Lie to Me (32 page)

Damian stood in the middle of the dusty room and looked around, scowling. He hated Alex’s cramped apartment. His twin wasn’t the neatest person in the world. Easels and painting canvasses were scattered all over the small, cluttered apartment. He shook his head.

Alex wasn’t in his good graces today, his apartment’s chaos notwithstanding. He’d been bugging him nonstop about Casey. Hell, he didn’t need that. Not now. Not ever.

Hell, he should bust out of here and give up, walk to the nearby tavern.

He gave it serious consideration, but didn’t move. Finally, the effort of not going made him feel tired. Spotting Alex’s lumpy green sofa on the other side of the room, he maneuvered himself through the various obstacles in his way, heading toward the one uncluttered spot where he could lie down.

Damian had almost reached his destination, when suddenly his toenail snagged on an unexpected hole in the rug. He lost his balance and couldn’t regain his equilibrium. The knee of his bad leg slammed into the hard floor, and he landed on his belly. Shards of glass exploded inside his vulnerable leg and pain overtook all of him. He would have cried out if he could have. The fall had winded him too and he felt nauseous and breathless as well as bathed in agony. He lay there, certain he’d pass out, wishing to pass out.

He didn’t. After a few minutes, in spite of an inability to suck in a good lungful of air, he grabbed the edge of the sofa, and used his arms to pull himself up. He felt like he’d scaled a mountain as he collapsed onto the cushions, rolling to his back. The arm of the sofa cushioned his head, none-too-gently, and his legs stretched over the arm on the opposite side of the sofa.

Damian’s damaged leg screamed at him, sending signals of sharp pins and needles sticking him from the inside. Had he fractured the damn thing again? He didn’t think so, but, crap, it hurt! Grimacing, he tried to massage his thigh the way Casey did. Of course, he couldn’t do the job as well as her. The only thing that did the trick for pain as well as her was a bottle of whiskey…

The door shoved open and Damian didn’t bother stirring. It had to be Alex; no surprise.

“You all right?” Alex’s voice sounded both alarmed and exasperated. “Hey, you knocked over my latest canvass!”

“Pardon me for tripping on your crappy rug!” He dropped his arm, and let his gaze drift toward the doorway…and his breath caught.

Casey stared at him, her shoulder bandaged, her arm in a sling, but, most strikingly, her dark eyes filled with horror. “Damian, your leg!” She made a move toward him, but he put up a hand.

“Don’t! I’m fine.” He almost laughed at the lie, then, as he focused on her bandaged arm, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. He wished he could grab her and kiss her all over, offering her the moon if she wanted it; anything to make up for his misdeeds. As if he could ever do enough. His throat tightened. A drink. A drink, several, would blot out his shame. “I’m sorry that Reese shot you.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Her face grew soft.

“Right. What are you doing here?”

She ignored his question. “You look like hell! I’m coming over to check your leg.”

“Please don’t.”

“You’re pale and trying to hide the pain. Sorry, this is
me
. You can’t fool me, Damian.”

She went to him and he felt too weak to protest. She worked well with one hand, as she gently slid his pant leg up and ran her soft palm along his leg. It calmed the throbbing. He exhaled, eyes shut. Next she felt his thigh through his jeans. “I don’t think you broke anything,” she said, with a deep sigh of relief.

“I didn’t. Now go away.” His words almost killed him.
A drink…

“No!”

“Don’t worry about me.” Oh, God, he loved when she worried about him, but she needed to head for the hills, far away from him. Her bandaged shoulder reminded him of his toxicity to her. He always managed to screw up her life. “Worry about yourself, and healing.”
Just one drink. Please…

Ignoring him, Casey sat on the sofa, then, with only one arm, lifted both of his muscled legs off of the cushions. Before he could gasp in pain or shock, she had slid underneath him and placed his calves and feet on her lap, smiling over at him. He was too flabbergasted at both her strength and skill to smile back. Nor did he feel like smiling.

Without another word, she started massaging his leg with her soothing, hot palm, and he let out a breath of relief. She knew how to heal him; no doubt about that. He was happy to be near her, to feel her. It could be the last time. It
would
be the last time. Only his sore leg kept him from trouncing out of the apartment and going to that tavern…

“How’d you move his leg without him hurting so bad he cussed and yelled?” It was Alex who asked Casey, sounding awed.

