Sweet Ache

Hell, I don’t even deserve to know. She’s way too good for me.

“What’s up?” I call out to him, trying to act nonchalant and ignore his comment when I’d rather shove him up against the wall and tell him just what I think of him and his bullshit. I step into the small alcove, and I swear to God it still smells of the sex we had earlier. The pang of guilt stabs again but it’ll never be deep enough to inflict the pain I deserve after what I just said to her. I flip the switch and turn around as fast as I can. I don’t want him ruining what happened in here between Quin and me either.

When I emerge back into the theater, he looks at me expectantly. “So what gives? Blondie’s bad in bed so you moved on to sexy sorority girl? Because she’s definitely more my type.”

My patience is gone and my temper boils but he just said the words I needed to hear. I’ve caught his attention with Delta Sig.

“Yeah, something like that,” I defer, running a hand through my hair in exasperation. “I need to get going. She’s waiting. Do you need something?” And when I glance up to the seats now, I find that the judge has slipped out and it’s just him and me. A sigh of relief flickers through me despite the tightrope I’m walking with him.

“Oh, you’re going out with her right now?” he says, lifting his chin up the stairs, motioning his hands across his chest like the letters Delta Sig girl wears on display.

“Mm-hm.” I stuff my keys in my pocket as my phone alerts me of another text.

“I’m tagging along with you, man. Want to see how bad you blow it with this chick so I can swoop in and save the day.”

“Dream on, dude. Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” He’s pushing buttons, and I’m in no fucking mood for his shit right now, especially today. Can’t he get that he’s not the only one who suffers from the memories this day evokes? I know I’m fooling myself thinking he does. “How’s your counseling appointments going? Huh, Hunter?” I meet his eyes, the need to see if he lies to me front and center.

“Next week is my first one.” His eyes dart to the left and then back to mine.

“You think I’m going to buy that bullshit lie?” I can hear the incredulity rising in my voice, the stress of the last fifteen minutes taking its toll. “You think I’m here paying a penance for something I didn’t fucking do to save your goddamn ass and you get to skip out on your end of the bargain?” I step toward him, fists clenched, teeth gritted, patience gone. “You fucked up last time, lost your chance at a whole helluva lot…. You gonna risk more now?”

“C’mon brother, you know I’m good for it.”

I just look at him as truths I push aside every day about my brother come crashing down around me. I continue to hold out hope but I don’t have to ignore the anger. “Don’t you dare c’mon brother me! I don’t care what you’re fucking good for because right now it seems like you’re not good for a fucking thing!” I yell, my finger jabbing him in the chest. “I took the fucking fall for you. Jeopardized my freedom, my career, my band for you, and you stand here like it’s no big fucking deal.”

“You and your precious career!” he sneers.

“You bet your ass my career, you prick. Who do you think funds your lifestyle? Your habit? Did you forget where your monthly payoff from the band comes from? I pay you from my cut you asshole merely because the guilt eats at me that you forced me to make a decision, keep you on and ruin the band’s collective career or force you out to get help and save myself….”

“You’re real good at saving yourself.” He fists his hands. “But you sure as shit suck when it comes to saving others now, don’t you.”

His words knock me back a staggering mental step. I stare at him eyes wide, disbelieving that he actually just went there. I grit my teeth and take a less than calming breath. “Not everybody wants to be saved, Hunt.” We stand in a silent standoff, our words doing much more damage than our fists ever could. “You included, right? You gonna save yourself? Get help for your habit? You can blame me all you want … but your jealousy is on you—”

“I’m not jealous!” he yells back, voice thundering around the room as I’m hit hard with his resentment. And it doesn’t fall on deaf ears that he didn’t refute my comment about his habit or anything else but his jealousy.

“You’re not? Try again, asshole. You think I don’t hear the comments, see your bullshit, know you try to undermine anything that goes good for me? You think I’m that fucking naive to your game? Undermining deals, throwing a bag of blow my way the minute you see the sirens reflected in the windows of the house? You use my guilt against me, so back the fuck off me and own it!”

My mirror image just stares at me, chest heaving, eyes glaring, and animosity pulsing off him in waves and crashing into mine. “I’m not jealous of you and your bullshit career. Daddy’s favorite sure is fulfilling his potential while leaving me with the raw end of the deal, having to take care of Mom.”

“Take care of her? I believe I foot the bills.” I step into him, chests bumping against each other. “Besides, I didn’t realize getting high was taking care of her—because you’re still getting high, aren’t you? Drugs more important than promises, right?”

“Fuck you!”

“Right back atcha, brother! At least my conscience is clean.” I say the words but my father standing before me pressing the cold steel to his chin flashes through my mind. My conscience is anything but clean because I didn’t try to stop him. I shove the thoughts from my mind. Try to step up to the plate and be the heavy hand that Hunter needs to clean up his act.