The door swung open and Jack's hand froze, the fork poised right in front of his open, waiting mouth. Evelyn was on the other side, wearing a pink bathrobe over her nightgown, a frown on her face and baseball bat in her hand.
"Jackie?" She looked confused and he gulped, feeling guilty for obviously waking her up and probably scaring the shit out of her.
"Ma." He gave a weak, half-assed grin, like it wasn't strange for him to be in her kitchen in the middle of the night.
"What are you doing here?"
He shoveled the pie into his mouth, not letting the awkwardness get in the way of food. "I was um … hungry," he said through the mouthful.
"Hungry?"
"Yeah. For your apple pie." He took another bite to demonstrate, raising the fork in a salute.
She arched an eyebrow. "They don't have apple pie in New York?"
"Not your apple pie."
Evelyn sighed. "Honey, that's Mrs. Smith's."
"Really? She a new a neighbor or something?"
Without another word, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk and eggs. Shuffling about the kitchen, she grabbed a bowl and flour and a few other things, reaching over him to get to the cabinet that held the measuring cup. He ducked to make it easier. "Um …" he started.
"I don't have apples," she said and he squinted, confused.
"Okay."
"Chocolate cake okay with you?"
He grinned, suddenly understanding what she was getting at. "Chocolate cake would be awesome."
She measured out the flour. "In exchange for the cake, you're going to tell me what you're doing in my kitchen at two o'clock in the morning, hundreds of miles from where you should be."
He looked down, tracing that crack that ran through the counter top, a scar from that time Bobby tried to open a can of baked beans with a sledge hammer. It was a bet. Bobby won.
He didn't want to unload his problems and worries on his mother – the fact that the band wasn't doing shit-all when it came to becoming famous; the fact that he sucked at keeping a steady job and was having trouble making his half of the rent each month; the fact that drunken, stoned one night stands were becoming so frequent that he was afraid he was losing a part of himself with each faceless girl; the fact that he was so homesick his chest ached at night when everything was silent and he only had the dark and his thoughts to keep him company. He was like that crack in the counter, only it was getting wider and deeper and he didn't know how to make it stop.
Evelyn obviously knew he was having one of his inner monologue moments and she walked over to him. A gentle but forceful hand on his shoulder made him turn to face her. She smoothed his ragged hair back from his forehead. "Oh, Jackie," she said softly and suddenly he was a twelve-year-old kid again and she was comforting him over some "my world is ending" bullshit that was ruining his life.
"I miss you," he admitted, wishing for all the world that life's problems could be solved with chocolate cake.
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, rubbing his back like she used to do when he had nightmares. "I miss you too, sweetheart."
XxXxXxXxXx
Jack fidgeted with the rosary he'd wrapped around his hand. The nurse let him hold onto it when they wheeled him into the emergency room, probably taking one look at him and figuring he could use a Hail Mary or two.
His callused fingers worried the smooth, green beads, but it wasn't any "Our Fathers" he was thinking of, it was Evelyn and he could sense her standing next to him. She was holding his hand, telling him everything was going to be fine and that she was going to wring Bobby's neck for letting him get hurt. The doctor was stitching him up and jabbed the needle a little too hard. Jack squeezed Evelyn's hand, willing the pain to stop. He knew she wasn't really there – it was all in his head and in the pain killers they'd given him, but that didn't make it any less real.
He was going to be okay, but he'd lost some blood and felt shaking and unsteady and very close to a breaking point he was surprised he hadn't already crossed somewhere between getting shot and slamming a tire iron into some guy's head. His knee was fucked up, too – the Super Bowl-worthy tackle he'd done had taken him back to square one as far as his recovery was concerned. After some x-rays, they put him in a shiny new brace with the promise of many, many weeks of physical therapy. He was beginning to wish he'd never gotten into Bobby's car that day he bullied him out of bed.
"Just a few days in Chicago, my ass," Jack muttered under his breath. Evelyn was no longer next to his bed, but he could hear the ghost of her laugh.
Something crashed in the hallway. "He's my brother and I have every fucking right to be back here with him!"
Jack groaned, sinking back into the gurney, wishing Bobby didn't have to plow through life like a bull in a china shop. The nurse adjusted the flow on his IV and smiled down at him. He wanted to warn her, but couldn't figure out what to say.
The doctor was taping gauze over the long gash the bullet dug into his side. He was telling him the instructions for caring for stitches, but he already knew them by heart. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and souvenir shot glass.
The curtain flew back, revealing his brother, blood stained and surly. Jack wondered if he could feign a panic attack and get some valium so he could sleep through the next dozen or so hours. The pain killers weren't making him nearly loopy enough.
"You shouldn't be back here," the doctor said.
"It's easier just to let him stay," Jack said. "Trust me."
The doctor pulled off his gloves and stood up. "You'll be sore for a few days. Take it easy, get some rest." Glancing at Bobby as he left the curtained space, he said, "The same goes for you."
