All The Things: The Last Thing He Needs Omnibus

Chapter One

Leaning his head back against the cool brick wall, Tommy O’Shea tried to block out the stench of the dumpster and the faint skittering sound to his left. He wasn’t a fan of rats. Or roaches.

He heard a stifled groan come from the mouth slowly working his cock but didn’t bother to glance down. This was just another night, another trick to get off with after work before heading home to God only knew what. C’mon, I don’t got all night….

It wasn’t the fault of the eager stranger on his knees. It was Tommy’s own racing mind. Hope Colleen remembered to turn off the stove when she finished dinner. And Jesus, if Mike didn’t do the dishes like I said, I’ll bust his ass in the morning. And so it went for several minutes, making things take much longer than they normally would.

“That’s it…,” he finally whispered, swallowing hard as the guy—what was his name again?—took him down that extra inch, deep-throating him while playing with Tommy’s balls. “Yeah, don’t stop,” he added, more for himself than the other guy, forcing himself to rock his hips a little, trying to get into the moment and out of all the other scenarios spiraling through his head.

Wonder what kind of bullshit I’m going home to tonight? He didn’t know what it would be, but he knew it would be something. Cheryl, his stepmother, might have made a few friends in whatever gutter she and his father were in and brought them back to the house. They could be shooting up on the living room sofa. The kids could be there, seeing it all, or hiding upstairs. He could get home to find the police already on their doorstep. It might even be the same two cops who usually showed up at the most inopportune moments. They’d been by the house so many times, dragging his parents home from the street or responding to another domestic disturbance, the kids all knew them by name.

Officer Sanders was an older guy who didn’t seem to care one way or another as long as he wasn’t being shot at or pissed on. But Officer McAlister—Bobby, as Tommy had known him briefly in high school—was still a rookie and always seemed a little pained, a little worried every time he had the misfortune of dealing with Cal and Cheryl O’Shea.

Bobby was something else, something pure and clean and pretty, with those striking blue eyes and that fair skin—even his hair was curly and blond. Christ, he was even a choirboy when they were kids. Real angel, Bobby was. Still an angel: guarding, protecting, concerning himself with the troubles of others. Tempting.

Tommy thought back for a moment, remembered Bobby on the track at school, his skin slick with a sheen of clean sweat, his breath pounding out hard as his feet tattooed a heavy rhythm no one could touch. Tommy almost laughed. Hell, he even flies like an angel. The gently mocking humor died a second later as he remembered them both in the locker room after gym. Wet with soap and hot water, steam rising, muscles defined and sinewy….

He came with a grunt, biting his lip so hard he nearly drew blood.

The trick in front of him politely tucked him back into his jeans. Tommy started to wonder if he’d gotten his name to begin with, because for the life of him, he still couldn’t remember it. He was about to ask before his back pocket started to buzz. “Shit,” Tommy muttered, nodding a thanks to the guy and preparing to jerk him off for his efforts even as he tugged his phone free and flipped it open. “What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling tension creep up his shoulders as what’s-his-name dusted off his knees and looked expectantly at him.

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly, but….”

The soft voice of one of his younger sisters sounded hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if this was something worth bothering him over. She was barely eleven and the one with the tenderest heart of all of them. Tommy sometimes thought he worried about her the most, but really, he worried about all of them for different reasons on different days.

“What’s goin’ on, Carrie?” He tried to ease his tone as he reached for what’s-his-name and started to pull at the button of the guy’s jeans.

“Just…. Sorry to bug ya, but Max has been crying for half an hour and he’s pulling at his ear again, and Zoe has a fever. We’re outta the drops for them, and I don’t think—”

Tommy still had his fingers wrapped around the guy’s cock, but his progress had stopped, even as the guy tried to shift and push against him. “How high is her fever?”

“Hundred point two. It’s not bad, but…”

“Yeah, Christ, the doc even said if Cheryl and Pop would quit smoking around them they wouldn’t get the damn ear infections. You haven’t been laying them down with their bottles, have ya?” He slowly pulled his hand free from the other guy and tried to look regretful.

“No, swear to Christ, Tommy, we stopped that when the nurse down at the clinic said it would make their teeth come in rotten.”

