Page 131 of Bobby Green

Dex got in and started the truck immediately, pumping cold air into a destructively sweltering June morning. He turned in his seat before putting on his belt.

“Bobby, I know it feels like… like the end of the world right now.”

“Yeah.” Bobby closed his eyes and fought tears again. They’d been lurking, apparently, all night. He only needed some safety to set them free.

“But Reg, he’s got the biggest heart in the world—”

“And I just broke it, Dex,” Bobby said, eyes still closed. “He thinks I think he’s… he’s retarded, and it may be a medical word, but it’s his worst goddamned fear. That he’s not smart enough, strong enough to take care of his sister. And he just heard me tell the world he’s not. Trust me. He’s better off without me, if he thinks I don’t respect him.”

Dex grunted in frustration. “I get that you’re feeling low, okay? But don’t give up. Please? He’s…. John and I worried about Reg a long time. Guys grew up, grew out of Johnnies, and Reg just kept on, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, but I saw the changes. Didn’t know you were a couple untillast night, but I saw them.” Bobby grimaced because he sounded damned bitter, but Dex kept talking. “You made him think beyond that. You gave him faith to do that. Don’t… don’t discount that, okay? Just give him time.”

“Sure.” For a moment he hoped Dex’s lawyer would lose in court. That after the arraignment he’d be put in jail for a year, maybe two, and he could spend a year beating the shit out of people—or blowing them—just to stay alive.

He’d never have to think about the thing he’d done, the way the red haze had blown over his eyes and taken his life away.

“I mean it, Bobby,” Dex snapped, and Bobby’s eyes shot open. “Don’t give up. You got a month, you hear me? A month—you and Reg get a month to cool off, and then I fucking intervene. I’m not shitting around here. I got John in a good place, Ethan in a good place, Chase and Tommy are good. Kelsey’s due any minute, but she’s good. All my people, Bobby. You and Reg are the last. I’m not letting you blow this for me. Me and Kane are fucking exhausted, and we need a year of rest.”

Bobby found himself smiling, even as Dex turned around and did his belt, then took off into the visible heat rising from the pavement.

Okay, so he needed to figure something out, or Dex would fix his life.

Deal, then.

Some sleep, a trip to court, some loose ends, and Bobby could get to work.

Full Circle

HE TOLDBobby to fuck off.

Not just once, but twice. The second time, Bobby had tried to come into his hospital room, looking like hell—and damned contrite—and Reg had lost his shit, screaming and carrying on even after Bobby left.

The nurse had needed to sedate him, and when he woke up, John—John, fresh from rehab John—was there to scold him for being an asshole.

“Can’t you see that kid is breaking his heart over you? I got no idea why, but he seems to think you’re special.”

“So special he said I was retarded and I couldn’t take care of my own shit!”

And John—his friend, who had always been so exquisitely gentle with him—had growled. “Everybody needs help, Reg. And you know what? You can’t save someone just because you want to. Trust me. I spent ten years doing blow, trying to wipe out the memory of the one guy I couldn’t save. You know what he did to pay me back for all that useless wanting?”

“I got no idea,” Reg said, stunned. As far as he’d been concerned, John was like a teacher—he didn’t have a personal life. Even rehab had been like one of those seminar things teachers were always talking about but Reg could never picture.

“Jumped off a fucking bridge and killed himself,” John said succinctly.

Reg stared in horror. “That’s fuckingawful!” The sedative was still wearing off, and he had a confused picture in his head of V jumping off the bridge over the Sacramento River and trying to fly.

“Tell me about it. And he left me to clean up his mess.” John’s hair was clean these days, and he was filling out. He really looked like an all-American boy now. No more drugs.

“Poor John,” Reg said, feeling genuine sorry. “You’re a good guy. Didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” John said softly, settling down a little more comfortably into the wretched hospital chair. All the guys had whined about this model—apparently it was like sitting in a plastic cage. “I didn’t. And you didn’t deserve your sister.”

Reg bit his lip, eyes smarting. “She was so good to me when we were little,” he said, willing someone, anyone, to understand.

“So was Tory,” John said back, and Reg saw pain in his eyes. Honest, grown-up pain.

Reg’s pain was just that flavor.

“What happened? I mean, with V it was schizophrenia, but—”