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“You’re going to have to deal eventually.”
“Whatever. Did you bring more vodka?”
“No. No, I fucking didn’t.”
“Weed?” I ask on the off chance.
“No. I’m not bringing you anything anymore. You need to sort your ass out. Man the fuck up and come home.”
“I don’t have a home,” I bellow at him. “None of us do.”
“You need to pull your head out of your fucking ass. We have a better home right now than we’ve ever had in our lives. So Mom or Dad aren’t there. So it might not be where we chose. But do you know what? It’s pretty fucking awesome. And if you don’t start making the best of it and figure out what it is you want to do with your life instead of spending it in fucking prison, then you’re going to regret it.”
“What if I want to regret it? It’s better than letting that cunt buy me with his fancy fucking school and ideas of Ivy League colleges.”
“This is fucking pointless,” he hisses. “I’m done. I’ll see you, if and when you decide to come home and start living again.”
“I can’t go back there.” My words stop his retreat to the door.
“You fucked up, Ace. So what? You’ve done it before, and no doubt you’ll do it again. Own it. Apologize where needs be and get the fuck on with it. This isn’t you. Wallowing isn’t you. Go and fuck some shit up, and then get the fuck over it.”
“I—”
“No, you’re done. I’m done with your poor excuses. Do you think Remi is going to want you in this state?”
“Want me? She’s not going to want me in any fucking state after what I did.” Self-hatred courses through my veins like acid.
“That girl’s a legend for putting up with your ass in the first place. She fucking loves you, man. Fuck knows why, but she does. Now, how about you attempt to be the man she deserves and not just the fucking waste-of-space Heighter everyone expects you to be.”
He flies through the door, and the force of the slam that follows makes the building shake around me.
Love me?
Remi doesn’t love me. It’s not possible.
“Jesus, fuck,” I mutter, my hand curling into a tight fist. I just got a new one ripped by my baby brother. When did he get so fucking sensible?
Pushing from the bed, I shove my feet into my boots. If he won’t bring me what I need, then I’ll have to go myself. I haven’t left this room in fifteen fucking days, and I really don’t feel like doing so now, but needs, musts and all that.
I pocket my cell and wallet before taking a step to the door. An almighty crash has me jumping back in shock. When I look up, I find James wearing his standard three-piece suit, but instead of the soft expression he tries to show the world, he looks fucking murderous.
“Gotcha,” he says with a smirk as he attempts to put the door back into place, despite it hanging from its top hinge.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
He stares at me and takes a step closer. “I think it’s time we had a little chat, don’t you?”
“Not particularly. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
He laughs, but he’s far from amused. “That’s a real shame, Ace, because I’ve got a-fucking-lot that I want to say to you.”
I roll my eyes at him, and he flies at me. Leaving my hands at my sides, I let him take what he thinks will make this situation better. His fist tightens in my shirt as he pushes me up against the motel room wall and gets in my face. A warm rush of air skates over my skin, but I keep my expression neutral. He doesn't need to know that there’s an inferno raging underneath.
“You’re a fucking Jagger, boy. We don’t hide,” he seethes. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, and for a moment, it’s not my uncle staring back at me but my dad.
“Who said I’m hiding?”
“It’s taken me two weeks to find you. I’d say that’s hiding.”
