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“What?”
He throws me a smirk and I narrow my eyes. “The girl with pink panties.”
I sit up straight. “What the —”
“Well, I have to say she’s got great taste,” he says, cutting me off. “I mean, there’s something about pink lacy panties that just does it for a guy, you know. And —”
“I’m fucking warning you, Stellan,” I growl. “You talk about her like that, you won’t be talking ever again.”
The bastard chuckles and sips his beer. “So she’s special then.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
He chuckles again and shrugs. “I’m happy though.”
I clench my teeth.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
I remain silent, digging my fingers into the bottle. Somehow very aware of the fact that I still have her panties in the back pocket of my jeans. Very fucking aware that I picked them up this morning — they were shoved under the bed — and they felt like gossamer or something similar in my rough fingers before I carefully put them in my nightstand instead of not.
Instead of just… throwing them away.
But as it did this morning too, the thought is revolting to me. The thought of carelessly discarding them or anything that belongs to her is… unacceptable.
Clearly it was a huge mistake.
Putting them in the nightstand.
Where anyone, my asshole brothers, could find them. They’re staying close to me now, in my back pocket. At least for this weekend.
Only so I can guard them.
That’s the only reason.
On Monday, I’ll give them back to her and that will be it.
I viciously drink another swallow of whiskey at the fact that this is again somehow an objectionable thought.
Giving them back.
Fucking Christ.
I hate what she does to me. Hate how she twists my insides like this and I don’t understand the reason why.
I’ve never been able to.
“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway,” Stellan begins. “It’s because —”
“Don’t.”
“It’s because it’s not Helen.”
That gives me pause.
I was in the process of taking another sip of the liquor, the bottle almost tipped up to my mouth, but I lower it and glance at my brother.
He’s sitting there, all casual like, sipping his beer as if he didn’t say something noteworthy.
As if he didn’t drop a bomb on me.
My relationship with Helen is not a secret from my siblings but it’s not a well-known fact either. I was with her briefly when I was about seventeen, eighteen, and all my brothers were kids back then. Stellan and Shepard were ten, Ledger was eight and Callie was merely four.
The twins did have some idea, but I don’t think Ledger and Callie even knew that I dated someone back then. Plus our relationship didn’t last very long anyway, so no, it’s not a very well-known fact.
And there have probably been one or at the most two occasions when Stellan has broached the subject. The first time I remember specifically was just after Mom’s death, when I moved back home and he’d asked about her. I remember being shocked that he even knew and I told him that it wasn’t something he needed to worry about. The second time was probably years after that and by that time Helen was so far behind in my past that I don’t even remember what I said.
So I’m not sure where this is coming from.
Why would he even mention her name now?
But I know that he’s baiting me for some reason and despite knowing that, I take it. The bait.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He glances at me then. “Nothing. It’s just that you never acted like that. So possessive and angry. When you were with her.”
“You were fucking ten when I was with her. What do you know about how I acted?”
Shooting me a look, he replies, “I know you were unhappy. I know you were stressed all the time. Juggling work, soccer, us and her. I know there were days when you’d sneak out at midnight, after we’d all fallen asleep and Mom was gone for her night job or whatever, and come home at dawn or something. There were days when you’d be dead tired. I saw it on your face. And yes, I was ten, nine even, a kid myself. But you’re forgetting one very important thing, big brother – we never had much of a childhood, you and I. Shep has always been carefree. Ledge was a baby. Callie was actually the baby. I know you consider me a kid too but I’m not. I don’t think I ever was. I’m your right fucking hand for a reason. So fuck yeah, I know.”
He tips the mouth of his bottle to me as he continues, “And I also know, even though you never told me — not that you would because you never talk when the topic of conversation is you — that she got married the summer before last. And she works at St. Mary’s now. I’ve actually been watching you for the past year. More so now that you work at St. Mary’s too. Just to see if you were doing okay. Because when you’re not doing okay, you have a habit of biting people’s heads off. Like you did tonight. And that’s why I’m happy.”
