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“Stop! Don’t talk like that!” I order him. “I think you’ve lost your mind. Go home and sleep it off.”
“No!” he shouts.
I throw my hands on my hips. “Go home!”
“No!” he shouts, louder this time. “I’m not leaving you here alone with him.”
Wes, sensing my struggle, steps up beside me. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”
Wes grabs Jared’s arm and attempts to turn him back around toward the door, but Jared twists out of his grasp and then shoves his hands into Wes’s chest. “Don’t fucking touch me or I will end you!”
My eyes widen. “Jared, stop. You’re being crazy!”
Jared’s head tilts and there’s a darkness in his eyes. “Crazy? You think this is me being crazy?”
He walks to the middle of the living room and bends down to pick up the beer I was just drinking off the coffee table. He puts the bottle to his lips and takes a long pull.
“Man, you’ve had enough.” Wes tries again to get through to him.
Jared’s shoulders tense and then he stares down at the drink in his hand. Without warning, Jared turns on his heel and wings the bottle in Wes’s direction. Wes ducks just in time for the bottle to smash against the wall, shattering the glass and knocking the picture of me off the wall. Liquid drips down, and as I stare at it, my sympathy for what Jared’s going through disappears.
He’s crossing a line. I don’t even know this guy. The Jared I know would never disrespect my house like this, drunk or not.
My heart thunders inside my chest and I march over and smack Jared right across the face. “Get out!”
“No!” he challenges me again. “Tell him to leave first.”
I shove on his chest as hard as I can, but he’s a complete wall of muscle and I can’t budge him.
Once again, Wes tries to intervene, which instantly throws Jared into a deeper rage. The moment Wes grabs my arms to pull me back, Jared reaches over my shoulder and shoves Wes. “I told you, don’t fucking touch her.”
“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Wes asks. “You’re losing your shit. Go home before you do something that you regret.”
Jared narrows his eyes. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You are not my father. He’s dead, remember?”
Things from this point on happen so quickly, it all seems like a blur. The second the words leave Jared’s lips, Wes shoves me to the side and then blasts Jared in the face with a hard right hook. Jared falls back from the impact and slams through the glass coffee table, throwing little shards in every direction.
I cover my face with my hands, unsure of how hurt he is as he lies there for a split second. Jared’s not down long. He pops back up and barrels into Wes, wrapping his arms around him and tackling him so hard that I hear the crunch of bone on bone on impact. Both men fall to the floor, and all I see are fists flying as they roll around.
This is a situation that I never in my wildest dreams imagined. They’ve never fought before . . . not like this anyway. Sure, they’ve had arguments, but this is . . . unbelievable. When Jared comes to his senses, he’s going to regret this. I have to stop it before one of them gets hurt.
I bend down and wrap my arms around Jared’s neck, doing my best to stop him from beating the shit out of his brother. It’s at that very moment he cocks his arm back to land another blow to Wes’s face, and his elbow catches me right in the temple and the world goes black.
NOW
JARED
Bells chime as I push the door to Mom’s shop open. I stare down at the handle and smile. They’re the bells I used in a Christmas pageant for our church when I was in the third grade. I hated those damn bells, but it had made Mom so happy that I’d volunteered to be in the pageant that I couldn’t take it back and beg her to not make me do it even after they assigned me to play those stupid bells.
“Be right with you,” Mom calls from the back room where she does all her prep work.
I open my mouth to tell her it’s me but decide against it because I figure she’s wrapping up something important.
I take my time walking around the shop. Everywhere I look there’s some flower arrangement or some amazing display of baked goods—each one more artistic and beautiful than the last. Her skills have really evolved. She took on arranging flowers to go along with the candies to bring in more money. Selling the candies alone wasn’t enough to pay all the bills without Dad’s income.
On the wall behind the counter, there’s an array of photos of different events. Most look like weddings, and from what I can tell, Mom has provided flowers and desserts for several fancy events.
One wedding photo catches my attention—what I think is the groom in particular. The picture isn’t centered on him, but he’s standing next to a large floral arch as he stares down the aisle at what I assume is his bride. The guy in the picture—he looks a lot like Wes, just a little older. Surely if my older brother had gotten married, Mom would have figured out a way to slip that into one of our conversations over the past five years.
