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Would he be strong enough to go inside? Mitch likely hadn’t cleaned up the mess. Just the sight of the beer bottles would be a trigger. Michael hated himself for being so sensitive to it. He was pathetic for allowing something like that to have so much power over him.
He heard the front door slam, and it pulled him from his concentration. Mitch was on the porch, followed by the woman who at least had some clothes on. His brother was shirtless, jeans unbuttoned but not revealing anything. The orange tip of his cigarette lit up bright as he inhaled, squinting toward the truck where Michael still sat.
He motioned for Michael to get out, the woman giggling as she leaned in and nibbled at his ear. He was proud of himself for being grossed out by her. Before prison, she was just his type for some quick fun and no strings attached. Even when he was with Marilyn, he would’ve strayed to partake in some quick action.
Mitch came down the steps and the woman followed, tapping on the window. Michael rolled it down, smelling the smoke and booze immediately. “Hey. Where’d you go? You left so fast!”
Michael glanced at the woman who was looking over Mitch’s shoulder into the truck. “My sister was gonna come over!”
“I don’t want…” Michael held onto the wheel, now craving a cigarette. “We’ll talk about this later, Mitch.” Pulling the keys from the ignition, he opened the door and slid out, stepping onto the porch.
“Mikey… come on man!”
He slid a cigarette from the package in his pocket and lit it. He knew it was bad for him. It was a nasty habit he couldn’t quite shake yet. The smoke in his lungs instantly calmed him, and he exhaled a long stream of smoke through his nose.
“I put some gas in the truck. I’m going to bed. I have work in the morning.”
He heard them holler about something else and he ignored it, stepping inside the living room. Just as he expected, nothing had been cleaned up. Beer cans and bottles, snack packages… and there was a porno playing on the TV – a woman being tag teamed by men with unrealistic sizes.
Grabbing the remote, Michael turned it off and noticed the condom wrappers on the floor. The door slammed again, and Mitch stood alone in the entryway.
“Good to see you’re using protection,” Michael replied.
“Why’d you turn that off? It’s a good one.” Mitch laughed. “She likes to watch it and we try to do what they’re doing on screen.”
“I don’t wanna hear about it.” Michael held his hand up to stop him. He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand and yawned.
“You’d like it. We can call Marilyn over here and ya know…” Mitch laughed and sat on the couch.
“Marilyn is married.”
“Sure didn’t stop you the other day.”
“I didn’t know.” Michael looked around the room.
“Seriously, Mikey. If she walked right through that door and told you she was married, I bet you still would’ve been in her pants. Admit it. She’s your kryptonite.”
“No.” He shook his head. “The only reason I’m still in touch is about that boy. If he’s my kid, I’m gonna be in his life. I’m gonna make sure he has more than we ever did. He’s gonna know who I am.”
“You’re gonna fight them for custody?”
“Damn right, I am. I haven’t signed a damn thing giving my rights away. They can’t just take him.”
“You’re a convict, Mikey. One look at your record and it’ll be no contest. People in this town know you. They know where we come from. We’re those Brennan boys. Always have been chastised from the moment they knew us. Remember in school? One look at the roster and we were already labeled. Same thing now.”
Mitch wasn’t wrong. They were always damned from the start, battling uphill for everything. “I have to try. Marilyn doesn’t have the best reputation, either.”
“I can’t believe you turned down a piece of ass tonight. Lord knows you’re overdue for some pussy. Then again, you fucked Marilyn. I bet you need to recover.”
“Stop. Stop talking about all this shit.” Michael moved around to the front of the couch but didn’t sit down. The living room needed a thorough cleaning before he felt safe from whatever Mitch and the woman had done.
Mitch arched his eyebrow and grabbed a beer bottle, sipping what was left. “I mean what I say, Mikey. You’ve changed. What’s going on with you?”
Michael looked around the room. “I need to make this work. I need to stay out of prison. I’m in recovery. Do you even know what that means?” He sat on the arm of the couch and looked up at the ceiling.
“Recovery from what?”
“My entire fucking life,” Michael replied, his voice shaking as the emotions welled up inside of him. “Everything. Every fucking thing I’ve ever done.”
