Nobody’s Hero Page 8

  Distantly, he heard Danny conducting a rapid-fire question-and-answer session with his brother as they argued about what to do. Most of it was a jumble of sounds and static. Fuzzy spots danced in his vision and his stomach twisted. He crossed his arms and shoved his trembling hands into his armpits.

  “We need to get you to the hospital,” Danny insisted.

  “No. I’ll be fine. I just need to get up to bed and sleep it off.”

  “Sleep it off? This isn’t a hangover, Ramón. Someone kicked the shit out of you. You might have broken bones or...or...internal bleeding or something. We need to call the cops, report this.”

  “No.” Ray shook his head and braced his hands on the grass to push himself up. “No cops.”

  “What the fuck do you mean, no cops? What happened?” Even as he demanded answers, Danny slipped an arm around Ray’s back to help bring him to his feet.

  “It’s none of your damned business,” Ray snapped. “Now, either help me to my room, or leave me the hell alone, but let the rest of it go. It’s my issue and I’ll deal with it on my own. Do me a favor, though—don’t tell Mamá or Papá. I need to figure out something to tell them first.”

  “Like what?” Danny carefully guided his brother to the front porch. “You were helping the football team practice and forgot your pads?”

  “Jesus, Danny. I’ve been banging some chick and her boyfriend found out. That’s it. No cops. No hospital. Just get me to my room.” Ray hissed at the first step, gripping the handrail tightly.

  Brad watched them until the door closed behind them. He slowly, deliberately made his way to the stairs leading to his apartment. Only then did his knees buckle. He dropped to the bottom step and tried to clear his head. He didn’t even know Ray, not really. He shouldn’t be falling apart. Brad closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his drawn-up knees. He focused on breathing, the rhythmic inhale-exhale repetition he needed to settle his nerves and clear his head. It had been a while since his last anxiety attack.

  “Bwad?” Veronica’s hesitant voice interrupted his self-reflection. “Play?”

  He looked into her big brown eyes. “Not right now, short-stuff,” he said. “I’m not feeling real well. I think I better lay down for a bit.”

  She pouted for a moment, watching him carefully. Apparently deciding she believed him, she said something that sounded like it might have been “feel better,” then ran back to the other kids.

  Brad stood, then climbed the stairs, feeling like a decrepit old man. When he reached the door of his apartment, he let himself in and lay full out across his bed. He grabbed a pillow and covered his face, the image of Ray, battered and bruised, flashing back and forth with one of Carson, pale and lifeless. Eventually he fell asleep, chased into nightmares by his past.

  Chapter Nine

  Two weeks later, and too much was going right. Brad still waited for something bad to happen. Life was...good, and Brad didn’t trust good. He had a safe place to live, and working for Hector Ortega made him happy, so clearly something epically horrible lurked out of sight.

  Hector’s son-in-law’s boots had fit him well enough, but wearing someone else’s shoes just felt...weird. With his first paycheck burning a hole in his wallet, Brad bought his own work boots, the rest of the safety equipment Mr. Ortega hadn’t provided and, with the few bucks left over, a single bag of groceries—mostly bread, peanut butter and a week’s worth of ramen noodles. Most of the noodles, though, were still in his cupboard. Somehow Mrs. Ortega or Danny always managed to shove a container of one leftover or another at him, no matter his protests.

  Even his gas card still had money on it, since he rode to and from the worksites with one of the Ortegas—usually with Danny in his yellow Jeep.

  Those rides were the highlight of his day. They were also torture, but he wouldn’t give them up for anything. Brad had never had a construction worker fantasy before, but seeing Danny every day in tight jeans, a tool belt slung low at his hips, led to many cold showers. Even the required safety glasses, which made everyone else look ridiculous, seemed pretty damned sexy.

  If nothing else, the past two weeks proved he really, really liked the way the red bandana Danny wrapped around his head accented his dark eyes and golden complexion.

