Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Brooks
He's calling again. The fifth time this week. He doesn't leave messages. I shouldn't answer. I know I shouldn't. I know exactly how stupid it would be to take this call, but he's only going to keep calling. And watching his number pop up again and again is starting to feel really shitty.
I swipe to answer the call.
“What do you want, Lazarus?”
He takes a shaking breath. “You answered.”
“You called.”
“I've been calling.”
“I know.”
“Do you hate me?”
Anything I was about to say dies on my tongue. The truth is... maybe. I don't hate Laz, not really. But I hate what he does to himself, and I hate how much it hurts me to watch the damage accumulate. I hate myself for letting him pull me back in after all this time.
“You do,” he says quietly. “Don't you?”
My shoulders sink with a heavy sigh. “No. I don't hate you.”
He's quiet for a while, but I can still hear him breathing. When he speaks again, his voice has taken on a muddled, distant tone. “You should. I hate me.”
“Where's your Alpha, Laz?” I ask. He shouldn't be alone when he's low like this. It's dangerous. It could lead to unintentional tragedy.
He just laughs weakly. “My Alpha,” he says. “Sure. My Alpha is in the bar signing contracts and collecting checks.”
“Are you safe?” I ask.
“What do you think?”
Before I can answer, he gasps, and I hear a door open loudly on his end. “Gotta go.”
I rake my fingers through my hair, ruining the order I combed into it this morning. I shouldn't have answered that call.
I try to let go of my worry and frustration with Laz as I move through the schedule I'm forcing on myself.
My lineup of tasks doesn't leave me much time to mull over facts or speculations.
It's by my own design. I can't fall into a hole of sadness and anger again.
People depend on me now. I have responsibilities and projects.
My life is built around improvement now, where before it was one destructive act after another.
Laz is that. Destruction. He will destroy me—again—if I allow it.
But he keeps calling.
Every few nights, he calls. Sometimes I answer. I regret it every time, but I can't seem to help myself.
He sounds different on the phone tonight, though. He sounds broken.
“I shouldn't have left,” he says wretchedly. “I've been so stupid. And selfish. God, I'm so selfish. Why don't you hate me, Brooks? I could let go if you hated me.”
“Let go?”
“Of everything,” he rushes, breathless. “I'm so tired. I don't want to breathe anymore, but my body just keeps doing it.”
“You could leave,” I suggest.
He barks out a sharp laugh, but there's no humor in it. “Yeah,” he snaps loudly, “just like that. I'll just tell Kris to go fuck herself, and I'll leave.”
“You could.”
He laughs again.
I'm about to say something catastrophically stupid, like he could come here to me, stay with me, when a door slams.
“Hang up the goddamn phone, slut.” A command. An Alpha command.
Laz hangs up without another word.
This is killing me. What would happen if I just went up there and stormed in the place and dragged him out?
It wouldn't matter how many Alphas were in line to stop me, I could tear through every one of them without breaking a sweat.
Just because I've turned away from my violent past doesn't mean that I've let it go.
It's always there, just under the surface.
The only thing that stops me is the thought that Laz wouldn't come.
Saying you're ready to live a new life is an entirely different thing than meaning it, and he's gotten my hopes up too many times for me to go storming any castle gates.
He keeps calling, and I keep answering. It goes on for weeks. He sounds a little worse every call. Weaker. Sadder. Hollow. Sometimes the calls go on for hours, with us mostly listening to the other breathe, and other times the calls are cut short for one reason or another.
I have to make a choice. Whether Laz is ready to leave his Alpha and the bullshit arrangement they have or not, I'm going up for Shane's big fight next week, and I could so easily break the door down and rip Laz out of there for his own good.
I think he might actually die if I don't. I'm as selfish as he keeps claiming to be himself, because I can't let him go, not like that.
I don't believe for a minute that he's ready to give up the perpetual false heats, but I do believe I'm enough of a prick to force him into it.
I don't think I care about whether or not he makes the choice himself.
I'll make it for him, and damn the consequences.
I'd rather him be miserable and angry and alive than to let himself fade away into nothing for the sake of pleasure.
That's the part that may have pissed me off the most back then, and I'm not surprised at all to discover that I'm still pissed off about it. If he wanted to be in constant, mindless pleasure every day of his life, I could have given it to him without him destroying himself with fucking R.
The phone rings and I pick it up without looking at who's calling. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Shane says cheerfully. “Got a minute?”
“I always have a minute for you, Shane. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I'm nervous. Grady said I shouldn't bother you with it, but I don't have any family coming to watch, and I'm just, I don't know...”
“Nervous,” I finish for him. “It's understandable. And I don't mind. You're not bothering me. You're actually providing a perfect distraction.”
“You got something going on?”
I sigh. “Something like that. Being nervous is natural. But use it. You know what you want. You know what you've worked for. You've moved up through the ranks beautifully, just like we knew you would. It's just a matter of taking what's already yours.”
I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm just trying to be supportive and optimistic.
That's all Shane needs. He needs someone who isn't Grady to tell him that he deserves this win and that it's his for the taking.
Besides, everything I said is true. He has moved through the ranks, winning fight after fight.
He's even made a couple enemies. I haven't been back up to watch him since the first fight, but I keep up. I've even kept some paper clippings.
“Okay,” he says. “I appreciate you. So, you'll be up next week?”
“Of course, I will,” I assure him. “This is your first big win. I wouldn't miss it.”
***
I get a shockingly early call from Laz the morning of the fight. The phone rings just after I board the plane.
“Brooks,” he gasps when I answer. “I don't have much time. She knows. She knows I'm leaving. She knows I've been talking to you. I just wanted to talk to you again before tonight. I just wanted to tell you again that I'm sorry. I have so many regrets. I'm sorry. I have to go.”
“Wait,” I bark, not disguising the command and hoping it carries through the phone. “What's happening?”
Laz laughs. “I don't know, Brooks. I can't get out of bed.” Fabric rustles, and a door clicks open. “Fuck,” he groans. “I'll be there tonight. At the fight.”
“You will?”
More fabric rustles, and he groans again. “Wait,” he says, but he's not talking to me.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“I'm okay,” he murmurs, sluggish. “I'll be there tonight. I'll see you there.”
“You will,” I promise.
“I'm going to go now,” he mumbles. “Gotta get ready.”
Then the call ends.
I want to scream. He didn't say anything that should cause my heartbeat to slam against my chest, but that's what it's doing. He's fine. He said he'd be at the fight. I'll take him there. No one will stop me. I'll take him and bring him home, and then... Well, then we'll see.