Chapter 32

Brady dried his hair in the towel as he stepped out of the shower. He heard the door, but he thought Chloe was there to answer it. Going about his business, he found a clean pair of boxers and jeans and slid them up his long legs. "Chloe!? Chloe, are you going to get that?" Brady asked, as he searched the house for her.

Deciding she was not home, Brady went to open the door. "Goddammit, what do you want?" Brady chewed out bitterly.

"Hello to you too, son!" John Black commented as he strolled into his son's apartment without so much as an invite.

"Jesus Christ, walk in like you own the place, why don't you!?" Brady slammed the door furiously.

John surveyed his surroundings and then turned to face Brady, unwavering in his stance as he stared into him.

"What!?" Brady asked as he felt John''s examination. "Would you fucking say something!?" Brady cursed and wanted to wipe the smug smile off his father's face with his fists.

"You've done well for yourself, son."

"Don't call me son, you bastard. What is it that you want?" Brady seized his hands and sank them inside his pockets, just in case the temptation to hit something----someone----got too great.

"Your sister tells me you're doing well. Although I heard you had a little run in with the law or some attacker, something to that effect. Does that sound familiar?" John asked condescendingly, as he arched his eyebrow and inspected a vase from the dining room table.

"That's none of your business. Nothing I do concerns you. So why don't you just cut the crap and tell me why you're here?"

"You've become more hostile than I remember, son," John told him, not even bothering to look at Brady, whose eyes were boring a hole in his back.

"I said don't call me that! You have no right! Just tell me what you want."

"I've come to make amends," his father told him coolly.

"Amends? What the fuck would I want to do that for?"

"You better watch that temper of yours. Isn't that what's gotten you into so much trouble in the first place?"

"My trouble----my life----is none of your business. You made that decision when you kicked me out at ten."

"Brady, please stop being so dramatic. We sent you to the finest schools, got you the best education, the best contacts, and what do you have to show for it? Some garage in a bad city, in an even worse neighbourhood. You could be the vice president of Basic Black right now if you weren't so stubborn. No, this isn't what I wanted for you, s...Brady. Your mother would be pretty disappointed if she saw the way you were acting. Taking in some stray girl and letting her live here with you out of wedlock. What are you doing getting involved with a woman like that anyway?"

Brady crossed the room. His face was hot with anger, and he felt the blood pumping through his system so fast he couldn't control it. Grabbing his father by the collar, he yanked his tie so that his air supply was dramatically lessened. "That woman? That woman happens to be the mother of my unborn child. Don't you ever say anything about my mother again, you asshole! And leave Chloe out of this! You hear me? You say anything about her again, and I'll kill you. I swear to God, nothing will be able to stop me."

"Brady!" Chloe yelled from the doorway, setting the groceries down and trying to pull him away from John. "Brady!" she yelled, and instantly he recognized her voice and let go of his father. John loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt. "What has gotten into you?" Chloe asked angrily.

"It's all right, my dear." John put up his hand to calm Chloe. "You're right, Brady. I shouldn't have said those things, and I apologize."

Chloe barely paid attention to John as she watched Brady's features change. When she pried him away from John, she could barely recognize him. His eyes were cold, empty, full of rage. And in all the time she had known Brady, it was the first time she saw real hate behind his blue eyes. "Brady," she said softly, running her fingers over his face.

Brady looked down at her, and instantly his features softened. He was so very sorry she had witnessed the exchange between him and his father. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he held her against him.

Chloe didn't need an explanation. She had already figured out who the man could be. Besides the obvious physical characteristics, she recognized the voice from the phone call they had shared. "I think you should go now," Chloe told John sternly.

"I think you may be right. But, Brady, we do have to talk." With that statement, he made his way to the door and exited quietly.

Chloe pulled Brady close to her and gently rubbed his back. "It's all right," she cooed, and she felt him relax against him. "Brady, what did he want?" Chloe waited, but he gave no response.

Gently pulling away, he looked down at her, kissed her on the forehead and opened the front door. "I need to be by myself for a little while."

"Okay," Chloe responded, not wanting to smother him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brady exited their apartment and went to the street, hopped on his motorcycle and didn't look back. He drove on the highway, letting the wind rip through his clothes and throw his hair around. He should have been wearing a helmet. He shouldn't have been driving so fast. He should have stayed home. By the time he found a decent bar, the light had already gone from the sky, and the only thing he wanted was to get wasted and forget.

Goddammit, why did his father have to come to him and ruin everything he had worked for and built? He had diminished his relationship to Chloe to some street whore he had taken in and called his business, something he loved to do, worthless. Who was this man that had such power over him, that made him do things and made him feel so useless? He certainly wasn't his father. A father wouldn't do this to his son, would he?

"What can I get ya?" the barkeep asked.

"Beer and tequila shots, and keep the glasses full," Brady told the man behind the counter, setting down a hundred dollar bill, and then sank into a stool at the end of the bar. The first few shots were hard to swallow, and he realized how long it had been since he touched the stuff. What he really needed was to get high.

