Sway (3 page)

“No. Not at all.” He shakes his head before seeming to think the better of it, and groans. “My head hurts so bad. I need a Tylenol.”

“You need about three of them. But first you need coffee. A big cup. The blacker, the better.” Scott opens the door and we leave the bathroom. Jordon’s nowhere around and I’m annoyed, but then I spot him across the room and see the reason why. He’s chatting up a cute redhead near the dance floor who looks very much into him. Too bad his good time is up.

“Jordon! Get over here.” I don’t even try to hide my irritation.

His head snaps around, his complexion quickly matching the redhead’s hair. He doesn’t look happy, but he listens to me. “What’s wrong?” he says as he walks up. At least he has the decency to look chagrined.

I square my jaw and swallow about a dozen foul words just itching to make an appearance. “I need you to bring your car around. Kimball went and got himself drunk, and we’re going to sober him up before anyone finds out. Think you can peel yourself away from the entertainment and take care of that for me?” My words have a sharp bite and covey a whole lot of implication, but I can’t help it. What started out as a way to help other people has turned into a disaster.

I royally screwed up. And now, thanks to this, I’m royally screwed.

He fishes his keys out of his pocket. “Sure thing. Give me a couple of minutes.” Jordon sprints toward the door, Matt and Scott following behind him. I’m left alone with the slurring, drunk guy. Lucky me.

Kimball’s knees grow weaker by the second, and consequently he grows heavier. Kicking a chair out with my foot, I lower him into it, taking care to stand in place so he can lean on me, knowing that if I move, he’ll drop to the floor. His head will pound uncontrollably tomorrow. He doesn’t need a bash to the skull from the hard concrete floor to add to the pain.

While Kimball snores below me, I scan the room. The bar has grown more crowded; apparently its faithful clientele doesn’t arrive until midnight. It doesn’t take me long to spot the blonde, whom I’ve all but forgotten about in the drunken fiasco. Maybe fifteen minutes have passed since I left, but she’s still sitting at the same table. Yet everything else has changed. Her friends are no longer with her, and she’s been joined by the red-shirt guy. The two of them are drinking, flirting across the table. His arm is draped across her back and his left hand caresses her wrist. She slaps it away and takes another drink, laughing hysterically at something he’s said as beer bubbles over the cup and slides down her chin. The laugh is a little too loud, obnoxious in the sheer magnitude of the sound. He dabs at her chin with a napkin and leans in to kiss her. She leans in too, but just before their lips touch, she abruptly stops. After a moment, her face contorts, like she’s experiencing the world’s biggest headache. Or, like she’s confused.

It’s my first clue that something isn’t right.

Her eyes close for a moment and her body slumps sideways.

That’s my second.

I’ve seen hundreds of drunk people in my life. First-time drunks and long-term drunks, and though nothing about the two are even remotely similar, one thing holds true in both situations, no matter a person’s level of tolerance:

Headaches…confusion…unawareness…none of them
ever
start this early.

The guy whispers something in her ear, but this time she doesn’t crack a smile. He stands up and takes her hands, pulling her out of her chair. She practically lunges toward him and falls into his waiting arms. As he does, a little white pill slips from his pocket and falls to the floor. It skids toward me and I lean down to palm it. Blood rushes between my ears as the old familiar anger sets in.

And this is my third.

Feeling something akin to panic rising up to meet the anger, I search the room. There’s no sign of the friends she came with. There’s also no sign of Jordon, and only Matt is left by the window. Scott, with his low tolerance of the sinful nature of bars, has clearly ducked out already.

My earlier thought comes back with a vengeance. This night was definitely the world’s biggest mistake. Where is everyone?

My heart rate picks up speed as the front door opens and the guy walks through it, leading the blonde in her short dress behind him, not even bothering to slip that ugly pink coat over her shoulders. From behind them, I can make out the faint drift of a light snowfall. It’s cold. It’s cold and dark and isolated and heading straight toward a bad ending, with her in trouble, alone—and to top it off—sick. I can see it now, like a bad novel I’ve read a dozen times and memorized the ending.

God, please
.

It’s the only thing I can think. The only thing I can feel. The only thing I can do.