“Extreme motivation,” she said, circling his hurt leg with her gentle hand.

“She’s amazing, Damian,” Alex said.

Yes, she was. Way too amazing for him. How the hell
had
she managed to lift his heavy legs and not even hurt his injured one? And, oh, he loved his legs resting over her soft lap; her fingers smoothing his pain…

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his cold inflection attempting to scare her off. “I’m trouble. Don’t you understand? You almost made me forget why I’d disappeared from your life the first time. Reese reminded me, and you’re lucky she did.”

Casey continued kneading his thigh to his calf. “You can’t keep me away. I won’t let you.”

Damian made a noise that sounded like a mangled laugh. “Darlin’, I’m going to drink again.”

“Sure about that?” Alex asked as he shut the door. For the first time, Damian noticed he held a brown paper bag in one arm.

Damian tried to concentrate on Alex and his bag, rather than Casey and her alluring, seductive presence. Unfortunately, he couldn’t ignore the way her fingers worked on his aching leg. It drove him crazy. He again attempted to divert himself. “Reese gave me vodka, Alex. You have that short a memory?”

Alex sauntered toward the sofa, dodging his painting equipment with skill. “You’re sure you’re going to drink again, aren’t you?” he asked, standing right before him, hugging his brown paper bag.

Damian felt a spasm in his stomach. What was he up to? “The urge is strong.” He refused to meet anyone’s gaze. He stared at his long fingers, intertwined over his abdomen.

A pause in the air seemed louder than a thunderclap and made him feel uneasy. Something was definitely going on, and he didn’t like it.

“Alex, I’m thirsty.” Casey broke the silence. “How about you?”

“Oh, me too,” Alex said, agreeably. “What about you, Damian? You need something to drink?”

“Only if it’s booze.” He narrowed his eyes on his brother.

Alex grinned and reached into the bag. “You’re in luck, bro,” he said, with a bright stare. “Just so happens I bought a six pack—still cold. I’m having a beer, Casey is, and I guess you’re joining us.”

 While Damian gaped at him in shock, Alex handed Casey a beer, forced a can into Damian’s hand, then took one himself and set it on the coffee table beside him. “Be right back,” Alex said. “I’m going to put the rest in the fridge. You can have another one after that, if you like, Damian.” He headed toward the kitchen.

Damian swallowed hard as his eyes traveled to Casey, who pushed the tab of her beer open with a thumb. She flashed him her prettiest smile and raised the can. “Cheers!”

Damian could feel his mouth hanging open. He forced it shut. “What’s going on?” He managed to spit out the words as she took a sip. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you drink.”

“I stopped for your sake when you started to drink heavily,” she said with a shrug, “but, since you’re going to start again anyways, it’s depressing to drink alone, isn’t it? I’ll join you. So will Alex.” She took a sip, and then set the can on the coffee table before her.

The cold can in Damian’s palm felt heavy. And enticing. But he made no move to open it, even though his body begged for it.

Alex emerged from the kitchen with an open beer can in his hand. He found a hardback chair, turned it backwards, plopped down on it and took a few sips of beer. “Having some with us?” he asked Damian with an easy grin.

Damian could smell the beer from Casey’s can, from Alex’s, and he craved it. Craved it from every cell in his body. It screamed out to him, like an old friend. “You want me to drink?” He looked from Alex to Casey’s shining, dark eyes.

“No,” Casey said, “but if you’re going to drink anyways, it’s better to do it out in the open rather than sneaking.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “This way, if you get plastered, at least we’re around to make sure you don’t fall on your face.”

“Or fracture your leg again,” Casey said, circling his thigh with her magical hand. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t break it when you fell this time, without being drunk.”

He felt his heart accelerate. Behind her lighthearted comment, he felt her shuddering. He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to put down the can.

His gaze fell to the red and silver can in his hand and he saw his hand shaking. How could he not drink with Alex urging him on and Casey not stopping him?
Damn near impossible!
So why didn’t he rip off the tab and indulge? What the hell was holding him back?

