When Cory and I finish off Jack's dwindling booze stash, scoring more won't be a problem. Vinnie will happily buy. At least as long as I keep bringing bud to the Friday night games.

I've become a regular, and I've learned to play poker, not that I always win. Not even. I've dropped a dime or two. But the rush that comes when I do win is worth every penny down the drain. Gambling is like snorting cocaine. Up. Down. Up.

And, despite knowing you have to crash sometime, all you can think about when you're doing it is the high.

I've dropped two hun in a single night.

That sucked. But once I won almost six.

Oh, yeah! Put me clear through the roof.

A New Rush I've just tapped into is online gaming. Roulette. Blackjack.

Poker. More. I've learned how to play games I never even knew existed. It's fun. Really fun. In fact, it's a total, amazing rush, and you don't even have to leave home to get it. All you need is a computer and a way to deposit some cash in your own Internet casino account. And hey, I've got a bank card. Not a whole lot in my personal checking, but that's about to change. All I need is one big win.

And what's really insane is the casino gives you a cash bonus to sign up. I put in five hundred; they threw in three.

I'm ahead already. Well, was ahead.

I've gone through the bonus and a little more. But that's the nature of gambling.

Win some. Lose some. Just have to stay on top of things. Walk if it isn't your night. Tonight I'm almost even.

All I need is one hand, the right hand. ...

s.h.i.t!

Okay, that wasn't the right hand.

At least I only had twenty riding.

Maybe I should switch to roulette.

My brain isn't working so well right now. Not sharp enough for poker.

Roll the ball, watch it go round and round. Come on, twenty-seven!

Just as the traitorous ball drops into thirty-four, my cell phone rings.

My face flushes hot, like a little kid caught dipping his fingers in the frosting.

But it's just Ronnie. Hey. What's up?

"Uh ... not much. What's up with you?" She wants me to come get her, and as she waits for my response, I can picture her face, all pouty with impatience. Pretty face. Better body, all sleek and tan and ...

Ah, what the h.e.l.l? I'm not making much progress here tonight. "Sure, babe. Give me a few." Why not?

Would be good to get out of the house, and boning Ronnie is the one thing that can take my mind off everything else.

First Things First Just one more spin of the ball.

Come on, twenty-seven, come on, twenty-seven. Sixteen? s.h.i.t!

Stop. Ronnie's waiting, something she's not real d.a.m.n good at.

Besides, Lady Luck doesn't seem to have joined me tonight. b.i.t.c.h.

One more. Ten on twenty-seven.

Odds are better if you play the same number. Yeah, I know I could play columns or colors, but what's the fun of winning even money or two to one when thirty-five to one puts you over the top? Come on ... Twenty-seven!

f.u.c.k yeah! There it is! Maybe you just gotta call ol' Lady Luck names.

Three-fifty in the bank and I'm going after the finest little piece of pie in Vegas. In a minute. I'm playing on casino bucks now, and I'm on a roll. Think I'll try a hand or two of blackjack. Another swallow of gin to keep the courage flowing.

Oh yeah, it's definitely this boy's night.

d.a.m.n Lucky Dealer So much for three of the three-fifty I won earlier. Blackjack isn't my game tonight, that's for sure. I need to learn the finer points, like when to double down. Ah, h.e.l.l.

The phone again. What time is it?

Almost ten? Where did the last two hours go, and what does this do to my odds of getting laid?

Ronnie's p.i.s.sed, I'm guessing.

She is. I thought you were coming over. I've got school tomorrow.

Quick! Make something up. "Sorry.

I ... uh ... Cory came in all messed up. I had to help Mom get him to bed."

I'll probably burn for lies like that, but I think it worked, so I sign off, delete all incriminating history.

The extra-long pause means she thinks I might be bulls.h.i.tting her. But finally she gives in. What else can she do?

She so wants me! Come over anyway.

My parents are in bed. I'll sneak you in through the window.

Her House Is fairly close to mine. Good thing. Hanging out in my room, I didn't notice how buzzed I was.

I'm definitely feeling it now, though. It's hard to drive a straight line. Thank G.o.d I can take side streets. If I actually had to talk to a cop, he'd haul my a.s.s in, no doubt. Gonna be hard enough trying to say a few coherent words to Ronnie. Even this late at night, it's really warm-probably pushing eighty. I drive with the windows down, letting air movement fight brain blur. Every street in Vegas is well lit, and everywhere you look at night, bursts of neon color the obnoxious skyline.

I cruise slowly, tripping on a tall turquoise tower, how it seems to weave in and out of the breeze-ruffled palm trees lining the street.

Suddenly, something-someone?- dashes into the road right in front of me. I punch the brakes, honk the horn, barely manage to miss the dimwad, who skids to a halt on the far side of the street.

Then he turns back toward my car. What? Who? Cory!

