Page 22 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

THE SITUATION

Alix

A few things hit me right away, the first literal, since Lexi came bounding forward, tail wagging furiously, and shoved her head between my thighs so hard, she had me backing up with an “oof.”

The second was a fortyish blonde woman who looked like a high-end realtor or possibly an investment advisor—in other words, like my mother—saying, “Hi. I’m Francine. And I’m sorry, but I’m headed out the door to pick up Callie from taekwondo, so can you …”

“Of course,” I said, still patting Lexi. “You go on. Thanks for checking on him.”

“No problem,” she said, then glanced at her watch. “I really do have to go. Good luck.”

I shut the door behind her, took a breath, and regretted it a little. There was a definite odor of vomit in here. I called, “Ben?” but didn’t get an answer, so I started to look.

Not in the living/dining room, obviously.

The main thing in here, besides some high-end but very bland furniture and a very large television, was many, many windows.

Serious floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, because it was a corner unit, overlooking half of Portland.

The stylish kitchen, which featured flat-front black cabinets and marble countertops, didn’t look great, because half those cabinets were open, and the fancy countertops were littered with trash and dirty dishes.

I couldn’t believe Ben had done all this in less than twenty-four hours, but I also couldn’t believe Sebastian had. I moved on fast.

One door down a hallway to the left. I knocked, Lexi panting happily at my side, then opened it. Whoops. Master bedroom. Dark-gray duvet pulled up neatly on a king bed, another wall of windows, and no mess at all.

Back out and down another hallway. Another door. More windows, and a desk with a laptop on top and nothing else. Office, equally neat. A bathroom across the hall, not neat at all. I backed away fast from that one.

Last door, this one half-open. Lexi beat me inside, feathered tail waving, with a happy Woof!

This was it. Clothes scattered over the floor, and a boy sitting on the bed, his head bowed.

“Hi, Ben,” I said. “I’m Alix.”

He looked up. Red eyes, white face, and misery.

Well, yeah. This was an obvious one. Good thing I was a foreman.

Ben said, “Hi,” and then nothing else. Lexi, though, put her front paws on the bed and whined, and he put his hand on her, so that was something.

I asked, “Have you taken her out this morning? Fed her?”

“Huh?” He blinked.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘no,’ I said. “I’ll be back. ”

Basic dog care, Parts One and Two. A trip outside, then food and water. I looked at my watch while I was waiting for her to do her business, and, yeah, we were going to miss part of the game, but that couldn’t be helped.

Lexi and I headed to the bedroom again, and this time, I picked up the bottle that had rolled halfway under the bed.

Scotch, and not just Scotch. Laphroaig. “16 Years,” the label said, and I’d bet that wasn’t its cheapest age.

The bottle was almost half full, but there were a lot of shots in a whisky bottle. Or in half of one.

First things first. I said, “A dog needs to be walked and fed. Imagine how uncomfortable it would be to hold your pee for, what, fifteen hours?”

“I was sick.” He looked guilty, though, which was good.

“And yet you’re clearly a caring guy,” I said, as if he hadn’t spoken.

“So I’m going to figure you weren’t thinking, and that another time, you will.

Dogs are totally dependent on us. They give so much and ask so little.

” Since Lexi was on the bed now, shoving her head under Ben’s hand, he might see that.

“I get it, all right?” he said.

“I thought you would,” I said. “So how full was this bottle when you started?”

“I don’t know.” Gaze averted.

“Try that answer again, please,” I said, keeping my tone even.

“There’s a reason I need to know. Hey, at least I didn’t call the ambulance and tell them to pump your stomach or whatever they do for alcohol poisoning.

Just imagine how embarrassing that would have been.

Worse than having some strange woman show up in your bedroom. ”

He smiled. Just a little, but I saw it. “So how full was it?” I prompted. “Do I need to call poison control?”

“Pretty full,” he said reluctantly. “A couple of inches down. I was just trying it. I was going to fill the empty part with water. People drink Scotch with water anyway, so what’s the difference?”

“And you thought Sebastian wouldn’t notice. Dude. He’d have noticed. Always better to own it. See, otherwise you’re drinking and lying, whereas if you own it, you’re just drinking.”

Ben shrugged one shoulder and resumed staring at the floor, and I said, “You’ve been sick, huh.”

He nodded, then held his head like he regretted moving it. “It’s probably a migraine, because my head really hurts. Or I caught something on the plane.”

“Not even close,” I said. “This is what is known as a hangover. I take it you haven’t had one before.”

“I haven’t drunk alcohol before,” he said. “I have to take care of my mom. At least I did. I don’t anymore, so why shouldn’t I get drunk?”

The mess could wait, I decided. “Stay here,” I told him. “I’ll be right back.”

“I can’t exactly go anywhere,” he said.

I opened Sebastian’s fridge and found Gatorade, which wasn’t a surprise.

After that, I searched the cupboards for crackers, but couldn’t find any.

Not in the healthy-eating plan, I guessed.

He did have bread, of the multigrain artisan type, so I toasted and buttered two pieces of that, filled a glass with Gatorade and ice, and steeled myself to go back into Sebastian’s bedroom.

It was an invasion of privacy to look in his medicine cabinet and bathroom drawers, but I did it anyway.