The babies were seven months old and there were so many dos and don’ts when it came to raising them, even Tommy had a hard time keeping it all straight.

“Good girl, Carrie. I’ll be home soon and I’ll pick up some stuff at the drugstore. Can I talk to Colleen?”

“She’s got Max and Zoe in a bath, tryin’ to see if it helps.”

“’Kay, good, I’ll be home soon. Good job.” Tommy snapped his phone shut and looked into the face of a very disappointed stranger, thinking it would be really bad form to ask the guy to spot him a twenty until payday. “Sorry.” He shoved his phone into the inside pocket of his dark blue work jacket. “Hate to, well, leave ya like that.” Tommy managed to bury his smirk as he glanced down at the probably painful hard-on the guy was sporting. “Kids need me, I gotta get.”

“What? Now?” The guy was a little indignant, but who wouldn’t be? “You’ve got kids?”

Tommy did laugh then. “Yeah, seven of ’em. I’m tryin’ for my own baseball team.”

And with that, Tommy O’Shea lit a cigarette and walked quickly out of the alley behind Smarty’s Pub where he’d just washed an assload of dishes and gotten his cock sucked. He rounded the corner into the early spring night, hoping to hell he could find a pharmacy still open.

The closest thing he found between 212th and home was an all-night gas station, but they had a little convenience store attached. He hoped it would do.

Squinting under the bright fluorescent lights, Tommy didn’t ask where anything was but milled around a little. He knew he had nearly eight dollars on him but had no idea how much the stuff would cost. He, like half the neighborhood, also knew the camera in the corner didn’t work. Convenient indeed.

He thought he probably looked suspicious in his tight jeans and heavy boots, with his dark hair hanging in his face and covering his clear green eyes, but that couldn’t be helped. Tommy walked up the candy aisle and down the chip aisle, back to the sodas and then the small automotive aisle. Trying to come off as indecisive rather than like he was casing the place, Tommy grabbed a can of soda—on sale for less than a buck—and then a small bag of chips—only a dollar there. Then he wandered over to the aisle with pain relievers and PMS relievers and pads and diapers. The guy behind the counter didn’t even bother to watch him, probably didn’t give a shit as long as no one pulled a gun. The little bottle of infant drops was over nine dollars.

The electronic sensor on the door dinged as it opened. Tommy didn’t look to see who it was but grabbed two boxes of the acetaminophen and hoped the clerk had glanced over at the new customer rather than in Tommy’s direction. Indifference would only go so far and lifting something in plain view wasn’t a chance he wanted to take.

As he slipped the boxes into his coat pocket, he heard a familiar voice and felt a warmth behind him.

“Put it back, Tom.” McAlister. Christ. Of all the stop-and-robs in this shitty town, he had to pick this one?

Tommy let out a sigh, shoulders dropping a bit. “I can’t.” He gritted his teeth, his cheeks flaming with heat, not over the fact he couldn’t pay for something like this, but because he’d been caught. And Bobby McAlister had just called him Tom in a husky whisper. His breath brushed against the skin at the back of Tommy’s neck.

“Why the hell not?” Bobby asked quietly, standing a little closer than he needed to.

Then he realized Bobby was blocking the clerk’s view of him.

“Zoe and Max are sick and they need this shit and I don’t have enough to pay for it. Till I get paid,” he added with a defiant tilt to his chin.

Bobby narrowed his eyes and stuck his hand out, demanding without a word that Tommy pass them over.

“Christ, are you gonna run me in for this?” Tommy bristled, feeling angry now. His little brother and sister were at home and in need, and this guy—this guy he thought was an angel fifteen minutes ago—was standing in his way.

The snort of laughter from Bobby was unexpected, and Tommy handed over the two little boxes. “Did I run you in when you beat the ever-loving shit out of the Hopkins brothers?” he asked, his lips twitching in a smile.

“Hey, those guys had it comin’ for what they did to—”

“To Colleen, yeah, I know. I looked the other way and didn’t push it when they didn’t press charges, right? Or the time I caught you and Mikey lifting spare parts off that dead guy’s car?”