Just a short time later, the shots were much easier to take and tasted of liquid candy rather than the vile products they really were.

"You got a name?" a sexy blonde asked as she sat beside him and relit her cigarette, flicking the ashes away.

"I'm not in the mood. I have a girlfriend. Get lost," Brady told her without so much as a look in her direction.

"Look, sugga, all I asked for was a name, not your life story. And you don't look too taken, sitting here by yourself." Brady ignored her and took another hard shot of tequila, sucking a ripe lime immediately afterward. "Well, you got a name or ain'tcha?"

"Brady," he said coolly and bummed a smoke from her.

"They call me Hunney. H-u-n-n-e-y." She smiled.

"Clever," Brady snorted and took a long drag of his cigarette.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she persisted.

"Look, lady, I don't know what you're deal is, but I'm not interested. I have a girlfriend and a kid on the way, so why don't you just get the fuck outta here and let me wallow in my own self pity by myself?"

"Go to hell!" she yelled and took off across the room.

"You shouldn't have done that," the bartender told Brady as he refilled his drinks.

Brady took a swallow of beer and looked up from the rim. "Oh really? Why not?"

"Why not is coming this way," the man said and scurried away to attend to other customers.

"You got a problem?" came the loud, booming voice that seemed to echo behind him.

"No. Do you?" Brady said sarcastically, not even bothering to turn around.

"You been disrespecting Hunney, son?"

Brady nearly choked on his drink. What the fuck was everyone's fascination with calling him son? "Go fuck yourself," Brady said over his slumped shoulders.

The man, who was twice his size, yanked Brady out of his seat and used a hard right to punch him square in the gut. Doubled over in pain, Brady sank to the ground and spilled out a night's worth of drinking on the bar floor. Brady let the fury rise in himself once he picked himself off the ground and ran towards the large man, slamming him into the wall as his fists made contact with the fleshy material of his opponent.

"Jesus Christ, you're going to kill him!" someone shouted as they observed the fight.

Brady pounded hard and fast until his fists split open, and the blood oozed onto the other man''s shirt. Finally satisfied, he let the man slither to the ground and went back to his stool, taking a well deserved sip of brew. Brady waited patiently for the cops to read him his rights and didn't resist when the handcuffs were placed on his hands. He walked to the patrol car with ease and fell asleep in the back as they started the long drive back to the city.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brady sat on the cot provided for him in the cell and closed his eyes. The room was spinning, and he knew any second he would be back at the metal toilet, puking once again. All he could think about now was what a screw-up he was. What he had told Chloe months ago about him being fucked up was no lie. He had too many problems. She was too good for him, and now he just made their new life together one she would surely regret.

"Brady Black! Get up. You've made bail."

Brady turned his blood-shot eyes to the uniformed officer. "How?"

"Your father."

"I'd rather sit in here all night," Brady snarled.

"Look, your personal problems have nothing to do with me. You've made bail, so get your sorry ass up and stop your whining."

Brady stood, actually swayed would be more appropriate, and made his way out of the cell. An officer greeted him and gave him back his personal items, then escorted him to a police car. Brady looked at the plain car and then back to the cop.

"Your father is a very wealthy man. He wants to keep this out of the presses, and a large donation has been made to ensure that," the man told him with a wide, toothy grin. God, was everyone in this town corrupt?

"Dearest Dad!" Brady muttered under his breath and stumbled into the car.

The man gripped Brady by the upper arm as he teetered in the elevator. "Jesus, kid, how much did you have to drink?"

Brady simply smiled and refused to answer, unsure himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The knock on the door broke Chloe out of a panic as she rushed to answer it and took in the sight before her. She'd been pacing all night, making phone calls to everyone she could think of. "Where the hell have you been?" Chloe demanded, charging Brady and pointing her index finger into his chest.

"Whoa lady, calm down. You may want to wait to berate the guy until he sobers up. That way, he'll remember," the balding cop offered with a wink.

"You stay out of this. Who the hell are you anyway?" she asked, frustrated. The officer held out his badge, and Chloe took a step back, embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry. What did he do?"

"It's all right. Don't worry about it. It's been taken care of," he laughed and handed Brady over to her. "He's gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning."

"Good!"

The officer laughed again and walked down the hall, muttering something about ""what a woman,"" or something to that effect. Chloe closed the door and ushered Brady inside. "Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on, Black?"

"I got a little drunk," he told her in his best please-forgive-me-for-being-an-idiot voice.

"A little? You call this getting a little drunk?" Chloe smelled the booze on him and stuck her nose up in the air. "You've been smoking again too, haven't you? God, Brady, I thought you were over all this shit. You're going to be a father, and this is how you act?" Brady began to speak, but Chloe put up her hand. "Oh no, I am not finished with you yet. Just because things get a little rough, you go out to God knows where, doing God knows what and then have the audacity to say you got a little drunk? What do you think, we're just playing house here? This is real life, Black. And yes, sometimes it's hard, and sometimes you have to do things and deal with people you don't want to. If this is how you're going to react every time things don't go your way, I'm not sure we can be together. I thought you had changed. I can see now that I was wrong."

