The Billionaire Next Door (18 page)

He was sleeping on the couch again.

As she went back to her bed, she wondered why he did that. And was reminded of why a relationship would be so difficult with him.

It was hard to fall in love with someone who couldn’t share himself with you.

In Sean’s dream, the one that really got to him, the one that was the worst of the bunch, he was ten years old and coming home from dinner at a friend’s house. It was winter and the snow was falling. His too-small boots were squeezing his toes until they were numb. His mittens had holes at the tips of the fingers and the pads of the thumbs. His jacket was thin and dirty.

But his stomach was full and that made all the difference. His school buddy, Butch O’Neal, had a mother who was a cook and a half. And as the O’Neals had five kids, one more mouth was no big deal.

Sean went over to their house a lot.

As he walked along in the dark, the snowbanks came up to his shoulders and he imagined himself on the ice planet Hoth from theStar Wars movies. He was Han Solo back from rescuing Luke…and Princess Leia was waiting at home for him.

He smiled, picturing himself as a hero.

Except then he came up to his house. All the lights were off on the top floor and the TV was flickering blue and green in the front window.

Lights off was a bad sign.

He looked at the downstairs unit. It was dark, as well, because the tenants had moved out a week ago. That always made things worse.

It happened a lot. Those first-floor people never stayed long. He had a feeling they didn’t like the noises that came from upstairs and he could understand why. He didn’t like the noises, either. He would have moved out if he could have.

Though his teeth were chattering, he hung around outside, packing snowballs and watching the TV do its thing in the living room. He wondered where his brothers were. He figured Mac would be at work still and Billy would be in their room in bed. Billy was always asleep if he was home. Didn’t matter what time of the day it was, if he was there, you’d find him with his head under his pillow and the blankets up to his chin.

When Sean couldn’t stand the cold any longer, he walked up the front steps and went to the door. He had to turn the knob a couple of times because his mittens were slippery from the snow and his hands were stiff.

And maybe because he would have given anything to have somewhere else to go.

He stepped into the foyer and was careful to be very quiet as he went up to his apartment. The higher he got on the stairs, the drier his mouth became until he was swallowing nothing at all and his tongue was like sandpaper.

He took off his right mitten and went for the doorknob. It was locked.

He closed his eyes and shivered. He knew why his father did this and it wasn’t to keep out thieves. It was so Eddie O’Banyon would have to be inconvenienced when his sons came home. So he would have to get out of his chair and weave across the room. So he would be justified in what came next.

Sean lifted his little hand and formed a loose, insubstantial fist. He knocked as quietly as he could, as if maybe it would bother his father less.

Didn’t work.

A monster opened the door. And a monster dragged him inside. And a monster ripped his dirty snow jacket.

But before things got really bad, Mac came bursting into the apartment, home just in time. Sean had some impression of getting thrown in his room, not by his father, but by his brother. And then his door clapped shut.

As he landed in a heap, his face was throbbing to the beat of his heart and his knees were weak and the food that Mrs. O’Neal had made was a lead weight in his gut.

He started in with the dry heaves.

“W-w-wait! D-d-don’t throw up on the r-r-rug!” Billy stammered.

There was a scramble over by the desk and then a wastepaper basket was shoved under Sean’s face. Billy held him off the floor as he threw up Mrs. O’Neal’s dinner and the only good thing about the retching was that it drowned out the noises from the living room.

Except then the nausea passed and they heard everything.

“Oh God…” Sean whispered as a loud thump hit the wall just outside their bedroom.

Billy started to cry.

The two of them ended up in Sean’s bed with the sheets pulled up over their heads. They trembled together as they listened. Eventually, it all went silent.

Sean waited for exactly one hour. He timed it, watching the alarm clock on the bureau, the one that got them up for school.

Then he shifted off the bed.

“Where are you g-g-going?” Billy whispered.

Sean didn’t want his little brother to come. Didn’t want Billy to see. “Go back to sleep.”

“B-b-be careful.”

“Shhh.”

Sean cracked open the door and winced as the thing creaked. Going utterly still, he waited while his heart pounded, and when nothing came at him, he slipped out into the hall. The TV was still on, still flickering, the glow throwing shadows as if things were coming at him.

There was something wet on the floor.

Sean was shaking as he went into his older brother’s bedroom and he was careful as he shut the door behind him. Quiet. Had to stay quiet. He didn’t want to wake the demon, although their father was likely passed out cold.

“Mac?” The room was dark and he couldn’t see much, just the outline of the furniture. “Mac?”

There was a shuffling noise, as if someone had moved a leg or an arm.

