Walter might never wake up. They’d ruled out heart attack, but something sure as hell went wrong.
And Lucky had never told the old man how much he loved him.
Chapter Seven
Lucky sat on the ugly couch in his counselor’s office. “Fuck my life,” he said. He’d long since given up on making nice and keeping conversation civil. If you couldn’t speak your mind to someone paid to listen, who else?
Besides, limiting his language to PG-13 level at home for the sake of his nephews seemed to build up obscenities until he’d have to disappear somewhere and explode in an unwitnessed fit of swearing.
Dr. Libby Drake sat in her usual chair, never flinching no matter what came out of his mouth. “When we last met, you’d reconciled with your family, your sister planned to move closer, and you spoke of proposing to your boyfriend. What’s happened in that time to bring you down?”
What indeed? “My parents barely tolerate each other, I really could use my sister right now but she’s in Spokane selling her house, one of my nephews hates me, and my boyfriend keeps saying no.”
“How does that make you feel?”
Feelings. Lucky used to hate feelings, avoiding them at all costs. Feelings weren’t all bad, they had their place, but right now he’d like to switch off his swirling emotions for a while, turn his brain to neutral.
He couldn’t. He’d tried.
“There’s this man, my boss. I think we talked about him a couple times.” Or a couple dozen.
The edges of Dr. Libby’s lips curled upward. “I believe we have. Your mentor, correct?”
“Yes… ma’am.” There went Bo again, with the long-distance imaginary elbow to Lucky’s side. He released his breath slowly, trying to push out the tension as she’d once taught him. “He… He’s in the hospital.”
She returned her features to blank-face. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
Lucky dragged his hands over his cheeks, chafing his palms on two days’ worth of stubble. “The doctors don’t know. With his age and weight, everybody figured he’d had a heart attack, but they ruled that out. His oxygen level plunged for some unknown reason, and now he’s unresponsive.” His eyes burned. “They say… they say he might have brain damage.” Speaking the words made them more real, and the pain didn’t lessen with time.
On some level he’d known the boss might retire someday, but not like this. He closed his eyes, picturing Walter in the ambulance, the pale blue cast to his skin. He’d seen skin like that on overdose victims, but nothing had been found in Walter’s system to cause the problem.
A dozen different compounds produced the same effect, untraceable without the most sophisticated tests. But where would Walter have come into contact with illicit drugs? Mrs. Smith already gave the doctors all Walter’s prescriptions. Nothing in those bottles caused such a reaction.
“I’m so sorry, Lucky.” The doctor frowned, a line forming between her brows. “He’s like a father to you, isn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t need her sympathy right now. In fact, he didn’t need anything at all, except a kind ear.
“If you feel the need, I could write you a prescription.”
Drugs. They did good in the world, and bad. How easy would it be to take what she offered, dampen the pain? No.
Lucky got up from the couch. He needed someone to listen. Not someone. One person. And not Dr. Libby. “I’m sorry, Doc, I need to go.”
“Wait a minute! Where are you going?” She trotted along behind him, high heeled shoes clipping across the floor.
“There’s someone I need to see.” Why had he even come here, told a stranger who couldn’t care less about Walter?
He rushed out to the parking lot and hopped into his Camaro, checking the time on his phone. Good, he had a few moments. Breathing deeply in and out, he counted to ten, then repeated the process.
He needed to talk to someone who cared as much as he did. Bo should be getting out of his own counseling appointment in about a half hour. Better to wait in the car than be expected to talk to someone without a vested interest in his problems.
She’d offered him drugs. As if.
He flinched from his thoughts when the passenger door opened and Bo climbed inside.
Lucky checked the time. “You’re out early.”
“Not as early as you,” Bo replied. “Did you tell your doctor about Walter?”
