Read Charity For Nothing: The Virtues Book III for Free Online

rotations through the ER, that the blinders had really been peeled back.
    There was a lot of soul searching and honest talk between me and my sister, and it was needed. The day ended up going long in some respects and I think that when both me and Hope disembarked back at the marina, we both felt equal parts better and emotionally wrung out. At least I know I felt wrung out.
    We had a low key dinner on the back patio of Cutter’s house, the three of us and their two men and I honestly called it a night early. The sunlight still peeking over the horizon despite the fact the sun had gone. I showered and dried my hair, taking the time to straighten it before going to bed. I clicked off the bedside light to the low rumble of thunder in the distance, sighing out into the night.
    A long day, but a good one…
     
    ***
     
    An exasperated sigh, “Son of a bitch,” a masculine voice, the words slurred around the edges. I sat up and listened to the rattle of glass and metal, somewhere close, right beside the bed.
    A flash of blue light illuminated a crown of dark hair, lank with the rainwater that lashed the window.
    “Nothing?” I asked softly and he looked up, in my direction, squinting in the dark. Thunder boomed and I jumped with a little girly yip, slapping my hand over my mouth. I reached over and clicked on the light. He put a hand up to shield his eyes and I took in the scene in front of me.
    The drawer on the bedside table was open in front of me, my pictures in their broken frames in a neat pile on the floor. Nothing sat cross legged in the middle of the cream carpet, a plastic grocery sack open next to him. He was fumbling with the back of a new frame, trying to slide the little clips aside and open the back.
    “Nothing, what are you doing?” I asked softly and pulled back the blankets, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
    “I broke it, I need to fix it,” he mumbled, or some iteration thereof. I knelt down beside him and could smell the alcohol.
    “Please tell me you didn’t drive here…”
    “Bike’s broke, Marlin has my cage, so I walked.” At least that was clear enough.
    “Can I help you?” I asked softly, putting my hands lightly over his, stilling his fumbling.
    He looked at me, his soft gray eyes meeting mine, filled with such sorrow, such pain, and he uttered clearly, “No one can help me.”
    It hit me in the center of the chest, and if it’d been a physical blow, it would have knocked the air clean out of me. I sighed out gently and tried my best to smile under the weight of his sadness.
    “Can I try?”
    He let me take the frames from his hands, one drifting up and cupping the side of my neck, thumb grazing gently along my jaw. He made eye contact with me and his eyes held so much.
    “Those eyes get me every time,” he murmured. “Can’t stop thinking about them. Like shadows on ice, not like hers, but the same. The same deal, same effect, you know?”
    “I don’t, I’m sorry,” his hand dropped away and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands deep into the sockets.
    “Hey, here, don’t do that. You were going to help me, remember?” I drew his hands away from his face with mine and he stared at them, my hands in his, his hands in mine.
    “I broke them, I fix them.”
    I smiled, “You don’t have to.”
    “ Yes, I do.”
    “Okay, okay then; let me help you.”
    We sat on the floor of the bedroom, in the close, golden glow of the lamplight, the rain thrashing outside and re-framed my pictures. He’d chosen simple black frames and I liked them. I was never a fan of overly fancy things, preferring a less was more approach most of the time.
    “There, all fixed,” I said solemnly.
    Nothing nodded and I was almost afraid of just how inebriated he was. He staggered to his feet and I rose with him.
    “I broke them,” he said and the pain was raw on his face.
    “You fixed them,” I said and smiled and he looked down at the pictures in my hand. He shook