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Fifty-eight
Patrick
Ryan’s been home for nearly six months now and at the Sojourn Center for almost three. If not for constant intervention and bribes, thinly disguised as donations, he would’ve been out on his ass and in a halfway house for disabled vets fifteen minutes after he got there.
That’s when he assaulted his first orderly.
Since then, I’ve probably donated enough cash to this place to fund it into the next decade. Not that I mind.
Ryan is family. And even if it’s not by blood, Gilroys take care of our own. So, when I walk into the center, I have my checkbook in hand and a let’s talk about it smile plastered all over my face.
The first thing I see when I walk in the door is the director waiting for me, arms crossed over her chest, mouth flattened into a grim, red slash across her face. In a chair, behind the desk is a male nurse, head tipped back with a wadded-up towel pressed to his face. His chin and neck covered in blood.
I stifle a sigh. “I know what you’re going to say, Candace,” I say, addressing the director by her first name. That’s how well we’ve gotten to know each other.
“Do you, Patrick?” she says, shaking her head. “Because I’m beginning to think nothing I’ve said over the past two months has made a difference.”
“It’s been a difficult transition for him—harder than most.” I stop in front of her and set my checkbook on the reception counter between us, trying not to smile when her gaze gravitates toward. “I’m just asking for a little understanding here.”
“I sympathize with Mr. O’Connell, I do...” Candace says, her shoulders loosening up a bit. “But I can’t have him assaulting my staff. I just can’t.”
“Then give him female nurses and therapists like I suggested,” I tell her. “Ryan would never hurt a woman.”
Candace looks away for a split second before re-connecting her gaze with mine. “My female staff are afraid of him.”
Even though I understand why, hearing it makes me angry. Any idiot knows that when you treat someone like an animal, they’re going to act like an animal. I need to get Ryan out of here.
Fast.
“My final inspection for the center is in a few hours.” I look over the counter at the nurse with the busted face. It’s the truth—sort of. “I’ll have him into the new place by the first of the month—I just need a little more time.”
She’s going to give in, I can smell it—but she’s going to make me work for it first. “Do you know how many staff have quit because of his behavior? How many staff members he’s assaulted?”
It’s a ridiculous question. Of course, I do. Because I’ve paid every single one of them off.
“Let me talk to him,” I say, even though we both know that that’ll buy us nothing more than a day or two of mollified behavior at best.
Candace drops her arms completely. “He’s in his room,” she says. “Find me in my office afterward—” She looks over her shoulder at the bloody nurse. “Gregory and I will be waiting.”
I nod. The last thing I want to do is sign my name to another check but I will if it means buying Ryan another week or two. That’s all I need.
I knock on the door and wait. I know he’s not going to answer me but I want to give him a chance to behave like a normal person. When he doesn’t say anything, I give up and push it open on my own.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway. “It’s Patrick.”
He’s in his chair by the window overlooking the parking lot, wearing the same flannel pants and faded T-shirt he was wearing four days ago. His dark, reddish-brown hair is flat and dull against his head. Facial hair covers sallow skin. Fingertips raw and ragged from being chewed on constantly.
“I got eyes, motherfucker,” Ryan shoots back, even though he hasn’t even bothered to look at me. “The fuck do you want?”
What do I want?
To go a week without having to pay off someone he’s assaulted.
To not have a horrible, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I look at him.
To know what to do. How to help him.
But mostly, I just want my friend back.
“What do I want?” I say, swinging my keys around the finger looped through my keyring. The sudden movement catches his attention from the corner of his eye and he looks at me. For a split second, he looks like Ryan. The kid I knew. Spent summers playing baseball with. My friend.
Seeing him the way he was, even for a moment makes every penny I’ve paid and every broken nose and busted mouth he’s given, worth it. It gives me hope. “I want to get the fuck outta here—you comin’?”