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I glance at him twice, at his stupidly handsome face, all mad and unsmiling. And at his giant biceps as he steers the wheel and uses the wheel-mounted hand controls to accelerate and brake. Either he ignores me on purpose, or he’s too busy concentrating to notice me watching him.
I rest my face against the cool glass instead, staring out the window.
Please, God, if you’re listening... let tonight be the night aliens abduct me and take me far, far away, where I’m not the family fuck up anymore.
“Stay there.” Brett side-eyes me as he parks on the driveway and kills the engine.
“I can help,” I slur, grabbing the door handle clumsily on my second attempt and launching the door open, almost falling out onto the ground.
“Rose, I said wait,” Brett snaps as I open the back door and grab his folded-up wheelchair.
It gets wedged between the seats, and I yank at it, cursing under my breath.
I hate this thing. I hate it with a passion. But what I hate the most is that I’m the reason Brett needs it.
I pull hard, and he hisses as it comes free and flies out, knocking me on my ass and landing on top of me, cracking me on the cheekbone.
“The fuck, Sis!” he growls as tears sting my eyes and my cheek throbs. “I told you to wait. You okay?”
I lift my head and meet his heated gaze. His eyes soften as he looks at me spread out on my back. I push the chair off me and stand, straightening up as I swallow the lump in my throat.
I can’t bear to look into his eyes when I know what is there…
Pity.
Pity for the sad and pathetic mess his younger sister has become.
“What’s going on?” Mom says as she hurries from the front door and over to us in her slippers.
“I was—”
“She drank too much again.” Brett reaches for the wheelchair, grabbing it from where it’s landed by the driver’s door, and opens it up with one hand before sliding himself effortlessly into it using his strong arms.
Mom looks at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Rose… Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“I’m not doing anything, Mom.” I sway as I walk ahead of her and Brett and into the house. Only a single lamp is on in the hallway, and I stumble as I step through the door, momentarily losing my bearings in the dim light.
I grab on to the hall table, but misjudge the distance, and send a frame skittering onto the floor. The glass smashes into a thousand tiny, splintered pieces.
“Oh!” Mom sobs as she appears behind me and scoops the frame up.
She turns it, and nausea washes over me, taking with it the blood from my face as I stare at the photograph of the five of us.
Smiling.
Back when we all had something to smile about.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper, swallowing the dry lump in my throat.
She pats at her eyes, the earlier unshed tears losing the battle and dropping down her cheeks in silence.
“Go to bed, Rose. It’s late.”
She traces her finger over the photograph, lingering on Dad’s face, then turns and walks to the kitchen.
“Let me clean it up, let me…”
“Leave it.” Brett sighs behind me.
