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Braden
I wake up to repeated flicks on my forehead. Groaning, I pull my eyes open.
“Afternoon, sunshine.”
I groan again and roll my eyes at the sound of my brother Brent’s voice.
“I’m surprised you’re still here. I’m awake, I figured you’d have been long gone by now.”
He scowls, then drops back into his chair. “Contrary to popular belief, I do care about you—even when you are being a selfish little prick.”
“Well, that’s just the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”
He folds his arms over his chest, an amused smile on his face.“I’mthe selfish one?”
“Don’t act like your reasons for leaving home were for school or a job. You left because you didn’t want to be around anymore. Since then, you’ve come back twice a year at best. Don’t fucking preach to me about selfishness when you abandoned us.”
Me.
Brent was my hero as a kid. At seven years older than me, I thought he was the coolest person on the planet. He acted like I was his best friend, let me read his comic books, let me watch him play video games—and eventually taught me how to play, and spent hours working on baseball drills with me. When my dad was mad because one of us wasn’t living up to the example he held for us, we hid out together and told each other ridiculous jokes. He was the one who taught me the dirty jokes I’d tell my friends and get in trouble for at school. Despite being one of the popular kids and a bit of a jock, he loved science. We’d go down to the creek near our house and look for fossils. He’d tell me about different kinds of plants. He wanted to go to school for ecology and when my dad nagged him about spending more time working at the restaurant, he’d tell my dad he would’ve liked it more if he kept it a flower shop. It riled my dad, but I thought he was proud, too.
I don’t know what happened—if they had some big fight or Brent was just hiding his anger—but when college came around, he chose a school five hours away, rented an apartment off campus there, and started only coming home for Christmas and the Fourth of July. Sometimes he’d meet us at my uncle’s house for the annual beach trip. But the worst part? He never called me. Even when I had my own phone and was old enough, I’d tried to text him and he’d never really text me back. Every time he didn’t respond, it took me back to the day he pulled out of the driveway while I cried. I waved as he drove down the road without looking back at me.
Over the years, I gave up on him like he gave up on me. Now our relationship is meaningless. So, I don’t particularly care about anything he has to say. I don’t know why he’s even here.
“I didn’t abandon you.” His voice is quiet and thoughtful. Andbullshit.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself. At least I’m owning my shit.”
“Fucking don’t, okay?” he growls as he rises from his chair, shoving it forcefully behind him. “Do you know what it felt like when I heard Mom’s voice shake on the phone? When she told me you might—”
He sinks down in the chair again, head dropping into his hands as he rubs the bridge of his nose.
“I’m here because I care, Brade. No matter where I’ve been or how well I’ve shown it, I care. I—” He stops short as his voice breaks. “I love you. Be pissed at me if you want. Hell, whatever motivates you to fight through all this. But I haven’t left yet, because I’m not. I quit my job. I’m moving back home.”
I choke on the breath I’m taking. “You what? You haven’t been home longer than a week in seven years.”
“Yeah, well, Dad and I don’t always see eye to eye. I needed to figure out life for myself.”
“Wow. Amazing. Glad I mattered so much to you that you avoided this whole town all because you don’t get along with Dad. Newsflash, I don’t either. So thanks for leaving me to deal with that alone. Hell, you could’ve at least returned my texts now and then. You could’ve still fucking been my brother instead of a stranger.”
He huffs out a sigh. “Yeah. I know. Why the fuck do you think I’m home?” He rises from his chair. “But fine. If you don’t want me here…” He turns toward the door.
Great, he’s walking away again, so he doesn’t have to deal with things.
My own words sock me in the stomach.I’ve done the same fucking thing, haven’t I?
Here’s to shitty family traits.
“Brent. Wait.”
“What?”
“You can stay. I mean, Nick will be here soon. But—” Fuck the vulnerability I feel right now. “You can stay,” I whisper.
I want to work through all my crap. I might as well give him a chance, too. Maybe then we can fix our relationship.
God, I sound like an episode of Dr. Phil.
Nah, that’s not nearly dramatic enough. More likeThis Is Us.
I can’t believe I let Maia make me watch that show.
Whatever. Point is, everything is a mess, and I have to figure out how to make my way out of it without making anything messier in the process.
