Sweet (True Believers #2)(20)
Author: Erin McCarthy

I thought he would actually reject it, but he did take the bottle and gulped some of the drink before eyeing my other bags. “What’s in there?”

“Chicken nuggets. Fries. Three chocolate bars and a bag of chips.”

“What, do you have PMS or something?” he asked, making a minimal effort to reach out and hook the bag with one finger and dragging it toward him. He dug in for a French fry and ate it half heartedly.

More like all self-control disappeared entirely with a six-pack. “No. Maybe I’m just a pig.”

He finally looked over at me, eyeing my outfit. “Is that your bra?”

If he wasn’t clearly loaded I would have been annoyed. “No. It’s my bikini top. I went to the water park today.”

“Oh.” His eyes narrowed at my chest. “Yellow.”

Thanks, Captain Obvious. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “So any particular reason you’re having a party for one?”

He lifted his cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag. As he blew out smoke, he gestured to some papers on the table. “That.”

My heart dropped. “We’re being kicked out by the bank?” As I reached for the papers, I wondered at my use of the word “we.”

“No. That will be a while still. This is about Easton. The social worker is coming next week to do a home inspection.”

Oh, no. He was worried about Easton, which was worse. Way worse. I knew that Riley had filed for custody of Easton when their mom died. Jayden was eighteen and considered an adult, but Easton was only eleven.

Riley picked up the bottle and drank directly from it. “They’re going to take him from me, I know it.” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence, and suddenly there were tears welling in his eyes.

I didn’t know what to say or to do. Seeing him so vulnerable, so clearly in pain, stunned me. I wasn’t the girl you went to for a hug. I wasn’t the friend who knew the right thing to say. I couldn’t soothe and comfort and make it all okay. I was just Jessica, sarcasm my only superpower.

But my heart ached for him, and I felt right then that I would do anything to make it okay for him, that I had to pull my head out of the Bud Light can and be a true, honest-to-God friend to him.

“What makes you think they’ll take him away?” I asked. “You’re his brother, and you have a steady job. He’s lived with you almost his whole life. This is his home. I would think stability counts for something, right? And no one else is contesting custody, are they?”

He shook his head, lifting his cigarette to his mouth again. “No. My aunt Jackie disappeared a month ago, probably shacked up with her drug dealer. Her son is in jail, and they’re my only family, besides good ol’ Dad, who isn’t eligible for parole for another ten years. But look around you, Jess. I mean, you clearly know it—this place is a dump. It reeks in here, and that social worker is going to take one look around and think that my brother belongs in some f**king foster home with people who don’t give a shit about him.”

Without warning, Riley took the whiskey bottle and hurtled it at the back door, where it smashed, amber liquid trailing down the wood.

I jumped.

“Seven years,” he said passionately. “Seven f**king years I have been working for the goal of making sure that kid doesn’t end up in the system and now I’m going to fail and he’s going to pay the price for me not being man enough to save him.”

“Hey,” I said gently, shocked by the self-loathing, by the burden that he clearly had been carrying for way longer than a twenty-five-year-old should have to. “You haven’t failed. We have a few days. A couple of cans of paint, we’ll pull the carpet up to get rid of the smell, no big deal. No one expects you to provide anything more than a clean and safe environment for Easton, and you’re doing that.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I think Easton is very lucky to have you. He may have drawn a shitty card when it came to your parents, but he has you and that’s going to save him, Riley. He’s going to be fine, and you can be proud of yourself for everything you’ve done and sacrificed.” I meant that. So many guys would have bolted, but Riley was in for the long haul.

“Tyler is better at the surrogate parent thing than me.” He took the last drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out. “I’m not good at the whole homework and shower and take-him-to-the-doctor thing. I seem to be missing the nurturing gene.”

“You and me both,” I told him. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a parent.” I had never admitted that to anyone. It made me feel like such a jerk. But I wasn’t sure I would be a good mother. I couldn’t imagine singing lullabies or cleaning up snot.

“I don’t want kids.” He dug into my shopping bag and pulled out a pack of peanut butter cups. “Can I eat these?”

“Sure.”

“I figure having kids is like the biggest gamble ever, and if you f**k it up, you’re not just messing your own life up but another human being’s. That’s too much responsibility.”

“That’s because you’ve been raising your brothers for years. Maybe you’ll change your mind some day.” I gave him a soft smile. “When you meet the right girl.” Isn’t that what they always said? You met The One and suddenly you were envisioning picket fences and baby strollers? It was hard to picture that for myself since I had never once come even remotely close to being in love.

Riley was the first guy I’d actually been genuinely interested in in about forever and a day and yet, he just might be the first legitimate friendship with a guy I’d ever had. Where you had real conversations and shared genuine thoughts and emotions. I didn’t want to screw that up.

“Nah, I doubt it. But yeah, it’s been hard. But I don’t resent taking care of Easton, I don’t mean that. I would do anything for that kid, and Jayden, too. They’re awesome kids, despite all of my mom’s shit, and I work hard to make sure they have food and a roof over their heads.” He flashed a quick grin, but his eyes were troubled. “For now, anyway. But they deserve better than I can give them, and that makes me angry.”

“Stop beating yourself up. Your dad is in jail. Your mother was a drug addict. It’s a miracle none of you are serial killers or junkies yourselves. I think if you can get Easton to eighteen and he is a decent guy, then you’ve done a damn good job. And if he ends up in an alley with a needle in his arm, it’s not your fault.”