by Emma Renshaw
When it was done and the shades were drawn, I couldn’t breathe. I thought covered windows would help, but they didn’t.
So I came to Lady Bird Lake. The trailer park I grew up in wasn’t anywhere near this part of Austin, but Grams would take me here to soak in a nicer part of this eclectic city.
The sun reflects off the smooth glassy surface of the lake. It’s crowded with paddle boarders, and kayakers wade through the water next to the shiny buildings of the Austin skyline. Young kids are playing along the shore. Their giggles mix with shrieks, and parents calling their names fill the air.
I’m just one in hundreds of people. I blend in. I’m lost amongst the crowd. One of many. Anonymous. And that’s just how I like it. It’s how I’m able to breathe.
The scene sprawled in front of me is the subject of the first landscape painting I attempted. It wasn’t anything like my grandfather, Poppy’s, paintings, but it was decent for a ten-year-old.
It’s better than what I could do now. I trace the thin scar on the back of my right hand with my left index finger. I can still paint. I can still hold a paintbrush, but it isn’t like before. Before Pierce smashed the bones in my hand and I had surgery, I could paint for hours on end. Now if I paint for an hour straight, I’m in crippling pain. The techniques I’d refined since childhood are gone. I did find a way to pursue my love of art, but it’s nothing like the dreams I had before.
As much as he took from me, this was one of the worst—as he knew it would be.
In the end, art still saved my life. It was my escape. I traded in creating art with a paintbrush to creating it with strokes of a keyboard and swipes of a mouse.
A man in a crisp business suit juggles bowling pins and rides a unicycle on the concrete trail in front of the bench I’m sitting on. The lone cloud in the sky moves past the sun and the blue water sparkles a little bit more and the green grass appears just a little bit greener. My chin quivers as I smile and turn my face toward the sky silently thanking Grams for the little reminders of why I love this city.
I take in the scene in front of me for another minute before standing and heading to the hardware store. A newfound determination straightens my spine and revives my resolve. I won’t let him take anything else from me.
Chapter 3
Callan
My mud-covered work boots scrape across the concrete as I drag myself to the shaded stairwell. A thin layer of drywall dust coats my skin. I roll my shoulders as I cross the parking lot to the stairs. My arms have been stretched above my head all day, hanging drywall. Sitting in my truck, stuck in bumper-to-bumper Austin traffic, and the never-ending blaring of car horns didn’t help my tired body or the dull pulsing headache. The sun is finally behind the horizon instead of beating down on the black leather interior of my truck and blinding me. The days are getting longer the further into spring we go, and that means more working hours. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted.
It’s good for the business though. Hudson lost valuable time when the neighborhood we’ve been building was shut down because it became an active crime scene. My crew has been playing catch-up ever since. We’re getting closer to where we should be, now that we have more hours to work. The first couple of houses are close to being completed. More hours means more physical work.
The distinct sound of a hammer hitting a nail pings off the beige siding in the stairwell. I stop on the stairs and tug on one of my ear lobes. This pinging fills my ears all day; it’s not unusual for the phantom noise to remain after I’ve left the work site. It’s usually a faint clamor in the background. This sounds real.
I look up. From my position on the stairs, I can’t see the landing. The hammer starts hitting the nail faster. Is that Carmen? The startled feminine gasp accompanied by “holy pancakes” answers my question.
My new neighbor, who I’ve yet to meet, even though Carmen has been pestering me every single day, is pounding away at something. At least she was. Sounds like she hit a finger. Carmen said her name is Iris or something. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to fend of Carmen’s request.
My boots thud against the steps as I continue to move up the flight of stairs, and a door creaks open. I reach the landing in time to see her ankle disappear through the doorway, just before the door shuts. A single nail is jutting out of the siding beside her front door. It’s tilted up at the wrong angle. I shake my head, ignoring the need to fix it.
Not my apartment, not my business.
My lips twitch and a grin tugs on the corner of my mouth. A green wreath with white flowers, ranging from tiny to large, hangs in the middle of my door. One of Brae’s creations. Since we moved from Chicago and settled into a new, safer, and more reliable life, I’m seeing sides of Brae I didn’t know existed. Some of them, like the ability to create a wreath to hang on a door, are good. Other parts, not so much.
