Taking It Slow - Reese Knightley Page 0,5

bills.”

“I had to get medicine! And essentials!” she snarled, standing with a grimace, hand to her back, the other lifting to push her matted gray hair off of her dirty, faded housedress. He looked at the carton of cigarettes and the bottles of pain pills.

“Food is essential,” he growled. “What happened to your disability check?”

“It’s gone.”

“Clean that shit off the table before CPS sees it.”

She glared at him and swiped the ashtray filled with ashes and butts to the floor.

“There, happy?”

“I mean it, clean this shit up,” he snarled, pointing to the pills, and stalked from the smoke-filled room.

He refused to call her mom or any other type of endearment. She’d made his life a living hell until he’d joined the army. That had been his escape. His baby brother hadn’t been that lucky.

“Spencer!”

Wesley lunged up from where he was sitting on his bed and hurried into his arms. His brother looked so much like their father, it brought a lump to his throat. He’d been fifteen when his big-hearted but irresponsible father was killed on the job. Wesley had been a baby at the time.

He wrinkled his nose at the sweat and body odor coming from his brother, but that didn’t stop him from crushing Wesley close.

“Hey, Wes, whatcha doing?”

“Oh, you know, school work.” His brother grinned up at him and pointed to the books spread out on his bed.

At sixteen, Wesley was almost his height. He’d worried for a while that Wesley’s growth might have been affected by their mother spending her whole pregnancy high on pills. Fortunately, her habit hadn’t affected Wesley’s height nor his mental capacity. Wesley tested high academically.

“How long has it been since you’ve showered?” Spencer teased, scrunching his nose.

“The water was turned off again.” The expression in Wesley’s eyes was suddenly too old for his age and contained a worry that shouldn’t be there. The worn t-shirt his brother wore hung on his too-thin frame, the belt he wore was cinched on the last hole and even that was not tight enough to keep his faded jeans from hanging on his rail thin hips.

“Son of a bitch.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t get mad. It’s back on now,” Wesley’s voice trembled.

“I’m not. It’s okay,” he reassured his brother.

“Don’t call them,” Wesley hiccupped.

“I won’t,” he promised.

He knew his brother was referring to child protective services. What a fucking joke. Wesley needn’t have worried, that ship had sailed after the last horrifying experience. The only thing they dealt with now were the impromptu visits from CPS to the house.

He looked around at the mess and made a mental note to call the inexpensive housecleaner he’d hired a few months ago for a cleaning.

He suddenly squinted at the school books. “Have you been going to school?” The amount of work on the bed looked a hell of a lot more than homework.

“I haven’t been all week. I can’t go like this. I stink.” Wesley shoved away and paced back and forth.

“You could use the gym showers, Wes.”

“Not if I don’t have clean clothes.” Wesley threw up his hands and left the room.

“Motherfucker,” Spencer muttered.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. If he turned his mother in again, there was no doubt in his mind that Wesley would run away. He couldn’t do that to his brother, he couldn’t put him through that again. He couldn’t keep Wesley at his place because his brother wasn’t old enough to stay on his own for the length of time he was deployed. He couldn’t afford to hire a sitter and pay a good portion for his mother’s expenses and his share of the rent at his cheap apartment on his salary.

He headed back into the haze-filled living room to find Wesley fiddling with the television. His mother was now in the other broken-down recliner. Carl ignored him.

“Grab your laundry, Wesley. I’m home for a few days, you can stay with me.”

“Yes!”

“Now wait a damned minute!” his mother started to argue. “What about us?”

“I guess you’ll need to feed yourself.”

“You good for nothing bastard! Without me, Wesley wouldn’t have a place to stay. You put him in that home where they hurt him. That’s your fault!” she hissed with hate-filled eyes.

Carl turned up the television with the remote, turning a deaf ear to his mother’s wrath. The man didn’t live there and pretty much stayed out of their business. More importantly, the guy ignored Wesley.

He glared at his mother. If she’d been any kind of