Series: Peach State Stepbros Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
This is my chance. And there might not be another.
“I went to this Halloween party a while back, and I thought of you,” I say. “About when we were kids and used to get dressed up. Remember that year you went as Michael Myers? How it made me freak out every time you’d jump out to scare me?”
He laughs. “Yeah, I remember that, little man. Remember going back to the house and counting all the candy, and you didn’t like the Milky Ways, so you’d swap me for my Snickers.”
We’re both smiling.
“You still playing football?” he asks—a reminder of just how long he’s been gone.
“No. That injury I had, I didn’t recover that quickly, so I wound up focusing on school and getting a job senior year.”
“I’m sorry, bud. I know that meant everything to you. Life really has a way of kicking you in the balls, doesn’t it?”
I can tell he’s not talking about me, and it just shows how little he knows the man I’ve become. “A lot of people think that, like it was some great failure in my life, but it actually worked out really well. I see the guys who made the team, and they’re so busy with that, they don’t have time for much else, while I get to hang with friends and work as a mechanic—”
“A mechanic? Really?”
“Yeah, for a few years now. I really enjoy it.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. I’m glad things are working out for you.” The smile on his face, the sparkle in his eyes, he does look really happy for me, and it’s nice to share things with him again…to look into his eyes and pretend we can simply pick up where we left off.
“I’ve missed you,” I confess. “You should text me sometime, and we can go fishing…or camping.”
He smirks. “Makes me think of those camping trips Dad took us on when we were kids. Fishing, s’mores, ghost stories…” His lips quiver, and that smirk shifts into a frown. He turns away. “On second thought, I’d rather not talk about the past.”
“We don’t have to,” I say, fearing that I had him, but now he’s slipping away again.
Silence—a long, uncomfortable silence before I finally find something I consider safe and that I think will make him happy for me. “I’m dating someone.”
His smile returns.
There he is again.
“Yeah?”
I want to tell him more, but I’d have to share that he’s Glen’s kid, and that might not go over well. Not in our first convo.
“He’s a great guy. You’d really like him.”
“He makes you happy?”
“He does.”
“Good. Nothing I want more than to see my little bro happy.” He says the words like it’s from a script, and again, I’m thrown. “You know, that help I’m getting, it’s not cheap,” he says, as though my comment about Atlas effortlessly segued into this. “I’m barely making rent since I started this new job, so I was gonna see if you could maybe spot me.”
My heart sinks.
Money? Is that what this was about? Again?
I’m not sure what upsets me more: that I convinced myself it wouldn’t be that, or that I knew in my heart it had to be.
He makes eye contact but struggles to maintain it. “I can pay you back in a few months, once I get going, but I’m paid biweekly, so the check takes a while.”
“What kind of work are you doing?”
His head tilts, like he has to think about it. “Waiting tables. There’s a Cheesecake Factory near my place. Keeps really busy and great tips.”
No Cheesecake Factory is letting a guy who looks and smells like this around customers. He’s lying to me. My brother’s fucking lying to me. Again.
His eyes widen, and he offers a friendly smile—the face he’d make when he was telling a fib when we were kids. Has he forgotten how well I know him?
“Troy, come on. I just need a little to hold me over for a bit.”
“How much?”
“Two K.”
“Two thousand dollars?” I can’t disguise my shock.
“Yeah. That’s what two K is.”
What an asshole thing to say. It’s hard to believe my brother is acting like such a fucking dick about this, and between the change in plans and his attitude, I’m getting really on edge.
“That’s a lot of money, Brandon.”
He cringes. “You have a job, right? Everything’s good. And Mom’s with that rich guy, so you can get money from him.”
My stomach clenches. “I would never ask Glen for money.”
“Well, that seems like a waste,” he says with a creepy snicker.
I’m disgusted by what I’m hearing. This isn’t the guy I remember. This isn’t the guy I love. But even in this short conversation, there have been flashes of him. I have to believe he’s somewhere in there. I need to believe it.
“Troy, I need this money.” As his hand shakes against the console, I already know why he needs it. It kills me to know he’s in pain right now, surely from withdrawal, but I know what I have to do.