“He was dead, not like he needed them.”

Bobby shook his head, but he laughed. He turned toward the front counter, the medicine in his hand. He stopped to grab himself a pack of beef jerky, a box of chocolate-covered doughnuts, and a pack of gum. Tommy thought absently it was probably what he’d come in for in the first place. With a little jerk of Bobby’s head toward the counter, Tommy walked up behind him, going to put the chips and soda back. “Those too,” Bobby told the clerk.

“Hey, no… I got enough for these, it’s cool.”

“My treat.” Bobby sounded amused, but at the same time he gave Tommy a look that made him put the things on the counter.

Once they’d paid for everything and headed out of the store, Bobby walked over to his car—not the cruiser Tommy usually saw him in, but a little black Mustang that shone even in the dark. “I’ll give ya a lift.”

“Nah, I’m good—just a few blocks.”

Bobby raised the bag, reminding Tommy he still didn’t have what he needed. “Suit yourself.” Bobby clicked the remote to unlock the doors. He smirked as he slid behind the wheel.

“Bastard,” Tommy muttered, rolling his eyes as he got into the car.

“Changed your mind?” Bobby’s tone was playful, teasing, as he buckled his seat belt before starting the engine.

“Did I have a choice?”

“There’s always a choice, Tom.”

Tommy didn’t want to respond to that. Other people had choices—he had got-to, need-to, and won’t-do. He expected the car to back up, for them to be on the road, but it sat there purring, as if Bobby was waiting for something.

“What?”

“Seat belt.”

“Yeah? I…. Oh, right.” He couldn’t help rolling his eyes again as he reached across himself and pulled the strap down, buckling up. “Safe and secure, Officer. Or did you have a helmet for me too?”

“Hey, you have no idea how many morons I find with skin and hair in the windshield, teeth in the dashboard, just because they were too stupid or drunk or proud to put on a damn belt.” He started backing up, then added, “I’ve seen you, ya know. You always make the kids wear theirs.”

“Yeah, well, Christ, they’re kids, I don’t want ’em to get—” Tommy cut himself off, not wanting to make Safety Officer McAlister’s point for him.

Bobby only lifted an eyebrow, but his expression was full of smug triumph.

The house, normally dark and quiet at this hour, looked bright from the curb. Anxiety started to roil through Tommy’s system, knowing they couldn’t afford another doctor visit since Cheryl had been too high or too lazy—or both—to sign the forms to get the kids on medical and keep the food stamps. He’d filled it all out for her—all she’d had to do was sign the damn things.

“Looks like everyone’s still awake,” Bobby observed as he turned the car off.

“Christ, they shouldn’t be up this late, they all got school tomorrow. Davey’s got two tests and Carrie’s supposed to give a presentation in Science.” He was talking to himself, thinking out loud in his frustration, but Bobby looked over at him, his face unreadable in the dark.

“It’ll be fine, Tom. We’ll get things settled in there.”

Before Tommy could protest, Bobby was out of the car, bag in hand, and striding toward the front steps like he belonged there.

The front door opened before they were halfway to the porch. Colleen stood with a baby on one hip and another curled around her leg. Dutiful to her core, she never complained, never thought for a moment about herself. Two days ago when she turned seventeen, Tommy had wished her a happy birthday—which was the most any of them got when birthdays rolled around. She had only looked at him as if she’d forgotten and then responded with a smile and a shrug.

Now, with her straight auburn hair pulled back into a tattered ponytail and a strained expression on her face, Tommy could tell she was exhausted. “Sorry things aren’t settled yet, Tommy, just….”

He kissed her on the forehead as he passed, stooping down to lift up little Max on his way through the door. “Don’t you dare apologize, Col.” The house was messier than he usually found it after work, but he could understand why. Max let out a small whimper as he dropped his head onto Tommy’s shoulder. “He feels warm too.”

Colleen walked behind them, updating him on everything as she went. “Yeah, his just started to go up. Zoe’s been running one off and on all day, but it started to get worse about an hour ago.” When she noticed Bobby, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “Hey, Bobby, good to see ya.”

“Good to see you too, Colleen. Where’s the folks?” he asked, glancing around the house.