Until finally Scott walks through the door and makes his way over to me, his head dusted with white, his black coat dripping melted snowflakes onto the concrete floor below him.

“You ready to go?” he asks.

But I barely hear his words.

“Here, take him.” I hand off Kimball and walk away without looking back, knowing time is running out and feeling my gut twist because of it.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Scott yells back, sending my already bad mood plummeting even further.

“Get him in the car! Then figure out the rest!” I swear, sometimes it’s exhausting being in charge of so many people, especially the ones who can’t seem to think for themselves. And though I know Scott is a good guy, and though I know I’m supposed to be here, sometimes I hate it just the same.

“Hey!” I yell as I burst through the front door. Just as I thought, the guy from the bar is stuffing the girl inside a silver Mazda coupe. Just enough of the door is open to see her dark figure splayed across the front seat, completely passed out. He closes the door and walks around the front of the car, either unaware that I’m talking to him, or in a rush to leave before I catch up. I make it to the trunk. “Hey!” I say again, too close to ignore. This time he has to turn. His eyes are flaming arrows shooting straight through me, but I can take it. I’ve taken worse.

“What do you want?” He opens the driver’s door and slips one foot inside as though challenging me to stop him.

So I do.

“I want you to back away from the car.” I look him straight in the eyes when I say it, so I’m a little surprised when he laughs and slides into the seat.

Laughs. Sits down and laughs, which are both completely unacceptable. So I do the thing that comes naturally. Automatically. It’s been five years, but as they say about picking up an old, abandoned habit, it’s like riding a bike. I yank him forward by the collar and slam him into the back door, metal crashing against skin in a familiar crunch. His head snaps forward as his eyes burn a hole into my skull. They’re clear, focused. My suspicions were right. He’s stone, cold sober. “I said, back away from the car. Since you didn’t do it the easy way, I’ll give you a little help.”

I see his fist coming a little too late. It smashes against my jaw, knocking me to the ground. The bone doesn’t break, but it misses a golden opportunity. I think about remaining there when the ground begins to spin, but the sound of the girl’s moan from inside the car brings me back to my feet…feet a lot less steady than they were moments ago. Before I can meet his eye, another blow lands in my gut.

Which totally ticks me off. A familiar adrenaline rush kicks in and I lunge for him; I haven’t been this mad in years.

That bike I’m riding once again becomes a pimped-up Harley Davidson as my fist connects with his face, his jaw, his ribs. I punch anything that moves until his body falls to the ground, only vaguely aware of the words “Caleb, stop!” sounding in the background. But for two more blows, I don’t.

Until the sickening thud of bone meeting gravel brings me to my senses.

Until the arms of Scott and Matt wrap around me and pull me away. Like cold water dumped into a pool of boiling hot rage, my anger fizzles as my eyes meet the writhing form lying on the ground below us. It takes me a minute to figure out what happened…a minute to break through my haze of rage…a minute longer to recall what had me so angry in the first place.

But then it comes back.

“Check on the girl,” I say to Matt, touching the back of my hand to my mouth and drawing back a ring of blood. It’s coming from my nose, I think, though my left eye feels kind of wet, too. Glancing at the guy on the ground, I see that he’s fared worse than me. There’s barely a spot of unmarred skin on his blood-stained face. The thought brings me more satisfaction than it should. Especially when guilt quickly follows.

Dear God
, I whisper under my breath, knowing that for a split second, I let anger control me…the very thing I surrendered years ago. I embraced it. Let it take over. And enjoyed every moment of it.

I hear the car door open and forget about the guy on the ground, then limp my way toward the passenger side. Another moan greets me when I arrive, but the girl only turns and slumps into the console.

“What happened?” Matt asks, with more than a little concern on his face. He looks at me like he’s seeing a stranger…like the past five years have been erased in an instant. In a way, I guess they have. Most of these guys know me as their leader, their boss. In some ways, a saint.

They’re only now seeing the guy who’s danced face to face with the devil.