With his eyes still adjusting, he went over to his brother’s bed out of memory. But there was no one in it.

“Where are you?”

Another shuffle.

Sean tracked the sound over to the corner.

And that was where he found his fifteen-year-old brother, on the floor in a ball, hidden on the far side of his bureau.

“Mac, are you okay?” He went over and when he reached out, he felt something wet. He knew it wasn’t tears. Mac never cried, no matter how bad it got. “Mac?”

“Go to bed.” The voice was nothing but an exhausted whisper, more hoarse breath than words.

Sean patted his brother because it seemed like something their mom might have done. But Mac jerked away as if it hurt then groaned as if any kind of movement was a problem.

“Mac…I’m scared. What do I do?”

“What I told you. Go to bed.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Go to bed.”

Sean started to cry, and though he did his best to stop, the sniffles won. As his brother’s hand landed on his shoulder, he was ashamed.

“Billy’s wicked scared, right?” Mac said roughly.

“Yeah.”

“So go take care of him. Go on.”

“But you’re—”

“If Dad finds you in here, we’re all in trouble. Go .”

That got Sean moving like nothing else could. He scooted back to his room, back to Billy. Who was indeed wicked scared.

“I d-d-don’t want to l-l-live here anymore,” Billy said.

“I’ll take you away. I’ll take you and Mac away.” Sean lay back down, closed his eyes and thought of Han Solo the hero. Fearless and strong. Protector of the weak. Champion. “I promise, Billy.”

Sean sat up in a rush and nearly flipped himself off the couch. He blinked hard and raised his arm to shield his eyes. Light was spilling into the living room, all bright and cheerful, but it registered as glare.

As he thought about the dream, his stomach rolled. In the end, he hadn’t been able to keep that promise to Billy; he hadn’t managed to get his brothers out. Time had been their slow, disinterested savior, their age of majority all that had rescued them. Mac, who’d taken the brunt of the beatings, had been the last to leave, staying until Billy was out then disappearing into the army.

Never to be seen again, really.

Sean couldn’t blame the guy for that. After years of running interference, no wonder Mac had had it with his younger brothers. He’d more than paid his dues. Besides, Sean often wondered whether his brother thought less of him and Billy. Mac had rarely cracked, but Sean and Billy had. Often.

With his older brother on his mind, Sean checked his watch and calculated what time it was on the other side of the globe. Not that it would matter. Mac wouldn’t answer the number he’d left for calling. Never did.

Sean grabbed his BlackBerry, dialed what he’d been given and laid down another message, all no pressure, just-give-me-a-buzz-when-you-can. He figured he’d let one more week go by and then he’d just tell the recording that their father had died.

After he hung up, he showered and made some phone calls to New York to keep his mind off Lizzie. He wanted nothing more than to go down to her place, and not just because he was rattled from his dream. He was worried that they’d had their last night together and the concern wasn’t sitting well.

His instinct was to press her, but that wasn’t fair. Best thing was to give her a little space and pray that she came around. Hell, he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted out of a relationship with her. It wasn’t as if he had the capacity to fall in love with anyone. But he knew that he wanted to see her again.

Maybe even had to see her again.

Man…he didn’t enjoy feeling like this. Especially as he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of the emotions.

But at least work wasn’t a problem this morning. There was good news on the Condi-Foods deal. The memorandum of understanding from the acquirers had hit his offices at 4:00 a.m. for his review, and the share price and interest payments had been adjusted to what they’d agreed on. Which meant they had the bastards in writing.

As soon as he got back to Manhattan this morning, he was going to double check the documents then meet with the board chair to give his go-ahead. It was going to be big news on the Street, though the leaks were already out there. The news outlets had started calling his office.

Sean got dressed, throwing a polo shirt on under his suit for the trip back because he’d shredded his button-down. He was just about to lock up when he heard the sound of a car engine turning over and wheezing out. There was a pause. Then the starter’s whirring noise went off again only to fade after nothing caught.

He went over to the bay window and looked through the old lace curtains.

In the street down below, Lizzie got out of her Toyota and marched back into the duplex.

Sean descended the stairs at a clip and leaned into the open doorway of her apartment. “You need help?”

Lizzie was holding the phone to her ear and tapping her foot in frustration. Dressed in the loose scrubs of a nurse, her face was clean and shiny, her hair softly curling up as if it were only partially dry from a shower. She was frazzled, her mouth set with frustration, that foot going like the third hand on a watch, but she looked fantastic to him.

She lowered the receiver from her mouth. “My car does this sometimes. Just refuses to wake up.”