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Pope was sick of hanging around the house. He was bored but there was also something grating on his last nerve: Baz had a date and he wouldn’t say who it was with but Pope suspected it was Cath.
His emotions had been all over the place lately and he took a deep breath, trying to relax. As much as he loved his family, sometimes it was hard to be around them.
Baz’s cell phone rang and his brother practically knocked it off the table in his rush to answer it. When he saw who it was, he made a face. “Craig, what do you want?”
He listened and then rolled his eyes. “What do you want me to do about it?”
More silence followed but it was accompanied by a tightening around Baz’s mouth and eyes. “Fuck. Fine. I’ll be right there.”
Pope didn’t know what was going on but he was amused at Baz’s displeasure. It was petty but if Baz was going to date Cath then he deserved a little misery.
Rising to his feet, Baz scowled at Pope. “Your little brothers are a pain in my ass.”
“They’re your brothers, too.” Pope crossed his arms. Baz sometimes made the distinction that he was adopted but Pope no longer thought of how he’d joined their family. Especially since Julia had left.
Been kicked out.
Yeah, families sometimes sucked.
“Fine. Our brothers are at the marina, drunk, and need a ride home. You wanna come?” Baz smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wondered why he wanted his company if he didn’t really like him.
Pope didn’t really want to retrieve his drunk brothers from the marina, or hang out with a sullen Baz, but getting out of the house even to run this fool’s errand sounded better than lounging by the pool, bored. Depressed. Pissed off. “Okay.”
Family was family and they stuck together. Even when they were imbeciles. Or when it hurt.
They didn’t make small talk but Pope just ignored Baz’s bad mood. Everyone said he was the moodiest motherfucker but he thought Baz was worse. Hell, Deran was almost as bad although Pope supposed some of that could be hormones. Being 17 kind of sucked.
Baz pulled into the marina parking lot, jerking his pride and joy, a F-150 XLT SuperCrew, to a painful stop. “Did you know Craig chartered a boat?”
“Not content to get wasted on land, he thought he needed to take it out on the waves?” Pope shook his head.
The likelihood of Craig inviting him was small anyway but he’d managed to offend his brother the other day by not agreeing that Renn Randall was the most beautiful girl around which meant he wouldn’t be invited anywhere, anytime, soon. Pope believed that accolade belonged to Cath but he hadn’t divulged that when Craig had tried using his height to intimidate him.
Craig might be tall but he spent most of his time lit or wasted so he was easy to manipulate.
He followed Baz across the parking lot and onto the pier. They stopped next to what Pope thought was a Boston Whaler but he wasn’t sure. Surfboards were more his thing but this boat was huge. Pope whistled; he was pretty sure he knew what Craig had spent his last take on and he was staring at it—a floating party. At least the rental of it.
They stepped on board and were greeted by Craig who didn’t look as trashed as he typically did after a bender. “Thanks for coming, guys.”
“Yeah, well, let’s make this snappy. Where’s Deran?” Baz crossed his arms and glared at Craig.
“He’s with Adrian on the bow.” Craig gestured with his head.
Baz huffed past Craig and made for the front of the boat, muttering something about little shitheads. Pope trailed along trying to figure out what they were doing there. Craig was almost functional compared to other post job celebrations.
Shaking his head, Baz made a beeline toward Deran who was sprawled on a padded seat, eyes closed, head lolling. If he hadn’t been snoring, Pope might’ve thought his little brother was dead.
Adrian sat in a chair across from Deran, elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed.
“Jesus, he smells like a distillery. Wanna trade?” Baz looked over his shoulder at Pope.
Looking down at Adrian’s bent head, Pope called over his shoulder. “Nope, no take backs.” He’d been annoyed when Baz had left Adrian to Pope—he only cared about family and that was on a good day when they didn’t irritate the shit out of him—but at least the little twerp was somewhat functional. Or at least upright.
“Adrian, rise and shine.” Pope grunted.
Adrian blinked up at Pope and he leaned closer to get a good look at the kid. Somehow Adrian managed to be both red from a sunburn at the same time he was startling pale. It was fucking weird. “Can you walk?” He tried to tone it down but he knew he sounded gruff.
Deran’s little friend just stared over where Baz was cajoling Deran. “Deran’s really sick. Can you help him?”