Jack got a real good look at Bobby and noticed the butterfly stitches that disappeared into his hair and the bags under his eyes. "You look like shit, man," Jack said and Bobby grunted.
"Can we go now?" Bobby asked.
The nurse who was cleaning up the stuff they used to stitch up his side explained that Jack just needed to get some fluids back in him and a good dose of IV antibiotics and then he was free to go.
"Are you sure he doesn't have to stay overnight? He fainted, you know." Bobby perched himself on the edge of Jack's gurney.
If Jack could have moved his leg, he would have pushed him off the bed. "I didn't faint."
"Yes you did, Princess. Swooned was more like it, actually."
"I passed out. It's totally different."
XxXxXxXxXx
Bobby found Remy sitting alone in the waiting room outside the emergency room. Someone had given her a pair of green scrubs and she had Bobby's jersey clutched in her lap. He'd been so wrapped up in dealing with the cops and worrying about Jack that he'd forgotten about her – he could be a real asshole sometimes.
"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual.
"Hey," she said without looking up. She seemed fragile and that wasn't like her. "How's the kid?"
"The kid'll live."
"Good," she said, still not looking at him. "Cops?"
Bobby shrugged. "Turns out the feds aren't completely useless. We've got one working with Jerry and Angel back home and he took care of it."
"That's nice," she said, her voice flat, emotionless.
Reluctantly, he took the seat next to her. "What happened? How in the hell …"
"How in the hell did I wind up kidnapped in the back seat of that car? That car you rammed into without a second goddamn thought?" She looked at him and he almost threw up his hands to ward off the evil flashing in her eyes.
Scratch the emotionally damaged damsel in distress. She was pissed as hell. Bobby grinned. "Yeah, that car."
She threw his jersey at his head and he didn't bother to duck. "You're an asshole."
"An asshole who's sorry," he corrected, tossing the jersey onto the seat next to him. She narrowed his eyes, like she couldn't believe he was apologizing – hell, he couldn't believe it himself.
"I was scared," she admitted and he felt a knife a guilt twist in his stomach.
"I know."
"And pissed."
He snorted a laugh. "I know."
"I guess I'm glad they didn't kill you," she said, rolling her eyes.
He turned in his chair, their knees almost touching. "You mean that?"
She leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye. "Yeah, I would hate to lose my chance at putting a bullet between your eyes."
Bobby grinned. "Would it be completely out of line to kiss you right now?"
"Only if you want me to kick you in the balls."
"Is that a yes?"
XxXxXxXxXx
In what was becoming a serious case of déjà vu, Bobby helped Jack out the hospital's regulation wheelchair into the front seat of his car. He awkwardly handed Remy the crutches in the backseat. She rolled her eyes at him again and he didn't even know why. He was about to ask her what her goddamn problem was when common sense took over – she was woman and there was no way in a hell a sane man would ever give a woman an opening to talk about her problems.
It was probably the kiss – or rather, the kiss that never happened. Somehow, he'd still wound up with her knee buried in his groin, which seemed completely fucking unfair since she didn't keep up her end of the bargain. Kiss then kick. Not laugh in his face and then kick. Damn woman played dirty.
He shifted around a bit in his seat to get comfortable before starting up the car. "Buckle up, girls." Now it was Jack's turn to roll his eyes. "What's your problem?"
"I saved your ass. Don't you think it's time to stop with the fairy jokes?" Jack was slumped in his seat, leg stretched out stiffly in front of him, arm pressed to his injured side. He was a mess.
"You distracted the guy," Bobby said as he started the car.
"He was going to shoot you."
"I was going to get him. You just didn't give me a chance."
"Jesus Christ, Bobby, just say 'thank you'." Remy jabbed at the back of his seat with her knee, probably imagining his dick as her target.
He shifted in his seat again. "Thank you, Cracker Jack," he mumbled. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jack's self-satisfied smirk.
"Wasn't so hard, now was it?" Remy said, probably with another eye roll, but Bobby didn't bother looking in the rearview mirror to check.
"You're welcome, Bobby," Jack mumbled back, his head resting on the window.
Bobby glanced over at brother and patted him on the arm. "We'll stop at a craft store so you can bedazzle your tire iron. How's that sound, Warrior Princess?"
Jack groaned. "Fuck you, man."
XxXxXxXxXx
The bullet wounds, stitches and kidnappings won out over stopping for pink sequins, so Bobby pulled into the first cheap motel they came across.
Jack collapsed on the bed. "I'm going to sleep for a month."
"Flight leaves tomorrow afternoon," Bobby said as he dropped their bags on the worn, mustard yellow carpet.
"Wake me when we get there," Jack said with a yawn.
"We got one stop to make before we get to the airport."
The ceiling started to spin and he closed his eyes but that backfired on him. A woman was standing in the distance - blonde, pretty, a look of horror on her face. "We don't have to."
"But we need to."
