Nobody’s Hero by j. leigh bailey Page B

snapped. “Now, either help me to my room, or leave me the hell alone, but let the rest of it go. It’s my issue and I’ll deal with it on my own. Do me a favor, though—don’t tell Mamá or Papá. I need to figure out something to tell them first.”
    “Like what?” Danny carefully guided his brother to the front porch. “You were helping the football team practice and forgot your pads?”
    “Jesus, Danny. I’ve been banging some chick and her boyfriend found out. That’s it. No cops. No hospital. Just get me to my room.” Ray hissed at the first step, gripping the handrail tightly.
    Brad watched them until the door closed behind them. He slowly, deliberately made his way to the stairs leading to his apartment. Only then did his knees buckle. He dropped to the bottom step and tried to clear his head. He didn’t even know Ray, not really. He shouldn’t be falling apart. Brad closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his drawn-up knees. He focused on breathing, the rhythmic inhale-exhale repetition he needed to settle his nerves and clear his head. It had been a while since his last anxiety attack.
    “Bwad?” Veronica’s hesitant voice interrupted his self-reflection. “Play?”
    He looked into her big brown eyes. “Not right now, short-stuff,” he said. “I’m not feeling real well. I think I better lay down for a bit.”
    She pouted for a moment, watching him carefully. Apparently deciding she believed him, she said something that sounded like it might have been “feel better,” then ran back to the other kids.
    Brad stood, then climbed the stairs, feeling like a decrepit old man. When he reached the door of his apartment, he let himself in and lay full out across his bed. He grabbed a pillow and covered his face, the image of Ray, battered and bruised, flashing back and forth with one of Carson, pale and lifeless. Eventually he fell asleep, chased into nightmares by his past.

Chapter Nine
    Two weeks later, and too much was going right. Brad still waited for something bad to happen. Life was...good, and Brad didn’t trust good. He had a safe place to live, and working for Hector Ortega made him happy, so clearly something epically horrible lurked out of sight.
    Hector’s son-in-law’s boots had fit him well enough, but wearing someone else’s shoes just felt...weird. With his first paycheck burning a hole in his wallet, Brad bought his own work boots, the rest of the safety equipment Mr. Ortega hadn’t provided and, with the few bucks left over, a single bag of groceries—mostly bread, peanut butter and a week’s worth of ramen noodles. Most of the noodles, though, were still in his cupboard. Somehow Mrs. Ortega or Danny always managed to shove a container of one leftover or another at him, no matter his protests.
    Even his gas card still had money on it, since he rode to and from the worksites with one of the Ortegas—usually with Danny in his yellow Jeep.
    Those rides were the highlight of his day. They were also torture, but he wouldn’t give them up for anything. Brad had never had a construction worker fantasy before, but seeing Danny every day in tight jeans, a tool belt slung low at his hips, led to many cold showers. Even the required safety glasses, which made everyone else look ridiculous, seemed pretty damned sexy.
    If nothing else, the past two weeks proved he really, really liked the way the red bandana Danny wrapped around his head accented his dark eyes and golden complexion.
    And Danny was a toucher. The whole family was. The personal space bubble that existed around people shrunk around the Ortegas. Hugs, kisses, casual pats and supportive squeezes were commonplace. He didn’t think Danny was even aware of how often he brushed Brad’s arm or back.
    Brad noticed. Each and every time.
    He tried to ignore it, pretend it didn’t affect him. But every time Danny moved in, Brad stepped out.
    He sucked in a breath as Danny’s warm hand settled on Brad’s left shoulder