Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(29)

Connor obeyed. His eye was already starting to swell. “It’s okay,” he said to Davey, who was struggling wildly, his feet kicking out at nothing. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Davey screamed in response, and Connor looked a little freaked out. Who could blame him? This wasn’t what most people dealt with.

Jess didn’t have time to think about it. She ran upstairs to the bathroom and grabbed the Xanax, the only thing the doctor would prescribe for Davey’s meltdowns, and liquid Benadryl, hating that it had come to this.

She was drugging her brother.

Davey was still wailing. Kicking, too, from the sound of it. Poor Connor.

Jesus, this was horrible. She ran back downstairs, filled a plastic cup with water. Chico Three was on his little dog bed, chewing a squeaky toy.

She hustled into the living room and knelt down. Her brother was now just breathing wildly, groaning, but still kicking. One time, when their father had missed his birthday, he’d put his fist through a window and needed five stitches.

This was much, much worse.

“I’m going to give you the sleepy medicine, okay, sweetie pie?” she said, feeling idiotic in the face of Davey’s rage. “Then you and Chico Three can take a nice nap. And we’ll watch Batman, okay? The one with the Joker? I love that one. I love the Batmobile.”

She slid two pink pills into his mouth, then held up the cup. He bit it, but it was plastic for a reason. “Drink, honey.”

“I hate you!” He tried to head-butt Connor again.

“Swallow the pills, honey. You’ll feel better.”

“Make him go away.”

“I will, as soon as you swallow the pills, honey.” He obeyed, and she gave him the Benadryl chaser.

She hated herself for medicating him. It was no better than getting him drunk. But it would work. Davey was very sensitive to drugs.

She didn’t look at Connor. Couldn’t bring herself to do that. He said nothing, just held her brother. There was a clear impression of teeth on his arm. Human teeth. Davey had bit him.

It was so f*cking unfair that it worked, that she was reduced to this, to medicating her brother into submission. She felt like an evil doctor doing experiments on a kid.

Davey was wearing his Batman pajamas. That made everything worse. “Don’t let him hurt me,” he said, and Jess couldn’t help the tears that slid down her cheeks.

“I won’t. No one will ever hurt you, baby.”

“Don’t let him kill Chico Three.”

“I won’t. Chico Three is safe and sound, chewing on Squeaky Dinosaur.”

He was getting sleepy. His body lost its stiffness, sinking back against Connor. There was popcorn everywhere, not to mention broken ceramic, a broken coffee table and a smear of blood on the wall from Davey’s head.

“I hate you,” Davey murmured, and Jess had to clamp down the tears that gathered in her throat, because she knew that one was meant for her.

Her brother’s eyes closed, his lashes clumped together from tears. She pressed her sleeve against the cut on Davey’s head. It wasn’t bleeding much. He’d had worse.

“Want me to carry him to bed?” Connor asked. He was going to have quite a shiner tomorrow.

“You’re bleeding, too,” she said, and her throat tightened more. She couldn’t look him in the face.

“I own a bar. It’s good practice for being a bouncer.”

“Don’t joke about this.”

“I’m sorry. Let me bring him upstairs.”

“I can do it,” Jess said.

“I’m sure you can, but I’ve already got him, so why don’t you let me do it this time?” He sounded irritable. Who could blame him?

She hesitated, then nodded. He picked Davey up easily and went upstairs. “First door on the left,” she said, somewhat needlessly, because it would be obvious which room was his.

Worried the puppy would get cut, she picked up the pieces of broken pottery. The Italian bowl was way too shattered to be fixed with glue. As for the little pinch pot Davey had given her for her birthday, well, she couldn’t think about that right now.

Chico Three sat under the table, the squeaky purple dinosaur in his mouth. “Come here, boy,” she said, grateful when the puppy obeyed her. He didn’t seem traumatized now, just waggly and sweet. She picked him up and kissed his head, and the little guy licked her chin.

“Don’t be nice to me,” she whispered, then went upstairs.

Davey was sleeping, the blue plaid comforter pulled up to his chin. Connor stood there, looking down at the boy. His eye was nearly swollen shut.

She set the dog on the bed, and he snuggled right up to Davey’s back, turned in three circles and lay down with a sigh. Jess went into the bathroom, ran a clean facecloth under the cold water and got a Band-Aid, then went back to the bedroom. Wiped the blood away from Davey’s head. Just a small cut, thankfully. No stitches would be needed, but his head would be sore in the morning, that was for sure. She put the Band-Aid on, her throat choked with glass.

“Will he be okay?” Connor asked.

“Yep.” A tree branch ticked at the window. “Connor, you should probably go, okay?”

“Let me help clean up.”

“I want you to go.”

“Jessica, this is—”