  And Danny was a toucher. The whole family was. The personal space bubble that existed around people shrunk around the Ortegas. Hugs, kisses, casual pats and supportive squeezes were commonplace. He didn’t think Danny was even aware of how often he brushed Brad’s arm or back.

  Brad noticed. Each and every time.

  He tried to ignore it, pretend it didn’t affect him. But every time Danny moved in, Brad stepped out.

  He sucked in a breath as Danny’s warm hand settled on Brad’s left shoulder while he peered over the right one. “What are you working on?”

  He only had to step back an inch and his back would be plastered to Danny’s chest. Brad released the tape measure he’d been using to mark cut points on strips of wooden trim.

  “Cutting trim.” Trim came out in a gasp as the hand on Brad’s shoulder glided down his back to rest at his hip. He’s the boss’s son. He stepped back, shrugging away from Danny. He licked his lips and tilted his head to look at Danny. “Did you need something?” Danny looked so innocent Brad was almost convinced he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Almost.

  “Not really. Jackie and I finished the drywall in the master bedroom and it’s too late to start something else today. I decided to wander over here and see how you and Jesús were doing over here.”

  “Jesús had to run a few minutes ago, so I’m finishing up cutting the trim. We’ll put the last of it up tomorrow.”

  “You’ve got something...” Danny ran his right thumb under Brad’s eye. The soft contact sent jolts of heat straight to Brad’s groin. Brad’s hand spasmed around a strip of trim. Pain stabbed his palm and he hissed out a breath, stepping away from the wood and back into Danny.

  “What’s the matter?” Danny used his grip at Brad’s waist to turn him around.

  A jagged splinter pierced his palm, but before Brad could pull it free, Danny grabbed the injured hand and twisted it toward the light from the room’s window. He struggled to pull his hand free.

  “Don’t be a baby.” Danny didn’t let up. He pinched the splinter free. A small drop of blood welled from the puncture. “Let’s get this cleaned up. There’s a first aid kit with the gear.”

  “It’s a sliver.” Brad finally pulled his hand away. “I don’t need a first aid kit.” He wiped away the blood. “See, not even bleeding anymore.”

  “It could get infected,” Danny insisted, wrapping his hands around Brad’s wrist.

  Brad bit his lip. Could Danny feel his pulse beating?

  Coffee-colored eyes met Brad’s. He opened his mouth to say something, but words and thoughts disappeared. The narrow gap between their bodies crackled and buzzed. Brad licked his lips and Danny’s gaze followed the movement.

  Shit. He was in so much trouble.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake!”

  Brad jumped back, his heart lodged in his esophagus. He ran into the table saw, knocking a piece of trim to the floor. Ray sneered at them from the bottom of the stairs.

  “What do you want, Ray?” Danny glared at his brother. He released his hold on Brad’s arm but didn’t step back. Brad wished he could play it off as casually. It’s not like they’d been doing anything, but still. They were at work. In public. I wanted to kiss him. I almost did kiss him.

  “Papá wants you to help Chuy finish taping the drywall in the third bedroom so we can all get out of here on time tonight.”

  “Fine.” Danny nodded. “I’ll be there in a second.”

  Ray stared hard at them for a moment before turning and heading back up the stairs. The man had some serious anger issues.

/>   Brad never did hear what story Ray came up with to explain the cuts and bruises from the day of the barbecue, but Ray managed to come to work every day and put in the full eight-plus hours, so he must have been right when he claimed there were no significant injuries.

  “Put a bandage on it, at least.” Danny nodded at Brad’s hand, then followed his brother upstairs.

  The buzz of drills and the pop of nail guns had stopped, and Brad could hear the murmur of workers loading tools and lunch coolers into vehicles at the end of the day. No way was he going to get anything else done today. He started packing up his work area. Ten minutes later, Brad stared down at the pile of tools laid out at his feet. One piece was missing: a finishing nailer. His heart beat heavy in his chest as he made another sweep through the basement. Nothing.

