Page 125 of Bobby Green

“He keeps me trapped here,” she said, eyes bright. “Like a prisoner.”

“He takes you shopping, out to eat,” Bobby said, at a loss. “But he’s worried—”

“Worry worry worry,” she snapped. “I’m not a little kid.”

“No!” Bobby snapped back, done. For a brief shining moment, he’d seen the kind of life he and Reg could have. “You’re a mentally ill adult, and you’re abusing your little brother, just like you abused him when you made him sign your papers!”

That seemed to take her back. “But… but I did that forhim,” she said, suddenly in tears. “He was sixteen! They would have put him in foster care. I’m the one who kept him safe!”

“Well, now I have to keep him safe from you,” Bobby cried. “And you’re not helping me one goddamned bit!”

“Well, you people should let me do what I want to do,” she replied, starting to rock back and forth. “Just let me do what I want to do. Stop thinking about the past. Just let me do what I want. I’m not a little kid. I’m not stupid. Just let me go.”

Bobby looked at her, feeling helpless, wondering if Reg could get out the cuffsright now. Reg came back from the bedroom, phone still in hand, and sighed.

“What?” Bobby asked.

“Two things. One, I reached out to Gatsby’s Nick, and that was Dex. I did it—they want us to show up. I booked my first gig.”

“Seriously? Oh wow! Go Reg!”

“Yeah—and he took me off the other schedule.”

Bobby gaped at him, so happy in his heart he could burst.

“What’s the other?” he asked, remembering that Reg had been in there to talk to V’s doctor.

Reg gave a little chin-nod, and Bobby started toward him before V interrupted.

“You two, always plotting. You and your filthy little secrets—what’s he evendoinghere, Reggie? Why’s he making me take these fucking pills? I was good to you when you were a baby. Why are you trying to keep me drugged!”

“Fine!” Reg burst out. “Doctor says you can either take your pills and be good, or you can go back to the first place. Not the good place with Kevin—we don’t get that place anyway, not when I can take care of you. No—you go back off your meds now, you gotta go all the way back down the ladder, to the place that stinks like vomit and piss and cigarettes and we don’t even get to talk to you without an enforcer.That’swhat I was gonna tell Bobby. So it’s on you, Veronica. You can take your meds, behave, and let us try to get you in touch with your boyfriend, or you can be a god-awful bitch and end up there.” His voice broke a little. “That’s what we got, V. That’s where we are. I know you don’t like the pills, and I know you don’t like your life. But I don’t got nothing else. I’m trying—I’m trying to make a better life for all of us, but it’s been damned hard when every breath I take is filled with whether or not you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me in my fuckin’ sleep!”

Veronica caught her breath like he’d slapped her and triple swallowed in rapid succession.

She had been, Bobby realized sickly, keeping the pills lodged somewhere so she could spit them out later.

“You hate me,” she sobbed, throwing herself away from the table. “Everyone’s fucking against me. I hate you all!”

Bobby met Reg’s bleak gaze.

“I’ll go,” Reg said softly. “I know where the handcuffs are.”

A WEEK.A hard one.

Bobby had a scene in the middle of it—but he didn’t want to leave Reg alone. He stayed the night, reading on the couch until six in the morning so Reg could sleep, and then went to wait tables before going home to crash at his mom’s. Reg got up, took care of V, went in to Johnnies, and came back to give her medication during lunch. Bobby got there, and they were a team for dinner. They were both cranky and tired—and hungry for each other’s touch but afraid to set V off.

The night after Bobby’s scene, Bobby stayed up to read until around midnight. Then he set the book down and crept into Reg’s room. He called softly first so he didn’t startle Reg, then came to sit on the side of the bed.

“What?” Reg mumbled groggily.

Bobby put his hand on the back of his neck, keeping him still, and then swept his palm down Reg’s bare arm, taking in the toughness of the muscle, the smoothness of the skin on his shoulder.

“Just want to touch you,” Bobby whispered. “Remember, that’s how this all started? With touch?”

Reghmmed in his throat. “I wanted to take you,” he confessed, voice strained. “I get so… so mad when you have a scene. And I hate that feeling, but I’d hate it worse if I didn’t have it.”

Bobby nudged him to his back and kept stroking, from his throat, down over his chest, over his abs. “I’m sorry,” he said, genuine regret filling him. “Johnnies… it worked for me. It worked for me when we first got together. But if it’s not working for you—”