But he knew why, and it shocked him that he could think rationally with the refreshing liquid oblivion within his grasp. He knew that one sip would destroy all of his progress, and he didn’t want to go back. With all his strength, he realized he was fighting it. He’d given in so easily in the past, and it would be easy to do it again, but he clenched his teeth, tensed his muscles, and resisted.

“You don’t want any?” Casey asked, casually.

“I
do
.” He could taste it already, feel it going down, remember how it made him feel…of course, there were the blackouts afterwards…

A loud rapping on the door interrupted his thoughts. Damian didn’t feel any curiosity about the new arrival. He had other things on his mind.

“Door’s unlocked!” Alex called. “Come in!”

The door opened and a familiar voice said, “Hi. Thought I’d stop by before work.”

Shit.
Damian shut his eyes. Another party heard from.

“Come in, Dad,” Alex said, his voice solicitous. “Glad you stopped over.”

“What is this, a family reunion?” Damian glanced over his shoulder as Michael, dressed in a gray suit and tie, stepped inside.

“Beer, Dad?” Alex asked.

“No, I can’t.” He paused and leveled his gaze on Damian’s. “It’s good to see you out of the hospital and clearheaded.” He enunciated the last word slowly.

Damian’s gaze immediately flew to his beer can. “Thanks,” he said, swallowing hard.

“Don’t feel bad about the beer,” Michael said, in an expressionless voice. “I’ve seen you with liquor before.”

Damian hadn’t cared in the past. Today he cared. He sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t open it,” he said, wondering if anyone had heard his mumble.

“I see that. Maybe you won’t.”

Damian continued to stare at the damn can. He’d never noticed how ugly it was before. “You should have a drink, Dad,” he said, still scrutinizing the offensive can. “Your having a beer won’t influence me one way or the other.” He remembered how his Dad had loved his booze. Why deprive him because he thought his drinking would force alcohol down his own throat? He felt his features tightening.

Damian heard shuffling against the rug and turned. His father was walking toward him, his mouth pressed into a taut, straight line. He stopped right before the sofa and gazed down at him, reminding Damian of when he’d been a child and had thought his towering father was a giant.

“Since the time I saw you veering down your mother’s path—I couldn’t drink.” Michael’s eyes raked over the can in his hand and he frowned. “I hear you found out the truth about your mother.”

Damian nodded, feeling a small wave of nausea.

Michael sighed and shook his head before he spoke. “Such a waste. The two of you are so alike, Damian. Or were.” He paused and coughed once and Damian felt a lump forming in his throat. “A better person than your mother didn’t exist. She had the heart and soul of a saint. So do you.”

Damian turned his head toward the sofa cushions, as the lump almost choked him. “That’s not true, Dad. Alex does, not me.”

“Both of you do, Damian, but you also have your mother’s addictive tendencies and that destroyed her. Killed her.”

Damian shuddered inside and nodded.

“I’m sorry you boys never knew your mother. Only Sam has—distant memories. And me.” He paused and Damian wondered if Michael needed to collect himself; if he was all choked up like himself. Finally, Michael spoke again. “When your mother was pregnant, she’d quit, and I’d always have the utmost hope that she’d stay sober.” He half-heartedly shrugged. “It never lasted. I tried. I kept booze out of the house. Only drank at bars, never around her. Sent her to the best places for help. She would be all right for a while, but—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing worked.”

Damian felt a quiver in his gut as he watched a transformation overcoming his normally intimidating father. He looked so sad—sad and old. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice flat and depressed. “I wish I’d known her. I wish—” If he went on, he’d lose it, so he shut his mouth.

His father didn’t seem to hear his distress. “Nothing has been the same for me without her. She was the one love of my life for so many years. It took me until now to find another woman I feel I can love.”

Damian shot his gaze to his father’s. “I’m glad you finally did find somebody else.” He knew he never would. Casey would always be the only one for him.

“Thank you. I still miss your mother though. I always will. Annie understands, bless her.”

The room stilled and Damian felt all sorts of maudlin, sappy emotions. He didn’t say a word for fear his voice would betray him.

“You know,” Michael said his words sharp enough to stab him. “As hard as it was to lose your mother and that about killed me, it would be worse to lose a son.”

Damian thought of Miles and suddenly slammed the beer can on a rickety coffee table right beside him. He thought he heard collective sighs of relief.