Part 7 (1/2)
Walking into the treatment center almost an hour later, Kevan took the time to let the surroundings sink in. Short walls painted in soft pastel colors and a lobby crowded with tattered furniture reminded her of a high school teacher's lounge. More industrial than medical. Behind the gla.s.sed-in reception desk, the room opened up into a hall of sorts with a dozen or so people scattered throughout the room-reading, dozing, or playing games. There was little, if any, discussion going on. And Bowen was nowhere to be seen.
”Can I help you?” A voice inquired.
”Huh?” Kevan turned to face the older woman seated behind the desk. She didn't recognize her from that horrid night earlier that week.
The woman smiled warmly. Patiently.
”Are you here to see someone?” The woman looked down at something in front of her, maybe a list of visitors.
”My brother. Bowen Landry.”
The woman typed something on her computer before a frown settled on her face. ”New patients aren't usually up for visitors during the first week.” The woman studied Kevan, her eyes still kind but her frown deepening. ”Didn't the admitting counselor tell you that?”
”Yes, but I thought he might want to see me.”
Was there something wrong with him? Fear pounced on her heart, piercing it with sharp claws. Oh G.o.d, please let him be okay.
Her panic must have shown on her face, because the woman reached through the open window and patted Kevan's arm with her soft hand. ”I'll call him, okay?” She squeezed Kevan's hand and smiled again. ”We'll see if he's up for a visit.”
Kevan swallowed, her throat lined with dusty sandpaper, and nodded.
”Sign in, and I'll buzz you through.”
Several minutes later she was seated at a wobbly card table in the corner of the room, picking at the torn vinyl covering. Anything to keep from letting her mind wander, or worse, bursting into tears. What if he wanted to go home already? Her aching shoulders bunched tighter, the tension pulling across her back and neck like a vise. Who knew if he had another shot at recovery?
Sadly, this wasn't his first rodeo. He'd attempted sobriety a couple of other times. Granted, this time his bottom was far lower than all the others. Before it had always been just alcohol, but this time he'd added speed to the mix, and it had been game on. That scary drug-dealing g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger, Santino, and his buddies had almost broken Bowen's jaw when they'd beaten him so severely he'd lost consciousness. Thankfully, the guys from Tatuaggio had shown up as the goons were about to crush her brother's hands. Without his hands, he couldn't hold a tattoo machine or play the guitar. Without his hands, who knew what would happen to him?
Two battered, black skater shoes appeared where she focused on the carpet. She took a deep breath, not looking up, and stopped picking at the table.
”Kev?” Bowen's voice was a pale imitation of his once-strong ba.s.s. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his and exhaled. She barely recognized the stooped, battered man before her. No. No. No. Tears threatened to fall. Taking another deep breath to quell the storm welling in her chest, she stood and smiled.
”Bobo, you look like s.h.i.+t.” Her words held bite, but her tone was soft, and her voice quivered as she reached up to embrace her brother. The man who hugged her back was a sh.e.l.l of her once-vibrant and larger-than-life Bowen. Pulling back, she stared into his handsome face and reached up to rub her thumb across his cheekbone. The swelling had gone down, and the bruise had begun to fade to a watercolor mix of green and yellow. His usually bright eyes were dull and had dark shadows underneath. His clothes hung from his gaunt torso. Where had her brawny big brother gone?
Bowen gestured to her chair and plopped down into the one across from her. She reached over and gripped his clammy hand. Though sitting, Bowen's body moved constantly, not like before with a bounding kinetic energy infecting everyone around him. No, now his feet shuffled, his fingers picked and smoothed the jagged edge of the fraying table. He twitched and stretched as if so uncomfortable in his own skin even his shadow didn't belong to him.
”Kev,” he said drawing out the single syllable, ”I can't stay here. I will f.u.c.king die here.”
Kevan knew right at that moment that Bowen had to stay in rehab. No matter what. He would fail if he left. His battle had suddenly become life and death.