  He went through his mental checklist, and everything else was there, lined up in front of a couple of saw horses. On the off chance he’d remembered wrong, he pulled out the notebook he’d stuffed into his pocket and opened to the newest page. The list of items he and Jesús had hauled into the basement that morning. Hand tools, check. Nails, check. Air compressor, check. Extension cords, miter saw, check, check. Everything was there except the finishing nailer.

  He rubbed at his forehead, ignoring the fine granules of sawdust he left behind. What was he supposed to do? Did he tell Hector? Should he call Jesús? Someone had to have his number. Maybe someone borrowed it for one of the upper floors and didn’t bring it back? How in the hell had he lost the finishing gun?

  Would he be held responsible? He didn’t have the couple hundred bucks it would take to replace it. Surely it wasn’t the first tool to go missing on a job. Brad cracked his knuckles, first the pointer finger, then the middle finger.

  “Hey, Brad? You about ready to head out?” Danny hollered down the stairs, his voice echoing in the bare bones of the new house.

  “Just a minute.” Brad looked at the line of tools. “Hey, Danny, can you come here a sec?”

  “Sure.” Danny thundered down the wooden steps.

  “What’s up?” Danny asked.

  “Do you have a phone number for Jesús?”

  Danny arched his bows. “Jesús? I don’t know. Mi papá should have it somewhere. Why?”

  Brad debated whether or not to tell Danny, but in the end, he had to tell someone. “I can’t find one of the finishing nailers. I wanted to check and see if he took it with him or gave it to one of the other guys to use.”

  “People are pretty good about keeping track of their tools so we don’t have to move them around much.”

  His stomach dropped.

  “Oh, hey,” Danny said quickly, obviously noticing Brad’s worry, “I’m not saying you didn’t keep track. It’s just not usual to transfer a tool from one team to another. Did you check the other rooms down here?”

  “Twice.”

  “Are you sure you had two?”

  “Yeah, I keep a list of everything we unloaded into the room.”

  “Really? Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” Brad showed Danny the notebook.

  Danny scanned the list. “You’re a bit of an anal retentive freak, aren’t you?”

  Brad slipped the notebook back into his pocket. “I guess you could say that.” He rubbed his hands on the thighs of his jeans. “I need to talk to your father, don’t I?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I mean, yeah, you’ve got to tell him, but it’s not like he’s going to fire you or anything. Someone probably borrowed it, and we’ll find it tomorrow. Let’s get this stuff packed away and get out of here. Papá is probably loading up now too.”

  Together they hauled the rest of the equipment upstairs and to one of the company trucks where everything was secured. They had loaded the last of the chests, one holding the small hand tools, when Mr. Ortega emerged from the other side of the house.

  “Hey, guys,” he said, slipping his phone into its holster at his belt. “Ready to head back?”

  “Yeah,” Danny said, “but Brad wanted to let you know that when he packed up the tools he and Jesús were using, one of the nailers was missing. I told him someone else probably borrowed it this afternoon. That’s probably what happened, right? I think he’s afraid you’ll hold him responsible for it.”

  “Brad can speak for himself,” Brad said, rolling his eyes at Danny, whose words had tumbled out in an avalanche.

  Mr. Ortega chuckled. “How much caffeine did you have today?” He turned his attention to Brad. “You can’t find one of the nailers?”

  “The new Bosch. Jesús was using it before lunch, but then he spent the afternoon cutting the baseboards. I don’t think I saw it after that.”

  “Well, we’ll keep an eye out for it. Danny’s probably right. Someone probably needed it and packed it away with their tools. We’ll probably come across it tomorrow.”

  Some of the tension eased. He couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. Brad climbed into Danny’s Jeep a couple of minutes later.

  After they’d merged into the Thursday evening traffic, Danny asked, “You’re still on for this weekend, right? Connie’s going to do some grocery shopping and wanted a head count.”

  “I don’t think so.” Brad twisted his thumb and popped the big knuckle at its base. “I don’t have any camping gear and I can’t afford to get any before the weekend. Maybe another time?”