Tommy felt a small flash of embarrassment, knowing their home wasn’t exactly fit for company even on the best days. The TV stood precariously on a makeshift shelf put together with cinder blocks and boards, a DVD player Davey had “found” one day sitting under it. A short bungee cord held the TV to the wall in hopes it wouldn’t crush the babies if it fell. Cigarette burns and stains sprinkled the carpets. Nearly as bad, the couch had holes worn in the fabric and a tattered blanket tossed over the back. But it would take a white glove to find any dust and the windows were crystal clear. They might not have the nicest things, the house might be too small and rundown, but they tried to keep it clean. Tommy could be proud of that, if nothing else.

“Probably in a gutter somewhere, same as usual,” Colleen answered without spite, just a matter-of-fact statement as if it belonged to a simple set of truths in this world: the sky is blue, the sun rises and sets, Calvin and Cheryl O’Shea are good-for-nothing bums who pass out in their own bodily fluids on a regular basis.

Bobby didn’t laugh, but he probably knew it wasn’t a joke. He looked around the room for another minute, and Tommy realized he was doing a head count when Bobby asked, “Where’s Davey and Carrie?”

Colleen and Bobby headed into the kitchen and Tommy followed, noticing again how Bobby acted as if he lived there. It didn’t bother him, exactly, but it made him feel restless and frustrated in some way he couldn’t name.

“Sent them to bed. Mikey is getting ready to do the same. Can’t move Collin from the sofa, though. Says he wants to finish whatever movie he’s watching, and I don’t have it in me to argue with him any more tonight.”

Bobby dug into the bag and passed Colleen the medicine just as Zoe tried to squirm out of her arms.

“Thanks,” she said as she took the boxes and passed Zoe over to Bobby.

The baby reached for him. Tommy could have laughed then too. Zoe didn’t like strangers, but Bobby had made so many visits to their home—on official business—that she treated him like family.

“No problem,” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to Zoe’s hair just as Tommy had done when he picked up Max. He started pacing, bouncing the baby in his arms and whispering to her, “It’s okay, we got your medicine, you’re gonna feel better soon.”

Zoe was still whimpering, looking worn-out and uncomfortable, but she was settling under Bobby’s tender tones and gentle steps. The image made Tommy’s breath catch. It twisted and tightened something in his chest that felt like it might break now.

“I’ll go get Collin up to bed,” Tommy said, his voice a rough whisper, not sure what to do with himself with this new person in the mix.

Colleen nodded as she started reading the back of the little bottle, serving up a dose for each of the babies. He could feel Bobby’s eyes on him as he strolled back into the living room with Max still in his arms.

Collin was sound asleep, curled up on the couch with the remote tucked in his hand. Some old sci-fi movie played on the TV, black-and-white, with a girl screaming as she ran through the woods with a bright light chasing her down. He muttered a curse as he turned off the television before reaching to nudge his little brother. “Rise and shine, kiddo.”

All he got in return was a mumble and a slight stir before Collin shifted and rolled over. Tommy shook his head, smiling fondly and thinking Collin was a lot sweeter when he was asleep and not swindling classmates out of their milk money or filching something off the back of a delivery truck with Davey. The kid worried him no end. Collin was growing up to be either a genius or a thug. Tommy hated it, but he knew which direction he’d bet his money.

He quietly wandered back to the kitchen, sidestepping a small pile of toys on his way. “I got these for the kids tomorrow,” he heard Bobby say as he rounded the corner. Bobby was passing the box of doughnuts over to Colleen.

“Bad for their teeth,” Tommy pointed out, not even sure why he was being such an ungrateful prick.

Bobby looked bashful for a flash of a second, like a kid caught doing something despicable, but then he shrugged and twitched a guilty smile at Tommy.

Colleen shot her brother a glare and then turned to Bobby. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ll let ’em know they’re from you.”

Tommy could tell Zoe had already had her dose as Colleen came over to give Max his. The baby fussed in his arms when he saw the little dispenser filled with purple fluid, but Tommy stroked his back and shushed him, and the boy let his sister give him the medicine. “There,” Tommy whispered, pressing another light kiss to Max’s temple. “We gotcha.”