"Chloe, please..."

"No, Brady. Don't even try to explain. I don't want to hear it. Just go to bed. Sleep it off. We'll talk in the morning," Chloe told him and slammed the bedroom door closed, then opened it again to throw out a pillow and a blanket. "You've got the couch tonight, buddy. Don't even think of trying to worm your way into my bed tonight. I am way too pissed at you to even look at you." And with that, she turned on her heels and threw back the covers to her bed and got inside.

Brady sank down to the floor, and in a tiny voice Chloe could barely make out, he asked, "Why doesn't he love me?"

And that was it, and that was all.

Chloe was instantly beside him and cradled him in her arms as his muscular frame lay curled on the floor in a great heap. "Oh Brady, you can't keep doing this to yourself. He does love you. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"Am I really that bad? Chloe, please...I just wanted him to love me."

"I know, Brady. I know." She kissed the top of his head and stroked his back lovingly.

"I'll be a better father than he ever was. I promise. I'm going to love our kids no matter what they do. I'm sorry..."

"Shh."

"I just want to be a good father. I screwed up, Chloe," he told her, looking up at her, wiping his face.

"Yeah, you did. But you can't let your father do this to you. You're not your father," she assured him.

"I just want to be loved," he told her sleepily before he drifted off.

Chloe didn't know what to make of the situation. She knew Brady was hurting, but she also knew she hated his behaviour and wouldn't have her child----no, their child----subjected to that kind of environment. The only way she saw to absolve the problem was to have Brady and his father come to terms with each other and the loss that was at the center of their bickering. Isabella.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brady fell asleep for a few hours right there on the floor, and Chloe sat there with him, stroking his hair. The first inkling of the morning sun broke through the drapes and stung Brady's eyes. He moaned at the intense pain of the headache forming behind his eyes and moved to a sitting position. "Hi," he said softly to Chloe, who eyed him.

"Brady, if you ever do that to me again..." she began but then took an exhausted breath. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up," Chloe ordered.

Walking into the bathroom, Chloe began to run the water, adding a generous amount of bubble bath. The truth was last night had scared her. Brady had proved he could be a loose cannon when he wanted to be, and she knew things would never be resolved until the problems with his father were dealt with.

Brady stripped down to nothing and got into the warm water. Chloe followed suit and sank in behind him. Taking the cotton cloth, Chloe ran it down Brady's back. They sat in silence for the longest time, basking in the comforting heat of the water and the soft sounds of splashing water. Chloe touched Brady''s skin methodically as if getting reacquainted with him.

"Chloe, why are you with me?" Brady spoke, breaking the tension. "I mean, am I hard to love?" he asked softly, unsure of himself.

"No, Brady, you're hard not to love, and I'm with you because you're kind and sweet and sensitive and make me feel so good about myself. I love you because you're patient and caring, and you're going to make a wonderful father."

"Do you really think I will?" Brady asked quietly. "I don't want to screw up our kids. I want them to love me. Do you think they'll love me?"

"Yes, Brade. They'll love you just as much as I love you."

"I want to be someone our child will be proud of."

"You are." She kissed his shoulder and rested her head against the back of his. "Don't doubt yourself just because your father does."

"I don't know what I would do without you," he told her, taking her hand in his under the water. "I'm not strong like my father was. I couldn't move on."

"Don't say things like that. I don't like hearing you talk like that," she whispered, bringing his hand to her mouth and kissing his bruised, swollen knuckles. "I don't like that at the first sign of trouble, you turned to violence to solve your problems. It's not right, Brady, and it's not healthy."

"I know, Chloe. Sometimes I just get so angry I just have to hit something." He turned to face her, swishing some water onto the floor. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" The tense line of his jaw told Chloe how desperate he was for her to say no.

The truth was she wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid for him. Afraid that if he didn't deal with his anger towards his father, that one day that anger would catch up to him, and he would wind up hurt again or worse. "No," she said, cupping his cheek and watching as he visibly relaxed. "But I'm afraid of what you do to yourself. You have to talk to your father."

Brady dropped his gaze and his shoulders shrunk. "I can't."

She tipped his chin so he was forced to look at her, and so he could see the pain and tears in her eyes. "You have to. This anger is eating away at you. I won't have it. Think about the baby," she told him, her voice barely audible.

With trembling hands, he touched her stomach and like a humble servant bowed his eyes to her. Brady moved his hand from her stomach and closed his eyes tight. He knew he was a fool, an idiot even. His actions now not only affected himself, but they affected Chloe and his child that was on the way. "You're right." He leaned down and laid a soft kiss on Chloe's stomach, moving upwards until he captured her lips. "I'll talk to him," he whispered hoarsely, and Chloe didn't miss the glossy shimmer in his eyes.