  Danny stopped for a red light and turned to face Brad. “You know my family’s huge, right?”

  “Yeah,” Brad said cautiously, not quite sure where Danny was going with the question.

  “We have dozens of sleeping bags and enough tents to house a Boy Scout troop. Everything else is the same no matter how many people are coming along. We’ve got you covered.”

  Brad hesitated. The Ortega family had already given him too much.

  “Come on, you know you want to. It’ll be fun.”

  “Not this time.”

  “C’mon. If it’s about the nailer—”

  “I said no. I know you’re used to getting your way, but this time, please drop it.”

  Danny snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide in shock.

  Brad turned to stare out the passenger side window. Danny tempted him to break his own rules. One more reason to keep his distance.

  Chapter Ten

  Brad should have known better than to answer his phone.

  “You’ve been avoiding us. I’m disappointed. You were raised better.”

  “Mother.”

  She talked over his acknowledgement. “We need to settle the arrangements for your brother’s appeal. I’ve booked a flight for you the first week of August. That will give us some time to prepare a united family front. Your father and I are hosting a party that weekend, as well. You’ll be expected to attend. No doubt you no longer have appropriate attire, so we’ll have to get you in for a fitting.”

  “Mother.”

  “Lorraine Stanton’s daughter, Francesca, is back from Europe and we decided you will escort her to the party. It’s a great opportunity to reintroduce you both to our circle.”

  “Mother!”

  “Bradley, there’s no reason to raise your voice. I don’t understand. You don’t want to escort Francesca? I suppose I can see if Paula Foerster’s daughter, Jeanie, is available.”

  “No, Mother, just no. I’m not going to come back for Nolan’s appeal. I’m not going to get fitted for ‘appropriate’ attire. I’m not going to escort anyone’s daughter to some party.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

  “I don’t know how you got this number, but I’d appreciate it if you’d forget it.”

  “Bradley—”

  He disconnected the call. Two deep breaths and a quick count to ten later and he still had to force the rage and frustratio
n down. He powered the phone all the way off and shoved it back into his pocket.

  Every single time. A word, an email, whatever, from his mother and he completely lost his shit.

  He needed to get away. He couldn’t stand the thought of spending the entire weekend holed up in this little apartment with nothing to do but remember.

  He pulled out his phone and called Danny. “Is it too late to join you on the camping trip?”

  * * *

  “Are you sure about this? I feel like a freeloader.” Brad set his duffel bag on the bed and then pulled a pair of jeans out of the armoire. He’d accepted the invitation without thinking and now he wasn’t so sure this was the smart thing to do.

  When Danny didn’t respond, Brad looked over. Danny sat cross-legged on the other side of the bed, staring at the quilt. “Danny?”

  Danny glanced up. “Dude, do you make your bed like this every morning?”

  “Um, yeah?”

  “You could bounce a quarter off the blanket. I bet you use hospital corners too.”

  “Military school,” Brad reminded him.

  Danny shook his head. “Nah, that’s not it. I mean, sure, it created the habit maybe, but you’re not there anymore. I bet you’ve always been a bit of a neat freak.”

  Okay, there was some truth to that. He’d always been tidy and well-ordered, but sure, it may have gotten worse the last few years. He ignored the little voice in his head whispering scary terms like OCD and anxiety. Brad set the jeans neatly in the bag. “Don’t you make your bed in the morning?”

  “Yeah, sort of. I mean, usually I just tug the covers back into place, nothing like this. The only time I make-make the bed is when my mom washes the sheets each week.”

  Tucking a couple of rolls of socks into the bag, Brad eyed Danny. “Your mom still does your laundry?”

  Danny shrugged. “Sure. It’s not like I ask her or anything. She just does it.”

  “Seriously, though,” Brad said, stopping his packing, “I’m not sure about this.” His reasons for saying no in the first place hadn’t disappeared.