped his face. Hard. It stung. He closed his eyes and smiled. “You’ve been wanting to do that for twenty years, haven’t you?”

“All I have to say is, it’s a good thing I slept with half the fire department, because they were here in two minutes.”

“Ah. So you’re Jessica Does again, is that it? If you sleep around, then your brother will be safe.”

“That plan sure worked better than having a boyfriend.”

Ouch. The old broom handle through the chest, once again.

“And by the way, Dr. Phil, it’s a little ironic to be lectured about emotional health from someone who’s barely spoken to his father in twelve years. Just saying.” She went to the kitchen sink, her back to him. “You can go now.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING for some inexplicable reason, someone was banging on Connor’s door, and the door felt hardwired to the surface of his brain, which seemed to have electrodes suction-cupped there, shooting pain into the deepest recesses of his cerebellum and down into his spinal cord.

The word, he believed, was hangover. He’d never had one before.

He had one now. Hail Mary, did he have one.

After Jess kicked him out, he’d walked home. Colleen had called and he’d told her he didn’t want to talk, and then he’d turned off the phone to make sure she didn’t call back, then decided a couple more beers seemed like the solution for everything.

“Connor!” his sister yelled now. “Get your ass out here!” She must be the cause of the horrifing banging. If he had the strength, he would strangle her.

He rolled over and fell right off his bed. Lady Fluffy barked, and Connor flinched. “Never do that again, puppy,” he whispered.

God, he felt sick. Bad dreams about fire and being unable to find Jessica’s house had haunted him all night long.

“Con! Come on!”

Pulling himself up made the headache worse. Fluffy danced around his feet, trying to kill him, and barked again, which definitely would kill him. He went to the front door, wincing in pain. His brain felt like a pulsing jellyfish of hate and poison.

“Shh,” he whispered, opening the door for his sister. “You look nice.”

Her eyes opened wider. “Our mother is getting married today,” she said.

“Oh, shit.”

“And you’re hungover. Oh, man, I knew I should’ve come over last night.” She turned to Lucas, who was sitting in his car on the street. “He’s got a hangover!” she shouted, making Connor yelp in pain.

“Coll! Please.”

Lucas got out of the car, then opened the back door and lifted out the car seat. “Work your magic, Colleen,” he said. “Wedding starts in an hour.”

“You are so pathetic,” Colleen muttered, pushing her way in.

“Yes.”

“All right. I have a cure, of course. I’m a bartender. I’m the bartender, and you are very lucky to have me.” She stomped into the kitchen. Was she wearing tap shoes? Iron-soled work boots?

“Morning, Connor,” Lucas said. “Sorry to hear about Jessica.”

Yeah. His chest still felt crushed and broken and ruined. He looked down, half expecting to see a smear of ventricle on his shirt.

His baby niece blinked up at him. “Hi, Izzy. Who’s my best girl?” She spit up in response. From the kitchen, the sound of the blender nearly sliced his head in half.

“You do not smell good, my friend,” Lucas said. His brother-in-law wore a navy suit, white shirt and red tie.

“You’re a very handsome man,” Connor said. It was true.

“He’s still drunk, mia,” Lucas said.

“You don’t say,” she called.

“Why are you both yelling?”

“Drink this, loser,” Colleen said, swishing into the foyer in her long dress. She handed him a foamy drink. “How’s Davey?”