40. Helen
I’m weirdly nervous to finally find Dean. And not because I think it might be a trap, like Thad clearly seems to. He’s being even grimmer than usual, all no-nonsense and power shoulders as he walks, his eyes missing no detail in the hallway or elevator. He can’t seem to decide if it’s safer for him to walk behind or in front of me and keeps alternating positions, sometimes angling in front of me with his shoulder, other times staying close behind me, always restless.
I’m weirdly not nervous to have Thad this close to me. I’m not questioning what we mean to each other. I’m not worried that we won’t see each other again after we’ve found Dean. I’m not worried about how I should be acting or if I should be playing it cool or if I should be giving him encouragement or any of the other things I expected to be feeling. It’s like something has shifted into place, and we simply fit together now. We’re a package deal.
At last we reach room 508. Thad is on even higher alert now, his gaze moving up to the ceiling, down the corridor to one side, then to the other, all while somehow still managing to keep an eye on me and the door. “You’d better knock,” he says at last. “So if it is Dean, he can see you in the peephole.”
I can tell it’s killing him to make this concession, so I do my best to smile at him and avoid the urge to give him a somewhat condescending pat on the cheek. “It’s going to be fine,” I tell him quietly, reaching up to rap sharply on the door.
“You don’t know that,” he grumbles. Aww, there’s my little raincloud. He’s been so cheerful this last hour that it almost felt like I was with a different person.
“I feel it,” I tell him back sweetly, and I can tell he’s shaking his head behind me without even having to see it.
“She feels it. Huh.”
Whatever diatribe he might have been building up gets interrupted as the door cracks open. “Helen?”
I recognize my brother’s voice instantly. We may not have spoken regularly in quite some time, but you don’t forget the voice of the boy who’s called you Princess Bubble Butt for most of your life. “Dean!”
The door opens a little wider, and I see my brother’s eyes, glaring at me through the shadows. “I told you to come alone.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Okay, yes, he’s on the run from the mafia, but if he thinks he can boss me around, he has another thing coming. “Stop being melodramatic and let us in.”
He does, hurrying us inside and slamming the door behind him, locking it before turning to face us. He looks exactly like the Dean I’ve always known, while simultaneously looking like a stranger. His hair is longer, and he has facial hair now, which is new. So are the tattoos on his arms. It’s a weird look for a kid who used to be an altar boy and whose voice didn’t change from its beautiful falsetto until he was thirteen. If I didn’t know him, I might be afraid of him.
But I do know him, and I’m not. “Are you okay?” Ignoring his tough-guy glare, I pull him into a hug. “Mom is really worried about you. I can’t believe you’re on the run from the mafia. I can’t believe you’re hiding out in New Orleans. What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” he counters in his deep voice that I suspect he pitches even lower than it needs to be, after years of being confused with me on the phone. That stopped a long time ago, of course, but it seems to have left a mark. “And why the hell did I get this tonight?”
He shows me a picture on his phone, and I’m surprised to see it’s of me, from earlier tonight on the Carolina Belle, wearing my black fishnet dress. Whoever took the picture of me took it when I wasn’t paying attention, looking off somewhere else. I feel uneasy knowing that someone was paying that close of attention to me without me noticing—but also, if I’m being honest, I can’t help but notice how sexy I look in that outfit. Dang, Sister Helen! No wonder Thad couldn’t keep his hands off me.
Thad steps forward, taking Dean’s phone without permission. He studies the picture for a moment, looking equally grim as he meets my gaze. “Someone on the boat recognized you. Which means we probably don’t have long.” He looks at Dean. “We need to get you back into custody.”
Dean scoffs. “Not gonna happen.”
I put my hands on my hips, glaring at him. “Yes, gonna happen. The mafia is on your trail, Dean. I nearly got kidnapped in an Alabama gas station because of you. They know you’re here.”
“Wait, what?” Dean doesn’t seem to know what to process first, but settles on, “You were almost kidnapped? Are you okay?”
I’m touched by his concern, and a little surprised, honestly. I thought Dean only ever cared about…Dean. Although, to be fair, I guess I haven’t really interacted with him much as an adult, and I’m mostly basing all of my judgments off him from when we were teenagers—a time when most people are known to be thoughtful, caring, and considerate. (Ha.) “I’m fine,” I return, a little flustered by the attention. “It really wasn’t?—”
Dean whirls to face Thad. “How could you let this happen?”
“He didn’t let it happen,” I interrupt before Thad can speak up for himself—presuming that he would. I’m not sure he fully believes it wasn’t his fault. “He stopped it from happening—and he’s why I’m here now, talking to you.”
Dean paces the room, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How did you know I was here, anyway? I’ve covered my tracks so carefully.”
“Aunt Linda’s credit card,” I tell him, and can’t help but add, “Seriously, Dean? Letting Aunt Linda fund your getaway?”
“Mom’s paying her back,” Dean grumbles under his breath, though at least he has the good grace to look chagrined.
“And who’s paying Mom back? You realize that’s her retirement fund you’re taking?”
Thad clears his throat, stepping in between us with his hands raised. “These are all good conversations to have after we’ve remanded Dean to the authorities. For all we know, whoever took that picture on the boat followed us here.”
Dean’s eyes widen. “Shit.” He grabs a duffel bag on the sofa and begins hastily shoving things into it. “We have to go.”
I watch him incredulously. “Go where?”
“Somewhere that’s not here. I ditched them once—I can do it again.”
“With what money?” I demand. “Mom’s not an endless bank vault, you know. Especially after she has to pay your bond for skipping out on your bail.”
Dean casts me an irritated look. “I know. That’s why I came here—to win enough money to pay her back and get us to Mexico.”
“That’s why you bought the tickets for the Carolina Belle. To win enough money to pay off your bond.” I can hardly process how shortsighted and ill-conceived and Dean the whole thing is. “Do you realize how stupid that is, Dean? Gamble what little money you have to try to get more money, when you’re way more likely to lose it all and dig yourself into an even bigger hole?—”
I could keep going with this all day. It’s like all of my many years of pent-up irritation at Dean’s carelessness has finally found an outlet. But Thad holds up a hand, his brow furrowed as he studies Dean. “Us?” he repeats.
It takes me a moment to follow what’s happening. Dean said he was trying to win enough money to get us to Mexico. And unless he’s started to refer to himself in the third-person plural…
The door to the bathroom opens, and a tentative head sticks out. “Dean?” asks a young, frightened voice.
Dean’s face immediately softens. “It’s okay, Molly. You can come out.”