I nod toward the ground. “He drugged her. I didn’t see the whole thing since I was stuck in the bathroom cleaning up Kimball’s mess.” I glare toward the waiting van where Kimball now sits hunched in the passenger seat. “But I saw enough. He gave her this.” Fishing the pill out of my pocket, I hold it up.

“What is that?” Matt asks, leaning closer toward my fingers. Scott joins him, a look of confusion lining his eyes. What I wouldn’t give to be that innocent, that sheltered. But life didn’t deal me that same hand. Not even close.

Instead of answering, I walk toward the battered guy, now attempting to sit up. He’s groaning in pain, but that doesn’t stop me as I lean down and hold the pill in his face. “Do you want to answer that?” I spit the words out. “My friends want to know what this is.”

In spite of his swelling face, his eyes still manage to go wide. He holds up a hand to block another blow, but I’m way past that. The anger I felt before has been replaced by something else. Something once described to me as a holy fury. The words are right, because even though I could lay my fist into the guy again, I won’t. I’m too eerily calm now.

“Look man, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says.

I lean closer, our faces only inches apart. “Nothing by it. Is that right?” We can both hear the threat in my tone. “You just meant to get her drunk, add a few drugs to her drink to get her good and passed out, then stuff her in your car, and drive somewhere to take advantage of her in peace. Is that the ‘nothing’ you meant by it?”

He stumbles to his feet, clearly thinking I’m one word away from killing him right here. What he doesn’t know is that in another life, I might have.

“Look, just let me go.” He’s walking toward his car, tripping over his leather lace-ups as he goes. I spot the brand as Prada. A rich boy, and he needs to drug a girl to score. The thought only adds to my nausea, gluing my feet to the pavement.

Maybe I should call the cops, maybe I should hold him hostage, but right now, my only concern is her. Getting her out, keeping her safe. After that…I have no idea.

“Not with her, you’re not. Scott, help me get her out of the car.” He takes one side, I grab her from the other, and we lift her out. Shooting a prayer toward heaven that she remains blissfully unaware, I grasp her under her legs swing her up against me. Once she’s secure, I glare toward the pervert, already situated inside the car. “Get out of here. And if I ever see you here again…”

I don’t get to finish that sentence, because his door slams shut at the same time his engine roars to life. A small bag flies next to my head and lands on the pavement next to me. Two seconds later, he’s out of the parking lot. I stare after his taillights, conflicted in a dozen different ways. The girl is safe, unharmed. But who’s to say he won’t be back at it tomorrow? Slap a little make-up on his face to camouflage the broken skin, whip out the pills once again, and use them on another unsuspecting girl. I glance down at the one settled in my arms and slowly exhale. I can only pray that what almost happened to her won’t happen to someone else.

The sound of Scott’s voice stops that prayer before it’s complete.

“So, is that a date-rape drug you’re holding? And he gave it to her?”

I look down at my hand, only just now aware I’m still clutching the pill. It burns into my palm until I release it. When it settles onto the pavement, I crush it under my hiking boot, grinding it into powder that disappears into the gravel. “I’m pretty sure he gave her a few. Enough to keep her knocked out until he got the job done. Probably more than once.”

I see the grimace that crosses both of their faces at my harsh words, but sometimes life isn’t pretty. Sometimes, it’s ugly and scarred and brutal. And right then and there, I decide these guys should know it. After a moment, Scott’s eyebrow slides up.

“I have a feeling this isn’t what you had in mind when you said ‘let’s go to a bar.”

Whether he intended the words as a joke or not, I can’t help the smile that tilts my lips. I shake my head. “Not even close. I’m going to be in so much trouble tomorrow.”

Scott and Matt look at each other and shrug. “For what? We’re not saying anything,” Matt says.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Scott echoes the thought. “My lips are sealed. Except I do have a question.”

“What’s that?” I ask, aware that this girl is getting harder and harder to hold. She’s still snoring, still passed out. Letting me do all the work while she just lays there, limp.

“What are you going to do with her?”

I blink at him. Blink at Matt. Blink down at her near-lifeless form. All that blinking has gotten me nowhere. Then I remember her bag. “Someone open that up and find her I.D. Maybe then I’ll know what to do. But first, can you bring me my car? Keys are in my back pocket.”