Blissful Surrender (Bliss #3)(5)
Author: B.J. Harvey

Our grandfather had died three months earlier, seven months after our grandmother had passed away in her sleep following a long illness. He had never gotten over her death and literally started withering away right in front of our eyes until the day he had a heart attack in the living room. Unfortunately, it was Ryan who came home and found him, and he’s struggled ever since. It just exacerbated the problems that started when our parents were killed. Overnight he’d become a thrill seeker; an adrenaline junkie always looking for a rush, wanting to prove to himself that he was still alive.

He decided that he was going to live every day as if it was his last. In all parts of his life. He lived and loved plentifully. Every woman who caught his eye was a potential soul mate. He loved easily and he loved hard. He also played hard … and often, which is exactly what got him into the trouble in Detroit.

“Ry, I’m a four hour drive away. Even if I tried to get a flight, I wouldn’t get there for a few hours.”

“Sean, I’m in deep this time. If the cops get wind I was there, I’ll go down for this.”

“For what?”

“Don’t worry about it, it won’t happen again. I just need some money or a car or something to get back home.”

I remember my stomach tightening and feeling a prickle on my scalp at his sudden evasiveness.

“Shit.”

“What, Ryan?” I asked, my voice getting louder and attracting attention from other people around me.

“Bro, track my cell or something. Do whatever you have to do.”

“What the f**k, Ryan? What’s going on? You’re making no sense.”

“I’m walking south, two blocks away from the bar.”

A moving target. Fucking fantastic. “Ryan, I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, but I heard it clear as day and slid immediately into my default protector mode. The same mode I’d been in for twenty years.

“Ryan, what’s the name of the bar?”

“What?”

“The bar where you were …”

He started panting loudly into my ear. “Big Rob’s Bar,” he replied breathlessly. I heard him start running, his footsteps against the pavement loudly echoing down the phone.

“Really, Ry? Big Rob’s Bar?”

“Listen, Sean, can you help me?” He sounded desperate.

“Why are you running?”

My jaw was starting to ache from the constant tension. Five minutes of phone conversation and all I’d found out was that he was in Detroit, running from a potential crime scene, and had gone from being worried but relaxed, to being on high alert, anxious and desperate in a matter of seconds.

I needed a vacation.

“Five of them just crossed the street behind me. Coming up fast. Check the hospitals first,” he spat out before I heard a yell in the distance and the phone being dropped. I jumped to my feet, shouting down the phone in desperation. “Ry? Ryan? Fuck! Ryan!”

All I could hear was footsteps and car noise, then Ryan shouting. “No, please! I have nothing. I’m just walking. Shit!” More footsteps, car horns, then what I found out later were three guys laying into my kid brother as he lay in the gutter on the street.

Two of my co-workers had tried to calm me down, but I shook my head at them. I looked at my watch. 1 a.m. “Ryan!” I’d shouted one last time and with no response I made the split second decision to hang up and call 911.

Seven hours later, I landed in Detroit and jumped into a cab which took me straight to the hospital where Ryan was being treated for a concussion and four broken ribs. We returned home the same day via a rental car.

That was the day I discovered my brother had a gambling addiction that led him to a dodgy bar late one night for an illegal back room poker game in which he lost five thousand dollars just before the cops arrived.

It was the first of many brushes with the law Ryan Miller was to have, and the first of many bailouts that I’d give him.

Thirty minutes in my town car and I was now in the ER of Northwestern Memorial Hospital trying to find my brother, again. Yes, it’s nine years later, but this routine is starting to get old. Even if he was attacked by an alleged robber and is completely innocent in this situation, I’m sick of visiting my kid brother in the f**king hospital. I wait for two hours, which gives me time to boot up my laptop and go through my emails and messages. By the time I’m taken to Ryan, it has been four hours since he was allegedly attacked and I’m told by his nurse that he’s very sore and drowsy from the pain meds, so I can’t stay long.

I walk into his twin room and see his temporary roommate for the night—an old man who’s snoring his head off and drooling on his pillow. To be honest, this man looks like he’s in God’s waiting room awaiting his call-up. I walk toward the closed curtain beside him and pull it back to see a somewhat battered, younger version of myself lying in the hospital bed in front of me.

His eyes are closed and I can see an impressive bruise forming over his right eye as well as a cut on his cheek. He’s wearing what looks like the most unattractive hospital gown I’ve ever seen, and he’s hooked up to a blood pressure/heart monitor which is beeping quietly in the corner. There’s an oxygen mask covering his mouth and he’s got a wide white bandage wrapped around his head. I chuckle when I get an image of Humpty Dumpty in my head which is exactly who he looks like right now. Then I realize that it’s the first time I’ve laughed in a long time which f**king sucks.

Ryan’s eyes open and he stares at me, blinking a few times before a frown mars his face.

“Hey, little brother.” I step forward and take a seat in the chair by the bed.

“Hey, big brother,” he says, his voice muffled by the mask.

“What’s the damage?”

“Physically or financially?”

“Ry, what have—”

“It’s bad, Sean. Real bad.”

“How bad?”

“Worse than Detroit, bad. Worse than ever before bad.”

You’ve got to be shitting me. I thought I could come visit him, see he’s okay, then go home to a nice glass or two of twenty year old scotch, but no, Ryan has put the kibosh on that plan.

The chair legs scrape against the floor as I stand up and start to pace in the small confined area. My body is rigid, and the anger is rolling off me in waves.

“Sean, they know about you and they know you’ve got money. Today proves they’re gonna try whatever means necessary to—”