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It gave her the chance to live a comfortable, luxurious lifestyle.
And it left us rotting in this hellhole.
So maybe now you will understand why I am the way I am. Why I groan and sigh, why I never have fun. I’m fighting a battle of my own, because I will get that money back. I will get my father’s life’s work. And I will protect my brother, and take care of him.
If I have to take down Emme to do that, so be it.
Chapter 5
When I come home that evening, Aiden hasn’t moved an inch from his spot in front of the TV. I wonder if he’s even done something or spent the entire day playing video games.
“Did you bring food?” he asks without looking at me, too busy hunting down some bad guy or other on the TV screen. “I’m hungry,” he adds, in case I didn’t know.
I don’t bother responding, because I’m tired, and I’ve had enough. Instead, I put my paper bag on the counter and produce two bottles of tequila.
Finally, Aiden turns of his game and comes into the kitchen, curiously picking up a bottle.
“It’s not even the good stuff,” he complains.
“Yeah, we can’t afford the good stuff, unless you want to chip in,” I snap.
He looks taken aback and I’m sorry immediately. “What’s with you?” he wonders out loud.
I sigh. “I saw Emme today,” I say softly, and I can see his eyes dim with the mere mention of her name.
It’s always been Aiden and Emme. They were so close. I know this is the hardest for him.
“Again?” He looks suspicious and jealous for a split second, but then the look is gone. “So?” he asks, pretending not to care, opening that tequila and takin a swig straight from the bottle.
I shrug. “She misses us … well, you more than me, I’m sure.”
“Don’t care,” he says, though we both know he does. She’s his best friend, and it’s killing him that they’re not in contact anymore. And it hurts more because she wants to be, and he thinks he’d be betraying me if he did something about it.
“I need to get drunk tonight,” I say to no one in particular and I uncap my own bottle of tequila.
“I share your sentiment,” Aiden murmurs in my general direction and checks the paper bag again. “No lemons? Or salt?”
“I think today is a day for straight up tequila,” I admit miserably, and he seems to agree.
So we settle on the couch with our bottles and watch some nineties movie. It almost feels like everything’s okay if I ignore the pangs of pain in my chest.
***
“We need to … like, we need a plan,” Aiden slurs and I look at him through the haze over my eyes. It’s like staring at a mirror, and though I’ve gotten used to it, it’s a little strange looking at your reflection when you’re as drunk as I am right now.
“Why?” I wonder.
He takes a swig out of his bottle, spilling a bit on the couch, but I’m too drunk to care. Plus, I don’t think I can formulate a coherent sentence, anyhow. “We need to get it back,” he says. “And Emme. I want Emme back.”
I don’t want you to have Emme back, my mind says. I want Emme for myself.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask instead, trying hard to ignore the nagging voice in my head.
He grins at me and sets the empty bottle down. We’re going to be so hung-over, it won’t even be funny. “That’s where you come in, brother,” he says cheerfully. We’re about twenty minutes away from him breaking down and twenty-five minutes away from me barfing down the toilet. “You’re the planner,” Aiden reminds me. “I’m the man of action. You think of something, I take care of it.”
It hurts when he says that, because it’s a part of The Rule of Three.
It’s something we came up with when we were kids, and it included me – the planner, Aiden – the man of action, and Emme – the black sheep, because she always took the blame for whatever shenanigan we got into. She was the sweet, innocent looking one, and neither of our parents really blamed her for anything. So it worked out perfectly.
“It’s The Rule of Three,” I say miserably. “We’re missing one person.”
“Whatever,” Aiden says angrily. “I can think of a snappy new name!”
I look at him doubtfully.
“A pair of brothers,” he offers lamely. “The terrible twosome.”
“Do we really need a name?” I ask and roll my eyes.
But he’s already so into in he’s jumped up on the couch. “I’ve got it!” he shouts and I shush him quickly, because I really don’t want the neighbors to come banging on our door and discover us drunk at 8.30 p.m.
“Give it to me,” I say, faking enthusiasm.
Aiden gets that misty look in his eyes as he stares off into the distance, doing a hand gesture like a magician or illusionist. “The reign of two,” he says mysteriously.
Damn, it’s not so bad.
“We’re not superheroes, you know,” I remind him as he jumps back down on the couch, grinning excitedly. “We don’t really need a name.”
“Yeah, but we have one now,” Aiden reminds me patiently like I’m the childish one, so I just sigh. “Your turn now,” he says and I look at him questioningly. “We need a plan?” he reminds me.
I sit there stewing in my own drunkenness, and I wonder what I should tell him. He’s had enough of It’s-gonna-be-okays and We’ll-sort-it-outs. So instead, I opt for something else. And the words just keep coming when I open my mouth.
“We need that money back,” I say and Aiden nods animatedly. “It’s our Dad’s company, too, and she has no right to get all of it. And you miss her, but you want the money more, right?”
He looks thoughtful for a moment, and I don’t let him answer.