Colleen started to wipe down the counters. Mike had done the dishes, but things were still a mess. “Collin go up to bed?”

“Nah, he’s out like a light. I’ll carry him up after I get the twins to bed. You go on up, you look beat,” he told her, nodding toward the door.

“You sure?” Tommy knew from the look in her eyes she was grateful to the point of tears, but also willing to stay up and make sure everything was done if he wanted her to. It broke his heart a little.

“I’m sure I’ll kick your ass if you don’t get upstairs and get to bed.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” Pausing as she started to pass him, Colleen pressed a small kiss to his cheek, then to Max’s. The baby looked almost as tired as her, his eyelids drooping, then snapping back up, his thumb tucked between his lips. “Bottles are ready for ’em, if they’ll take anything this time.”

“I got it, you go on.”

She flashed him one more weary smile. “Night.” She looked at Bobby and added, “And good night, Bobby, thanks for stopping in.” She disappeared through the door as if afraid some new emergency would drag her back and keep her from her bed.

“Night, Colleen,” Bobby said too late; the girl already gone.

“You can go on, I got this.” Tommy cradled his brother in his arms.

“You kidding me? And miss out on these cuddles? No way.”

He grinned like it was a joke, but he held Zoe closer and settled down into a chair at the scrubbed pine table.

Tommy could only shake his head, wondering what was wrong with a guy who could be out getting laid but decided to stay in and feed a sick baby. “Either you party way too much,” Tommy told him as he passed one of the bottles over to Bobby, “or not nearly enough, if this is your idea of fun.”

Bobby laughed as he took the bottle. “There’s lots of kinds of fun.” He tipped Zoe into his arms so she could reach her bottle and smiled again when she took it greedily. “This is one of ’em.”

“If you say so.” Tommy had settled at the table with Max in his lap and was feeding him as well. Max’s hand curled around the bottle for a moment, and then he reached up to touch his brother’s face. Tommy brushed a small kiss to the tiny, pudgy fingers, rocking him without even realizing he was doing it at first. He’d never admit it out loud, and he didn’t find this fun exactly, but there was a certain comfort from it, as if these kids kept him just as safe as he meant to keep them.

“I do,” Bobby murmured, looking over at Tommy and then down at Zoe. He tightened his hold on her, as if he intended to keep her to himself.

Before long, both babies were sleeping peacefully, seeming comfortable and in need of the rest. “I hate to put ’em down, don’t wanna wake them…,” Tommy whispered as he started to rise from his seat.

“They’ll sleep better in their own beds.” Bobby stood with him. “Which way?”

Another crunch of unease bit at Tommy. He didn’t want someone who had the ear of social services seeing anything in their house, let alone the tiny bedrooms with too many beds crammed into them. “Upstairs.” He swallowed his nervousness as he led the way.

The twins shared what would be a master bedroom with Collin, Davey, and Mike. One crib and two bunk beds. The babies were already too big to share the crib, but they slept better when they were together, and hell, there was no room for them anywhere else. When Max was older, he could take the spare bottom bunk, and Zoe could go into Colleen and Carrie’s room, but until then, this was it.

Leaning over the crib railing, Tommy gently set his brother down. He found Max’s blanket and draped it over him before tenderly sweeping his hair back from his face. Bobby did the same with Zoe then stood back as Tommy raised the side again, locking it in place before switching off the small lamp on the dresser next to them.

“I’ll get Collin,” Bobby said, starting to turn out of the room.

“Nah, he’ll flip if he wakes up and you’re carrying him. He’ll think he’s headed to foster again.”

Bobby looked as if he was going to say something meaningful, but all that came out was “Oh, right.”

They all remembered the one time the kids had been removed from the home. Collin was only three at the time, but even seven years later, it still put a chill in his eyes whenever they talked about it. The boy had fought like a lion, raging against the caseworker as she tried to pick him up and carry him to the car. Collin bit the hell out of her. She let her temper flare with a totally unprofessional curse.

Tommy, only fifteen at the time—not old enough to stop it, but old enough to understand—told the woman she should’ve minded her own damn business and let them be. Then he added that that’s what you got when you messed with an O’Shea, and Collin was a good boy.