Pope looked over and saw Baz manhandling his little brother to his feet. Deran’s eyes were at half-mast and he looked like he might puke at any moment but at least his color wasn’t the weird red and pale combo Adrian had going on. Part lobster and part ghost.
Turning his attention back to Adrian, Pope found it hard to hold on to his frown; Adrian’s concern for Deran was kind of refreshing. Although maybe it was just because he was stoned or drunk and not that he really cared. Drugs were weird that way, making you feel things that weren’t always natural.
Pope would know since Smurf seemed bent on shoving antidepressants and antipsychotics and anti-whatevers down his throat.
He thought about giving Adrian a hand up but ultimately crossed his arms. Adrian was the asshole who had stayed out in the sun, drinking and who knows what the fuck else, and he didn’t deserve Pope’s concern. “Yeah, it’s okay, Baz is taking care of him. Now can you stand up already?”
Adrian nodded solemnly and pushed to his feet…and instantly sat back down. He looked back up at Pope, blinking hard, dazed. The kid had the darkest blue eyes Pope had ever seen although maybe that had something to do with the bloodshot background. “I don’t feel so good.”
Pope snorted, amused, until he realized Adrian’s voice was weird. He sounded breathless, like he’d just been sprinting or something.
He took a moment to really observe the kid. He paid close attention to Adrian’s breathing and it was weird. Rapid and shallow. Jesus, the kid wasn’t sweating either. Pope had been standing on the deck for about ten minutes now and his shirt was already damp beneath the armpits and behind his neck. Something was very wrong.
Pulling out his cell phone, Pope punched in some of the symptoms he’d observed, cussing as his thick fingers had trouble typing out the words. He wasn’t sure he’d get a connection to the internet down here at the marina but it actually worked.
Huh. The symptoms looked like a match for heat stroke.
The site said something about a temperature over 104. Pope leaned forward to touch Adrian’s forehead and the kid violently flinched away. He almost toppled over but managed to cling to the edge of the seat. It was an over-reaction that was vaguely alarming; Adrian never seemed scared around any of the Codys, even when he should be.
Except Smurf. Adrian was plenty nervous around her.
Had someone been fucking with him? Pope didn’t like that idea at all even if he only tolerated the kid.
At least Adrian was still upright. He listed to the side without warning, almost taking a header, but Pope reached out and righted him. The last thing he needed was to add broken bones or a concussion to this fiasco but he felt the heat pouring off of Adrian’s skin from where he touched his arm. They definitely had a problem.
Craig wobbled over although he was still moving under his own steam which was some kind of miracle. His brother peered over his shoulder at Adrian. “Baz has Deran in the truck, he wants to know what’s taking so long.”
Pope gritted his teeth. “I’ll tell you what’s taking so long, the kid has heat stroke. That’s on you.”
“Fuck.” Craig stepped closer. “Okay, sorry, what do you need me to do?”
He wanted to glare, or lecture, but Craig actually looked freaked out. Pope didn’t know if it was because he was worried about getting sued if something happened to the kid or if he really cared about him. He knew Craig went surfing with Deran and his buddies sometimes so maybe he actually liked Adrian. The kid could sure surf.
Focusing on the fuck-up at hand, Pope mentally reviewed what he’d read. “Do you still have ice on board?”
“Let me see.” Craig moved off, taking his cooling shadow with him. Pope thought about moving Adrian into the shade but Craig reappeared with a partially melted 5-lb bag of ice.
Taking the bag from Craig, Pope braced an arm around Adrian’s back and held the bag to the back of his neck.
Adrian whined and tried to pull away but his coordination was off. “Too cold.” His teeth actually chattered. Pope hoped it was because the contrast between his overheated skin and the ice was too much for his system and not that he was about to seize or something.
Pope actually felt a little sorry for the kid. “Sit still. Your temperature is too high. We need to get it down.”
If this had been one of his brothers, including Deran, Pope would’ve been punched in the face for his efforts. Adrian quit struggling and sat still, blinking, flashing his pitiful big blue eyes at Pope.
The kid took a deep breath and Pope braced himself, expecting Adrian to yell or cry or something, but instead he quietly sobbed out, “O-kay.”
