Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [597]
But then his dad had to go and get himself killed, getting in the way of some frickin’ drunk driver. And that’s when Monsignor O’Sullivan started calling Gibson into his office at school, claiming to be worried about him, wanting to make sure he was okay. He’d make Gibson pray with him. They’d recite the Our Father while the monsignor told him how special he was. He’d stand behind Gibson, leaning in against him so that sometimes Gibson could even smell the alcohol on his breath. He’d rub Gibson’s shoulders, his neck and then not just his shoulders and neck. The first time it happened, Gibson could hardly believe it.
He shook his head and pushed away from the computer. He didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t right, no matter what the bastard said. It just wasn’t right. And he knew it. Why else would he insist Gibson tell no one? Only, who would he tell? He didn’t have anyone he could tell. Nobody’d believe him. Nobody, except The Sin Eater.
He heard firecrackers in the distance. Someone down the block. Maybe Tyler and his buddies. He couldn’t believe he had almost forgotten tomorrow was the Fourth of July. It used to be one of his favorite holidays. Now it was just a lot of irritating noise.
CHAPTER 21
Omaha, Nebraska
Nick smiled and waved, disguising his relief. Jill evidently didn’t notice. She climbed back into the BMW packed with four of her old college girlfriends. Her high from the engagement party continued. He’d never seen her like this—almost giddy. Maybe it was just being around her old friends. Whatever it was, Nick was quickly learning that he played a small role in this week’s events.
“So I guess you’re stuck with me tonight,” Christine said, coming out onto the porch of their parents’ farmhouse. She let the screen door slam behind her and handed him one of the two longneck beers in her hands.
He took her offering, moving over and making room for her next to him on the old wooden porch swing, setting it creaking and swinging. The beer was cold, the condensation wetting his fingers. It was just what he needed. He guzzled half the bottle before Christine’s sudden laughter made him stop.
“Is the prospect of spending an evening with your big sister that bad?”
“It’s been a helluva day,” he told her, but now he rolled the bottle between his hands, watching the amber liquid swish against the inside of the bottle. “How ’ bout I take you and Timmy out for pizza? Mom, too.”
“You can ask, but I think Mom’s pooped. And Timmy went with a couple of his friends to a movie.”
“What movie?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even care. It’s bad enough I had to bribe him to go. He’s been spending way too much time alone in his room on his computer.”
Nick glanced over at his sister, seeing her frustration. He knew it had to be tough raising a teenage boy all by herself. Christine complained about many things, but Timmy was rarely one of those. After her husband, Bruce, cheated on her a second time, Christine threw him out again, but this time with little of the fanfare or emotion of the first blowout. It was almost as if Christine had expected it, had prepared herself.
Sometimes Nick wondered if the emotion would catch up with her, sort of like an aftershock knocking her off her feet long after the initial impact. Christine had a way of reacting on impulse without thinking things through, without weighing the consequences. He hoped that wasn’t the case with Bruce, especially where Timmy was concerned. But then, who was he to judge? He certainly was no expert on relationships. After all, here he was an engaged guy, sitting on his parents’ front porch asking his sister to go get a pizza with him on a Saturday night.
“How did things go with Father Tony?”
“Are you asking as a