Jack knew he was right, but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of telling him that. They'd lucked out when she ran into the house instead of coming across the street to inspect the carnage. He could imagine how well that would have gone.
"Hello there, Mrs. Vaughn. Sorry about World War III breaking out across the street from your house. Lovely yard. Those flowers are beautiful. Oh, by the way, I'm your long lost son you gave up for adoption twenty-one years ago. Sorry I can't stay and chat, but my ambulance awaits. Have a nice life."
Bobby grabbed a beer from the six-pack they had picked up at a convenience store a few miles back. Popping the top, he took a huge gulp as he sat on the floor, his back propped against the sagging mattress of the bed Jack had claimed.
"She looked okay," Bobby said.
"I guess."
"Kinda hot."
Jack made a face and swung a pillow at the back of his brother's head. "Dude, that's my mom."
"Birth mom," Bobby corrected as he ducked.
"Whatever."
The sat in silence, Jack staring at the ceiling, Bobby drinking his beer.
Jack finally spoke. "What if she doesn't like me?"
"I can burn down her house."
Jack grinned. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Bobby crumpled up his can and tossed it toward the trash can next to the TV. It went in, of course. "If she doesn't like you, then she's a fucking idiot."
"Would you do the same thing, if you could? Would you try to meet your dad?" Bobby's mom was a drug addict and when she died, Bobby wound up in the system. He never knew his father, had no idea who the guy was. Hell, his mother probably didn't even know who the guy was. Once Jack had found out about Bobby's past – at least the little bit that Bobby felt like sharing - it wasn't too hard to figure out why the guy was so angry all the time. When you had to fight for everything you get in life, you become hard and one thing was certain, Bobby Mercer never backed down from a fight.
Bobby shook his head, lightly knocking his fist against the floor. "Nah. I don't think I would. Probably already met the guy when I was in prison anyway." He laughed, but Jack could tell his heart wasn't in it.
It sucked – not knowing where you came from, not knowing if your eyes were the same shade as your mom's, or if that weird way you laughed sometimes was exactly like how your dad laughed. Life was like a crapshoot – the roll of the dice could give you a tidy house with a white picket fence on a quiet street or it could land you in foster care with the shittiest of people, cowering in a closet, hoping they'd forget about you while they got drunk and went looking for something to hit. He thought about it – imagining a life that didn't involve the sad and scary stuff, but that meant no Evelyn or Bobby or Jerry or Angel and he thought maybe fate didn't totally suck.
"You know what, Jackie," Bobby said, interrupting his thoughts, "I lied. I would do it. I would meet the guy – just so I could know. Just so I could get a good look."
"Curiosity killed the cat," Jack said, rolling onto his side, punching the pillow into submission.
"Deep thoughts by Jack Mercer?" Bobby said, opening another beer.
"Always," Jack mumbled into the pillow, more asleep than awake.
XxXxXxXxXx
Bobby knocked on the door of the room next to his. "Go away," came the reply from the other side.
"It's Bobby."
"Go to hell," Remy shouted back, but he could hear her turning the locks on the other side. When she opened it, the chain was still in place.
"Hey," he said, like he was stopping by to borrow some milk.
"Hey," she answered. She looked past him, her eyes darting over the empty parking lot behind him. "Where's the kid?"
"He's sleeping. A bomb could go off and he wouldn't wake up. Can I come in?"
"Bobby, I'm not in the mood for more of your shit."
"You're in luck, I'm too tired to give you any shit."
She glared at him. "I doubt that."
He held up what was left of the sixpack. "I bring refreshments." The Coors Light cans glinted under the yellow light above her door.
"You drink crappy beer, Bobby."
"Don't blame me. Blame fucking California and the lame selection at the minimart."
She shook her head, making a tsking sound. "Taking responsibility for your actions is the first step to recovery."
"And just what am I recovering from?"
Hand over her heart, she gave her best sympathetic look. "A tragic case of being a pain in the ass." She started to close the door, but he jammed his foot into the opening before she could. "Bobby," she sighed, resting her head against the door.
"One drink. That's all I ask. Save me from listening to Jackie mumble in his sleep."
With about as much enthusiasm as a person being led to a proctology exam, Remy slid the chain off the latch and opened the door. "One drink," she said firmly. "Just one and then you get the hell out of here and out of my life."
XxXxXxXxXx
Bobby rolled over in bed, wincing as sunlight hit his eyes, forcing him to wake up. He blinked at the unfamiliar room, something he'd become accustomed to since the road trip had started – not knowing where the hell he was for the first few minutes of each day.
Someone groaned and he looked over, expecting to see Jack asleep in the other bed. Only there wasn't another bed and Jack was definitely not in the room. "What the …" he started, louder than he intended.
"What the what?" the voice next to him said drowsily, yawning. The sheets were covering his companion, but he had a sinking feeling he knew who he was going to find.
His companion rolled over, blinking as she woke up. She stared at him, her brain trying to process what was going on.
Bobby sighed and said, "Good morning, Remy."