Pope turned to Craig who was back to hovering over his shoulder, providing a shadow. “How’s Deran?”
Craig grimaced. “He puked all over Baz’s shoes, he seems to be better.”
Adrian surged against Pope’s arm but when he didn’t get very far, he subsided. “Is Deran okay?
Pope kept the eyeroll internal at the question but he found himself smiling. “Better than you.”
Adrian stared at Pope’s face, transfixed. Pope turned to Craig to see if he knew what was going on and Craig looked equally baffled. He cleared his throat, scowling. “What?
Craig raised a shoulder. “You smiled. Usually you just scowl at him.”
Pope shrugged off the comment but then thought about how long Adrian had been hanging out with Deran. It seemed like fucking forever. Out of all of Deran’s friends Adrian was the least annoying, mainly because he was somewhat respectful, and he wasn’t a bad influence on Deran unlike most of the mini douches. And the kid could flat out surf which earned some points in his favor.
He handed the ice back to Craig. “Bring that with, we’ll ice him in the truck some more.”
Turning his attention back to Adrian, Pope nudged him gently. “Come on. We’re going to join Deran now.”
Adrian straightened up. Sort of. “I feel better. I can walk.”
Pope snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Just hang on.”
And amazingly, without argument or fuss, Adrian did just that. He thought about throwing the kid over his shoulder but he didn’t want to get vomited on which was definitely a concern. Instead Pope kept his arm around Adrian’s back and slipped the other beneath his knees before hauling him into his arms. Adrian put his arms around Pope’s neck and it wasn’t quit clinging but it was something. Something like trust.
The heat pouring off Adrian’s body made Pope uncomfortable but he was pretty sure when they get home, he could cool him off like the internet said and he’d be okay.
Craig hovered at his elbow. “Do you need me to take him?”
Pope concentrated on the weight in his arms. In another year or two Adrian would probably fill out, maybe put some more height on him, and Pope wouldn’t be able to carry him but right now he wasn’t very heavy at all.
Stepping away from Craig’s side Pope said, “You just concentrate on taking yourself to the truck. I’ve got Adrian.”
“Thanks, Pope.” Adrian’s voice was soft enough that only he heard him but the quiet thanks almost made Pope stumble. Gratitude was something that was in short supply around their house.
He focused on his steps and soon he was back at the truck. Baz stood there, impatiently drumming his fingers on the roof of the blue truck. “What took so fucking long? I thought maybe you’d stopped off for lunch or drinks of something.”
Pope went around the truck and managed to open the back-passenger door while juggling Adrian in his arms. He deposited the kid on the backseat next to Deran before he held his hand out, waiting for Craig to hand him the ice. “The ice?” He snapped but Craig kept talking to Baz.
They were talking about Adrian’s heat stroke but Craig finally shut up and rounded the truck. Pope plucked the ice out of his grip before leaning into the cab, feeling the air conditioning blasting, and settled the floppy bag of ice behind Adrian’s neck. The kid leaned back against the seat and that anchored the ice in place.
Satisfied the ice would stay put he closed the back door. He quickly opened the passenger door and climbed in, shutting the door practically in Craig’s face.
He checked on the back seat and Adrian was stoic despite the cold against his skin but Craig not so much. “What about me? How am I supposed to get home?”
Baz opened the driver side door. “You’re the one who let these idiots get into this condition so you can find your own way home.”
Pope saw Craig in the rearview mirror as they pulled away and it made him chuckle; his brother had his arms raised and his expression clearly expressed what the fuck? Craig had many, many acquaintances so Pope knew he’d find a ride home.
Glancing into the backseat he saw Deran tugging on Adrian’s shirt sleeve and Adrian patting Deran’s thigh. They were both uncoordinated but something seemed to be communicated in a language they both understood, faint smiles on both their faces.
Baz was scowling but the faint smell of vomit in the air probably explained the expression. Pope was okay with the quiet though because it gave him some time to think. He’d practically been hating on his life before the trip to the marina and now he felt energized. Like he’d served a purpose and for once it didn’t have to do with ripping someone off.
He’d fucking helped someone. Done the right thing.
