Page 2 of Guitars and Cages

I couldn’t help it; I chuckled, ’cause when didn’t I draw the short end of the stick in any dealing with my brothers?

“I do not find the situation funny. This place is not suitable for Rory to live in.Youshouldn’t be living here, Asher. I always thought better of you than this.” She no longer looked angry, just tired, and more than a little bit sad.

“Yeah, well...” I began, but looking around I didn’t have an excuse for what I’d become. I looked over at my nephew and saw the dark circles under the little boy’s eyes. Damn, the kid looked exhausted.

“Hey, kiddo, why don’t you go sleep on the couch while your mom and I talk,” I told him, and, with a nod from her, he trudged into my living room and curled up on the sofa—clothes, comics, and old pizza boxes sliding onto the floor as he did.

“Look, Kimber,” I said as I turned my attention back toward her, “I don’t have any experience with kids.”

“And whose fault is that?”

I dropped my eyes, because she was one of the few who knew about the child I had but had never seen.

“Asher, you know I wouldn’t ask you if I had any other choice, right?”

“How hard can it be to get an apartment?” I pressed. “I mean, come on, Kimber, you check out a few want ads, drop a deposit, and bam, you’re all set. You can manage the kid and apartment hunting for a couple days, can’t you?”

“Someone who lives in a shithole like this shouldn’t be giving apartment-hunting advice,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing. “It’s way more complicated than you’re making it out to be. I can’t take him with me, Asher. Please, just trust me on this and keep him for me. I hate asking you for this and believe me I will never ask you for anything else again.”

“Okay,” I said. “How long do you think it will take?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Her fingers twisted that braid again before she stood and rifled through my cupboards. I was about to tell her to mind her goddamned business when she found the coffee, yanked it out, and set about making us a pot. Okay, coffee I could go for, even better if I didn’t have to screw with it myself, so I shut the hell up and let her do it.

“How long have you been drinking so heavy?” she asked, and I slammed my fist on the counter, instantly pissed again.

“I don’t answer to you or anyone!” I shot back, about to point her and her kid toward the door, until she turned those glaring blue eyes at me and I remembered what I’d always felt when I looked into them.

“I’m not saying you do, I’m just hoping you won’t do it in front of Rory,” she said, her voice beginning to waver and lose its bite, betraying how tired she was. “Chase never drank in front of him and you know I don’t drink, so please, if you could refrain for a while?”

“I work at a bar, Kimber,” I pointed out to her.

“Doesn’t mean you have to drink yourself under it,” she shot back, hands on her hips and furious again.

She swayed and caught her hand on the chair in a white-knuckled grip I’m sure she figured she could fool me into believing was fury, but I knew the truth. Oh, she was mad all right, but she was outta energy and running on fumes, hell-bent on staying on her feet and glaring me down. I conceded, ’cause my head was pounding so hard I wasn’t sure which one of us would win this battle of wills.

“I won’t drink in front of the kid,” I told her with a sigh.

“Or stagger in and pass out drunk in front of him?” she pushed. “Or abandon him somewhere so you can get drunk.”

“Hey now, what kind of asshole do you take me for!”

“I’ve talked to Eve, Asher. I know exactly what kind of asshole you are.”

“Yeah, well...” I began, sad that she’d come to know me in such a light when all I’d ever wanted was to impress her. “I won’t do any of that, get drunk in front of the kid or pass out drunk where he can find me, or ditch him to get drunk, or even watch movies about getting drunk where he can see the TV, okay?”

“His name is Rory, not kid.”

That was Kimber, always pushing. If I’d stayed living with her and my brother she might have pushed me to be a better man than I was, but I could push, too, and I’d pushed myself right on out the door when I couldn’t have my way. Sorrow and guilt stabbed at the back of my head where I’d shoved them more than once, and that nagging feeling was back, making me wonder if I could have prevented my brother’s death if only I’d been the kind of brother he’d deserved.

“I’ll take very good care of Rory, I promise,” I assured her, knowing I’d at least try to keep that promise. “Besides, I’m working for Morgan.”

I watched her blink twice as that bit of news struck home, and then she sort of deflated into the chair, leaving me to pour the coffee when it was done. For a while we sat there, both of us sipping our coffee and trying hard not to look around at the mess in the room.

“You can stay the night...err, morning,” I offered, as the pigeons began cooing outside the kitchen window, signaling the coming of dawn.

“Just long enough to help you clean and get Rory settled,” she said.