I found an economy-sized bottle of ibuprofen and tipped two tablets out into my hand.

I also noticed that he had a box of condoms in there.

I could hardly avoid it, because there they were.

“Feel everything,” the box promised. It told you some more things, too.

That they were extra thin. Lubricated and ribbed “for her pleasure.” And size Large .

It was a box of thirty-six.

And it had been opened.

“Save it,” I muttered, and carried my lifesaving supplies to the back bedroom, where Ben was now lying down with his forearm over his face and Lexi’s head on his stomach. When I came in, she waved her tail a little, but didn’t get up.

“Sit up,” I said, and when they both did, I put the ibuprofen into Ben’s hand and said, “Take these with this Gatorade.”

“I can’t drink anything,” Ben said. “I’ll puke.”

“You’re dehydrated,” I said. “That’s why you feel so bad. Take it slow, but drink it. And eat the toast.”

Ben eyed the toast without enthusiasm. “My mom buys that same kind of gross bread. What’s wrong with white bread?”

“Less nutritional value. Sebastian has a diet plan. He’s a professional athlete, remember?”

“Like that’s a big deal,” Ben muttered.

“Keep sipping that Gatorade,” I said. “Keep nibbling at that toast. You’ll feel better in half an hour.” I didn’t wait to hear what he’d say next, just went out and cleaned up the kitchen and straightened the living room, then steeled myself to tackle the bathroom.

“You know what?” I said aloud. “No.” And headed back to Ben.

He wasn’t looking quite so green, and the Gatorade was half gone. His hair was messy, it looked like he hadn’t changed out of his clothes last night, and he stank. I sat beside him on the bed, though, and he didn’t object.

I considered about three openings, but decided on, “How did you like the Laphroaig?”

“Huh?” He blinked at me and kept eating toast.

“The Scotch.”

“Oh. It was gross. Tasted like dirt. ”

“Yep. That’s Laphroaig. It comes from the Highlands or the Islands or somewhere like that, in Scotland. With peat bogs.”

“Huh?” he said again.

“Peat bogs. It’s some sort of decayed plant matter. They cut it into big squares, dry it out, and use it as fuel, or they used to. I believe they also burn it so the smoke gets into the Scotch, or the barley, or whatever it is. That’s what you were drinking. A peated Scotch.”

“I guess,” Ben said. “Why would you drink that, though? It’s disgusting.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “But some people like it. Want me to see how much a bottle of that costs?”

“Why, so I’ll have to work to pay it back?”

“Not up to me. Out of general interest.” I did some quick searching. “$159.99, because it was old. You have good taste, except that we both agree it doesn’t taste good.”

His face went whiter, if that were possible. “No way.”

“Cheer up. There’s a forty-year-old one that costs five thousand dollars.”

“American dollars?” he asked, appalled.

“Yep. Why did you drink it, if it’s disgusting?”

“Because he didn’t have anything else,” Ben said. “Not even beer.”

“Oh,” I said. “And you wanted to get drunk. How come?”

He shrugged, and I said, “No, come on. You must know.”

I waited, and finally, he muttered, “My mom.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “What about her?”

“She said I had to leave because she couldn’t take care of me. But it’s not like Sebastian’s going to take care of me, or like I need it. He wasn’t even here! If I’m going to be on my own anyway, what’s the point? And I was taking care of her. Now she just has, like, strangers. How is that better?”

I said, “Well, I sure understand that. ”

He blinked at me. “You do?” His hair such a mess, his shirt so wrinkled.

“I’m not fond of being told I have to conform to somebody else’s plan,” I said.

“And that’s just about what I do for a living.

Who I marry. Whether I go to college. Where I live.

If somebody’d tried to send me away from the person I loved best right when she needed me most, I’d have been so pissed.

I used to live in a trailer at my grandmother and grandfather’s place, partly so I could help them out.

My grandfather loved gardening, for example, but old people can’t do the hard stuff anymore.

I liked feeling that I was helping, and that they wanted me.

” My feet moved restlessly, as if they wanted to run away from the next words.

“I left, though. My grandmother’s ninety-four, and I left.

I’m so torn about that, and it was my choice. ”

“How come you don’t go back, then?” Ben asked.

“Because she told me to go,” I said, and smiled.

It was a painful smile. “It’s hard to know what’s right, but I do know that most moms care more about their kids than they do about anything else in the world.

It had to hurt your mom so much to send you away, so I guess that means it would have hurt more to have you stay. ”

“I don’t get why,” Ben said.

“I know,” I said. “Have you called her today?”

He looked away. “No.”

“Ah. Too mad. Well, I get being too mad.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a temper myself. So, hey. We’ve got about three things to do here. Clean the bathroom, clean you, and go to a football game. We’d better get started.”

He said, “The bathroom’s gross.”

“I noticed. Hence the cleaning.”

He looked nothing but appalled. “What, you mean me? ”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t drink any Laphroaig, thank God. Why should I clean up your mess?”

He struggled for something to say, and I said, “Let me know when you come up with a reason. It had better not be, ‘because you’re a woman,’ because that’s beneath you. Meanwhile, I’ll help you find cleaning supplies. I assume you know how to clean a bathroom.”

“Of course I do,” he said. “My mom and I always cleaned together.”

“Then,” I said, “it’ll be a piece of cake. Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”