When they pulled into the driveway and parked, Baz had a fight on his hands as he pried Deran away from Adrian’s side. His brother was belligerent, and loud, but Pope knew Baz could take care of things. Adrian was much easier to guide out of the truck and he walked under his own steam. At least the ice seemed to have worked.
Pope guided Adrian inside, trailing behind his brothers, pushing Adrian down onto Deran’s bed. “I’m going to get you two dipshits something to drink and some more ice. Stay put.”
Deran frowned and Adrian nodded and Pope wondered if that was the typical way these two interacted with the world—Deran all fists and attitude while Adrian was agreeable and played peacemaker.
Baz was in the kitchen, sans shoes, and as soon as Pope entered the room he vigorously complained. “Did you see what Deran did to my shoes? They’re fucking ruined.”
“Maybe next time don’t wear handmade Italian shoes to retrieve your drunk brothers?” Pope suggested but his words were met with a glower.
Pointing his finger at Pope, which Baz knew he hated, he continued his litany of complaints. “Smurf doesn’t like Adrian being around Deran all of the time. She’s fucking going to lose her shit when she finds out about this.”
He didn’t disagree but it wasn’t his fault Deran had a friend who treated him well and Pope had no plans to tell Smurf about this little adventure. His response, a shrug, made Baz throw up his hands and he charged outside. It was probably time to pick up Cath.
Pope hoped Baz forget he wasn’t wearing shoes. Fucking asshole.
He grabbed two bottled waters out of the fridge and dug around in the freezer until he found some frozen peas and green beans. The icepacks hadn’t been restocked since the last job—Craig was slacking again—but these bags should do the trick.
Turning he stopped in his tracks as he almost ran Deran over.
Deran looked a hell of a lot better than he had when Pope first saw him on the boat. His brother cleared his throat. “Adrian wasn’t supposed to come on the boat. His dad was being a complete dick so we told him to come because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Thanks for taking care of him.”
Adrian’s flinch on the boat made a little more sense. Pope wasn’t sure how he felt about someone pushing Deran’s little friend around. He decided he didn’t like it but since Adrian wasn’t family, he didn’t know what to do with that feeling.
His brother flashed him a nervous, quick smile.
Deran was a good-looking kid. He had a slight build although it was well muscled from surfing, skateboarding and all the other crap he did. It was sometimes difficult to believe they were related.
His brother had thanked him. He wondered if Deran had learned some manners from Adrian because he certainly hadn’t living in this household. Pope didn’t respond but he did hand a bottled water to Deran. “Drink up. You’re dehydrated.”
“Thanks, Pope. Really. I can take that stuff in to Adrian.” Deran held out his other hand.
Pope wanted to see for himself how Adrian was doing but it would be kind of weird if he insisted. He handed the supplies over. “I think Adrian had heat stroke so make sure he drinks that up and ices down.”
Deran looked at the bags of frozen vegetable in his hand and then back at Pope, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything other than a quiet, “Thank you,” delivered with something close to a smile. At least it wasn’t a scowl.
Was that three thank you’s? The day kept getting weirder and weirder.
After Deran vacated the kitchen, Pope realized he was hungry. He actually had an appetite for the first time in forever. He headed for the fridge, eager to pick through the offerings Smurf would’ve left for them while she was on her business trip.
Maybe life, and his family, didn’t completely suck.
-0-
Pope went to the beach to find Deran. The surf was off the hook and it had been a long time since just the two of them had hung out together.
He spotted his brother, light colored hair reflecting the bright sunlight, and he was…laughing?
What the fuck? Deran scowled at the world and flipped it off.
Oh, Adrian was with him. The two of them were lightly shoving each other around and Deran grabbed Adrian’s ass—
That was not friendly wrestling. Shit. Did Deran and Adrian have a thing?
Pope didn’t give a shit who Deran slept with but he squinted into the sun, observing these two.
He remembered how Adrian had worried about Deran after they got hammered on the boat Craig had chartered when they were 17. How Adrian had trusted Pope to take care of him.
That had been a good day. One of a few.
Pope gripped his board beneath his arm and turned to go but halted when he heard a voice. “Yo, Pope! It’s totally off the hook, come on!”
It wasn’t Deran. It was Adrian.
He turned back around and picked his way down the craggy hill toward Deran and Adrian.
Maybe this was going to be a good day, too.
Finis