He rips around to the pa.s.senger door, jerks it open, jumps inside.

Go! I shake my head, try to make some sense of what just went down.

Did I almost run over my brother?

f.u.c.king hurry up, okay?

The Tone of His Voice Is enough to make me comply.

I punch the gas pedal, no tangible clue why, almost overwhelmed by the smell of cheap booze clinging to my little brother. "What the h.e.l.l is going on, Cory?" As the question sputters from my mouth, I get a sickly feeling I don't want to hear the answer. But hey, he's not exactly dying to give me an answer. Nothing.

Not a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing. So why are his hands shaking? And how is it obvious, in the murky half-light inside the car, that his face is approximately the color of dirty cotton?

Whatever. He'll tell me when he feels like it-or maybe he won't. I'm not the type to pry. As I turn the corner, I hear his small, tortured exhale as he scrunches down in the seat. A patrol car comes cruising up the block toward us, spotlight sweeping sidewalks, yards. Looking for Cory, no doubt.

What has the dumb s.h.i.t done?

I Try Not to Think About that as I fight a sudden explosion of fear. I'm driving in a straight line, under the limit, at least the speed limit. As for blood alcohol, there is a very good possibility that I'm well over the .08. And should this cop decide to pull me over, just in case he really ought to take a look (and hey, apparently he should!), exactly what charges might I have to face, for no more reason than having a certain pa.s.senger in my car?

Whatever Cory has done, I want to wring the little p.r.i.c.k's neck.

"What the h.e.l.l did you do, Cory?"

My hands are slick with sweat against the sticky steering wheel.

I keep glancing in my rearview mirror, sure I'm minutes away from a trip to juvie. But the cop keeps driving up the block, likely positive in his little pea brain that whoever he's looking for is on foot.

Or maybe he's just too lazy to worry about possibilities (and viable possibilities at that), driving by in the other direction.

Speaking of driving by, I just motored on past Ronnie's.

The house was dark, except for a light in a single window.

A bedroom window, where I have no doubt a gorgeous, well-built girl sits waiting to do me, after she's finished b.i.t.c.hing me out completely.

Major b.u.t.t kissing in order, if I happen to actually make it home without becoming a suspect in a ... what? What the f.u.c.k?

Suddenly my head is clear.

I turn another corner. Drive away from home. Stay under the limit.

Find a deserted street, pull right up against the sidewalk. "If you don't tell me exactly what's going on, I'll knock your bony a.s.s to the curb."

His Answer Is a couple minutes coming, like he's considering making up a lie.

Finally his shoulders sag. It will be the truth. I kinda broke into a house. They had an alarm.

He doesn't look at me, just stares out the window, into the night, the same night I'm staring into.

"What do you mean, 'kinda'?

You can't 'kinda' break into a house. You did or you didn't."

Jeez, I sound just like Jack, at least just like Jack before ...

Now I get to play dad to Cory, not that it's a role I want, or do very well. Still, I can't just sit here and say okay to burglary.

Anyway, "Kinda or not ... why?"

Zero hesitation. Why the f.u.c.k not? Jesus, Cody, do you live on a different planet? We need the stinking money! Jack's never going back to work. You know that.

Don't you hear Mom jabbering about too many bills, not enough insurance and such? What do you think's gonna happen to her when he kicks the freaking bucket?

What's gonna happen to ... us?

He stutters. Breaks. Tries to buck up. But suddenly, like fragile gla.s.s stressed beyond redemption, he simply shatters. f.u.c.k it!

Cory's giant sobs fill the front seat with booze-infused exhales.

He probably wants to cry like a man- alone within his pain. This may be the wrong thing to do. But as I watch him, my own fear hiccups to the surface. I pull my tough, break-and-enter little brother into my arms, and we cry together.

Headlights Turn the Corner Flooding us with halogen blue light. Cop? No, but it comes to me that we probably look like gay dudes making out or something.

Cory must think so too, because he jerks like he's been shocked.

Sorry. That was totally lame.

Let's go before we get arrested.

He withdraws across the seat, gaze again drawn to the neon-spiked night. Too bad Jack isn't here, ready with some witty remark to make everything okay. Too bad Jack isn't here, period. "No worries. But don't ever do anything like that again. s.h.i.t, Cory, if you get busted, you'll just make things worse. We'll be okay. I promise."

I start toward home, chewing on how I could have promised such an unlikely thing. Now I've got to find a way to keep my word.

One way comes to mind. All I need is a little investment capital.

A Poem by Eden Streit Need Need is a curious thing.

Until you plant the seed, nurture it, encourage its awakening, you're not even sure it's there. But once it germinates, nudges up, breaking ground, you can no longer deny it has always lain dormant inside you. And now, blossoming with every kiss, every touch of his hand, this new kind of need is growing, sprouting shoots, tendrils of desire threading you, consuming you.

Eden

Six Months