Several months had passed before they were all home again. They were worse off in the state’s hands than they were in their own parents’—and that was saying a lot.

As much as he resented Cal and Cheryl, he had to be grateful to them for pulling it together long enough to get the kids back. Cheryl could have easily bailed on them. She had only been a part of their family for a few short months, and Christ knew she didn’t care about any of them.

Their first night back home that summer, Tommy promised them he’d never let it happen again. A stupid thing for a fifteen-year-old kid to promise, but so far, he’d made good on it. “I’ll keep us together, or I’ll die trying,” he had told them.

“I was there that day,” Bobby blurted out suddenly as they crept into the hallway.

Confused, Tommy stared at him. “What?”

“That day… the day social services picked you guys up. I was jogging by and stopped when I saw the cops and stuff. I….” Bobby glanced at the floor before looking back to Tommy. There was that half smile again. “I was glad you didn’t have a gun.” He snorted a laugh and added, “I wasn’t sure who you would’ve shot first, the social worker or the cops hauling your parents off.”

Tommy took that in, ignoring the faint glimmer of embarrassment trying to spark up inside him. “The social worker. She had the kids.” He knew it was a harsh thing to say, but he remembered how he’d felt that day. He had never been so angry and scared. He shook off the memory and quietly made his way downstairs.

He found Collin still asleep on the couch and scooped him up with a small grunt. The kid was turning ten in a few weeks, and pretty soon he’d be too big to lug around. Tommy stepped around Bobby at the foot of the stairs and carried his brother up to bed.

When he returned, Bobby stood awkwardly at the door, shifting from foot to foot and—Tommy could swear—blushing slightly. He had his beef jerky in his hand. “I…. Well, I guess I better get going. Unless….” Not finishing whatever he was going to say, he looked oddly hopeful and nervous at the same time.

“Yeah, I need to hit the sack soon. Twins’ll probably be up again when that stuff wears off.”

“Right.” Bobby started to turn for the door, then hesitated and took another step before he turned back to Tommy. “Look, I….”

“Hey, yeah, hang on.” Tommy went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard under the sink. He had to snake his arm back so far it hurt, but he found the plastic bag under a strip of duct tape and peeled it from the wall. Their emergency money had dwindled down to tens and twenties instead of a few hundreds and fifties, but he had enough. Thank Christ, Tommy thought as he turned around on his knees. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Bobby standing over him.

“Jesus, warn a guy instead of sneaking up on him.” He huffed out a small laugh as he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from the bag and passed it up to Bobby.

Tommy caught an expression, quick and surprising on Bobby’s face, something that looked almost hurt when he saw Tommy pass the bill to him. “Oh… no, I don’t…”

“I’m not a charity case, Bobby. I take care of my own.” He knew it was a stretch considering the relief he felt every time they got food stamps, and he didn’t even blink over lifting something one of the kids needed, but there were limits and he preferred good, honest thievery and state support over owing anyone anything. Ever.

“Then why were you… if you had money here….” Bobby looked confused as he took the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “And I didn’t think it was charity, just… I’d do that for a friend, ya know?”

Tommy got to his feet, knowing he couldn’t have kept his eyes on Bobby’s face with Bobby’s crotch inches from his nose. “Because it would’ve taken another hour to come home, get the money, go back out…. The babies needed it sooner, not later. Colleen and Mikey were needed here and Davey and Carrie and Collin are too damn young to be out on the streets at two o’clock in the morning.” He answered all of Bobby’s questions on one breath and chose to ignore the friend comment, thinking they were far from friends. He didn’t make friends with people who could toss him in jail.

“Yeah, that… that makes sense, of course. I….”

As Bobby trailed off again, Tommy watched him for a minute. He half wondered what was going on inside Bobby’s head, and at the same time he tried to force himself not to care.

“But anyway, thank you for the loan and for the lift and… all that. Just… thanks.”

“Yeah, anytime, Tom, I… well, hell, anytime.”

There was that look again, like Bobby had more to say but couldn’t decide how to say it. After another long pause, he turned and headed for the front door.