“I don’t know nothing about no gun.” Years of dealing with professional liars, not to mention formal training in reading body language, taught a man a thing or two. Daytona spoke the truth—or his own version of truth.
“Mr. Lucklighter, do you realize why you’re here?”
“For stealing Bristol’s car, right?”
The two-way glass might stop Daytona from seeing him, but did nothing to shield Lucky’s heart. He turned to Walter. “I want to speak to him.”
***
Shuffling into the room bought Lucky some time, but not nearly enough. His mind still reeled when he came face to face with his youngest brother.
Daytona’s eyes grew wide and he clutched the back of a chair when he saw Lucky. “Rich? Bristol said you were alive, but he’s a lying son-of-a-bitch half the time. I can’t believe it’s really you! You’re alive! Oh my God!”
“It…” Clearing his throat didn’t dislodge the boulder cutting off Lucky’s air. “It’s me.”
Daytona launched himself too quickly, and the detectives weren’t fast enough to stop the redneck missile hell bent on a bear hug.
“Holy shit!” Lucky screamed. Direct hit to the gut! Bo and the detectives yanked Daytona back.
“Rich? What’s going on?”
Lucky held his middle and stayed still until the stars stopped dancing behind his eyelids. Bo’s arm around his waist helped him remain upright. Shit! That hurt!
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Bo led Lucky to a chair.
Daytona froze in place, gaze riveted on Lucky. “Rich? Bro? You okay?”
Bo answered, saving Lucky the breath. “He gave your dad half his liver. He’s still recovering.”
“Oh. Oh!” Daytona’s eyes went wide again. “It was you! That’s what you were doing in the hospital.”
“Yeah, it was me.” Lucky tried not to fall into the chair. He grunted when his ass hit the seat.
“Mama said they found somebody.” An angry glint came to Daytona’s eyes. “Did she know all along you were alive?”
“No. Someone else contacted me.” He’d never throw Charlotte under the bus. At least not until he figured out where Daytona stood.
Daytona took a step forward. Bo and the detectives stiffened. “I want to hug my brother, okay? I promise not to hurt him.”
The detectives turned as one toward Lucky.
Lucky nodded. “Let him.” Daytona couldn’t have tried to kill him. No way, no how. No signs of guilt, no signs of lying.
The detectives backed off. Bo stayed. Daytona ignored them, squatted down, and wrapped his arms around Lucky. “God, Rich, I’m so glad you ain’t dead.” He cut off Lucky’s air with the force of his embrace. Sobs wracked his body.
What now? Lucky raised a hand. Should he rub his brother’s back? Pat? Oh, to hell with indecision and any pain. Damn, but he’d missed this little twerp—who’d grown up a lot. He tuned out both the ache in his middle and the ache in his heart and held on for dear life. The chance to be this close to Daytona might never happen again.
“Rich,” Daytona blurted out, only to start bawling again.
“Sh… It’s all right, brother. It’s all right. Everything’ll be okay.” Lucky gazed over his brother’s head. Bo shuffled close enough to place a comforting hand on Lucky’s back.
For long moments they stayed in place, the only sounds Daytona’s squalls. Gradually he quieted down enough for Lucky to make out his words. “I love you, bro. I hated you, or said I hated you, for years. But you’re still my big brother. Now will you tell me why? I’d been clean for weeks.”
Lucky lifted Daytona’s chin with one finger and waited until they were eye to eye to answer. “I didn’t. I only found out about the heroin when you told Charlotte on the phone a few weeks ago.” And there he went, throwing her under the bus anyway.
“But it came from you. Your handwriting was on the card.”
Lucky’s throat burned. The guilty would pay dearly. “Day, why would I do such a thing?”