Kevan sighed. ”No. You'll die out there. You're staying.”
His haunted eyes widened, and he yanked his hand away. Big brother was not used to her refusing him anything. Ever.
”The f.u.c.k? I can stay sober. And I'm totally done with the drugs. I'll go to meetings. I promise.” His gaze swept from left to right, and back to Kevan. The table and his chair rattled from his knees bouncing up and down. ”I don't f.u.c.king fit here, okay? Bunch of whiny p.u.s.s.ies crying about how their wives won't let them have a girlfriend and how they lost their vacation home. How's that supposed to help me not drink or use?”
”I don't know how it's supposed to work. It just does. Please don't do this.” They'd been through this before. And if they could make it past this point, maybe they'd actually have a shot at being a family again. She leaned forward and peered directly into blue-gray eyes identical to hers. ”And I won't let you die.”
He was on that path if the night before last was any indication. If the guys hadn't interrupted Santino beating the s.h.i.+t out of Bowen, who knows if her brother would have survived. Bile burned the back of Kevan's throat. The thought of living a life without him sent chills down her arms. Even a sick Bowen was better than no Bowen.
”What about my job? What about the band?” His face was flushed, and he looked wild. ”What about you?”
”The band will still be there, and Tony already told you your station will be there when you get out. We all want you to get better.” She sighed. When had she gotten so d.a.m.n tired? ”None of it matters if you're dead.”
Crossing his arms, he turned his head to stare at the wall to the right of her.
She leaned forward and grabbed his chin, pulling it toward her. Looking directly at him, begging him with her eyes to hear her-really hear her-she said, ”I love you, and I won't watch you kill yourself. And I won't help you do it.”
He opened his dry, papery lips, but she raised her hand. He closed his mouth.
”I need you to get better. For real this time. I can't lose you, Bo.” She paused and watched as the words sank in. ”I cannot survive without you. I'm barely holding on as it is.”
”Not sure I'm strong enough, Kev. Maybe...” He looked away.
”Maybe what?” she demanded.
”Maybe I really am like Dad.” The whispered words hung in the air, ready to drop on her at any moment.
”You're nothing like him. Bowen, look at me.” She placed her palm on his sunken cheek, tilting his face toward hers again. ”That's a cop-out. Life's getting hard, and you're tired of fighting it. Well, suck it up, b.u.t.tercup.”
He rolled his eyes. ”Easy for you to say.”
”You think it's easy for me?” Her raised voice attracted stares from the other patients. ”I'm losing my business, and the one band I thought would save me is making me fight for their business.”
”Wait. What? Manix didn't sign with you? I'll kick Jax's a.s.s.”
”It's not just up to him.” She shook her head. ”And I don't want to talk about them. Or me. This is about you.”
Bowen stood up, knocking the chair over. ”I have to get the f.u.c.k out of here. You need me. I need to be there. I'll tell Jax and the others-”
”Sit. Down.” She practically growled the words. ”Now.”
His sudden burst of energy drained away as he picked up his chair and crumpled into it, defeated. But she couldn't let him quit. They had only each other.
”I need you sober. I need you back. If you can't do it for yourself, then do it for me, Bowen.” The tears she'd kept d.a.m.ned up so tightly for so long were fighting to get free.
”Please,” she begged. ”Please fight for me.”
Bowen stood up and crouched in front of her; reaching up, he cradled her face in his battered hands. ”It kills me that I'm the reason you're so afraid. f.u.c.king soul-crus.h.i.+ng knowing I can't help you, protect you from in here.” His voice hitched.
”You haven't been there for me for a while.” She watched his eyes widen and lines form on his forehead as the whispered words sank in.
He knew the truth. ”I'm sorry.”
”So you'll stay?” She held her breath again.
Moments pa.s.sed as he peered into her eyes while stroking his thumbs slowly across her cheeks, like he had when she was young. ”If I stay, how will we pay for it?”