Heartbreak Warfare :: Chapter Twelve
Bo was surprised to find Steve in his kitchen when he woke from a nap the following day. Hope was nowhere to be found.
"Hey," Bo greeted with a nod, "What are you doing here?"
"Drinking a beer. Checking to make sure your grill still works." Steve opened the back door, "It's a beautiful day, step out into my office."
Bo followed Steve out onto the back porch, the smell of the burning charcoal filled his nasal cavity. It relaxed him. He felt at home. He'd missed that smell, "What are you cooking?"
"Thought I'd keep it simple." Steve shrugged, "I got a couple of brats. Some vegetable skewers."
"Sounds nice," Bo glanced around, "Where's Hope?"
"Ciara needed a couple of things." Steve said grabbing a second beer, "You want one? Hope said you've been under the weather. Don't feel the need to push it on my account."
Bo stared at the cold beverage, unsure of what to do. He felt pretty good today. He actually wore clothing, "What's a cookout without a beer?"
"You can nurse it," Steve winked, "Anyway, I think Hope thought she'd be gone awhile. Her and Ciara were going to do something at the square."
"She never mentioned it," Bo frowned and took a sip of the cold beer that was freezing his palm. It tasted good. He felt it trickle down his throat, alerting his senses. One beer was harmless. It was just a beer. It's not like he was sipping a narcotic.
They sat together on the back patio enjoying the weather and the companionship. Steve poked around at the grill occasionally and they exchanged small talk here and there.
"Does my sister still hate you?" Bo asked, changing the subject.
"That woman could never hate me." Steve laughed.
"A little confident don't ya think?" Bo raised his eyebrows.
"Oh be serious," Steve scowled, "You think Hope could hate you?"
Bo sighed, "I think she's been pretty close a couple of times."
"Yeah right," Steve smiled, "Oh well… you know what they say. There's a fine line between love and hate."
"So what you're saying is….?" Bo questioned, wanting more information about his sister's relationship with Steve.
"I'm saying that I'm whoo-ing her." Steve stated matter of factly.
Laughter erupted from deep in Bo's abdomen, "You're wha? You're whoo… You're whoo-ing her?" He managed to choke out between laughs.
Steve nodded, "Hey, it's a real thing. I've got this under control."
Bo rubbed his abdomen and tried to catch his breath, "I feel sorry for her man…"
"Whatever dude," Steve shook his head, "She'll come around. She's never been able to resist this."
Bo laughed again, "She needs to get her head examined."
"By the way," Steve pointed his index finger at Bo, "I don't know who is whoo-ing who, but it looks like you and Hope can't resist each other either."
Bo sobered, "Never was one of my best qualities."
It was Steve's turn to snort, "Why would you want to? It's good for you. It's good for your relationship."
Bo nodded, drinking the rest of his beer, "I know… but there's a lot of other crap to consider."
"Ehhh…." Steve frowned, "Who needs crap? It'll pass. What I do need is another beer, but we're out."
A couple of hours later, Bo and Steve were laughing in the basement of the Brady house.
"Told you this was good stuff," Bo grinned, "Pop would always buy the best."
"Irish man through and through," Steve winced as he took a swig of Sean Sr.'s old Irish Whiskey.
Bo swayed a little as he continued to dig through boxes.
"You okay?" Steve asked, noticing immediately.
"Oh yeah," Bo nodded. He glanced at all the objects in the box that had belonged to his father. Memories flooded him, "I sure do miss the old man…"
"Sure you do," Steve nodded, "We all do."
Bo opened another box. This one was filled with things he didn't recognize. He rummaged through some odds and ends before coming across a couple of picture frames. His wife smiled happily in them, but she was with another man. Bo's blood boiled.
"Are you kidding me?" Bo almost yelled, "Why the hell are these in my house?"
"Take it easy," Steve's hands went up, "They're in a box, in the basement. Maybe she's just trying to figure out what to do with them."
"Burning them would be a good start," Bo's mumbled.
He threw one of the pictures violently to the concrete floor. Glass shattered everywhere, but Aiden and Hope's faced still smiled mockingly back at him. He slammed his fist into the box, knocking it sideways and dumping all of the contents, "This is shit!"
"Let's go back upstairs," Steve urged. He hadn't seen Bo's rage coming. He didn't remember his temper being quite that quick, "Let's get upstairs and eat something."
Bo kicked a couple of other boxes and threw an old dining chair. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and took several big gulps.
"No, man," Steve attempted to grab the bottle from him, "You definitely don't need any more of that."
Bo pushed him away and stomped up the stairs. His body screamed. His blood boiled. The anger. The rage. He could feel the torture. He could remember his captors. He could smell the pit he'd been kept in. Meanwhile, his wife was home smiling at other men and decorating their house with pictures of them together.
He ran a hand roughly through his hair and screamed. His head hurt. He punched himself in the face a couple of times, before putting his fist through the nearest wall. He saw blood, but he didn't care. Bleeding felt good. Next, he went after the couch, throwing pillows and cushions every which way across the room.
"Bo!" Steve screamed, "What the hell!? STOP!"
Bo couldn't be reached. He kicked the living chair over, tossed over a side table, took a swipe at the mantle to knock everything off, and stomped on the coffee table with the heel of his boot. He found a picture of him with Hope. They looked picture perfect. His heart sank with pain. He threw it across the room. His ears were ringing. His breathing was ragged. The familiar urge to vomit crept up on him.
"Bo, Hope is going to kill you," Steve said grabbing Bo's shoulders, trying to calm the rage.
Bo felt the mood swing shift his gears. Tears sprung to his blood shot eyes, "She already did."