I call out Brae’s name when I walk through the door. Silence greets me.
She has only a couple more days until spring break is over. I tug my phone from my jeans to make sure I don’t have any messages from her and walk into the kitchen to snag a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
A piece of notebook paper lies on the counter. Brae’s bubbly handwriting fills the top of the page.
* * *
I’m at dinner with Corbin.
Love you oodles!
-B
* * *
I huff. That’s why she didn’t text. This is the new part of her that’s not so great. A hint of a rebellious streak is starting to show. She’s out with Corbin and if she had messaged me, I would’ve made her wait until I got home, so I could join them.
She’s too young for the way he looks at her. He stares at her like he’s going to toss her over his shoulder and take the first plane to Vegas. From the moment they met, his eyes have stayed locked on her—I’m not sure he’s ever seen me. I fought tooth and nail to get her to Austin. She has an actual shot at a future here. I don’t want her getting distracted by some teenage boy just because he can throw a damn football.
Both of them swear they’re just friends, but I don’t trust the kid. Not with my sister. James says Corbin is a good kid with a good head on his shoulders.
That’s great for Corbin.
Still don’t want him with my sister.
I crumble the note in my fist and toss it in the trash, pounding out a message to Brae on my phone.
* * *
Me: Not cool.
* * *
My phone chimes almost immediately.
* * *
Brae: I’ll be home soon! Can Corbin stay for a movie?
* * *
My eye twitches and jaw cracks with the pressure I’m putting on my molars.
* * *
Me: Fine. In the living room. A movie sounds good. I’ll join you.
* * *
Brae doesn’t respond, but the pursed lips, eye roll, and hair flip she’s perfected, when she cops an attitude, are branded into my mind. It’s a move she displayed occasionally as a toddler. It became more frequent when she was a preteen, and now that I’m the only parent figure in her life and she’s a teenager? I see it almost every day.
I’ve struggled her entire life to find the balance between brother and father. Both of our parents are scum. When Brae came home from the hospital, Mom dropped her off and left.
For four days.
We managed. We survived. The years we bounced back and forth between “home” and a foster home were manageable because we were able to stick together. After I aged out of the system, things got more complicated. I did everything I could to keep Brae with Mom because if she was there, I could take care of her.
I still haven’t found that perfect balance. I’m Dad in the eyes of the law, but I’m also her brother.
Twenty minutes later, I finish toweling off from my shower and pull on sweatpants. It wasn’t that long ago that I was a sixteen-year-old boy. I’m sitting in that living room with them while they watch the damn mo
vie.
A terrified scream rips through the night. My head swings toward my bedroom door as if I can see through the walls to the source of that scream. My body is locked tight, waiting for something else to happen.
“Brae!” Before Corbin finishes shouting her name, I’m out of my room, sprinting through the front door and into the breezeway. My heart is pounding a furious beat inside of my chest and oxygen is trapped in my throat. I look around the area like a wild animal looking for its hunter, trying to spot the source of the danger.
Corbin is holding Brae on the stair landing, running his hands over her arms. I take off down the stairs, coming to a stop in front of her, and put my hand on her shoulders. Only then do I release the breath that’s been trapped.
“Braelyn. What happened?” My voice is gritty as I make my demand and check her over from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.
Brae’s hand is lying flat over her chest. Her heavy breathing is starting to slow and a shocked laugh leaves her mouth. I look up and scan the parts of the parking lot and greenway that I can see through the stairwell bars. The hair on the back of my neck is still standing on end waiting for the eminent threat. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” She stands up straight. Both Corbin and I are braced in case she falls. I take one step to my right and block the arm he has outstretched for her.
“What happened?” I repeat, scanning the dark parking lot.
Brae starts chuckling and shakes her head quickly. “Really, I’m okay. I was just startled.”
“Tell me what the hell happened, Brae.”
She points behind me. “There’s a mirror on the side of our new neighbor’s door. I caught myself in the reflection and thought someone was up there waiting. It surprised me, so I shrieked then fell backwards. Corbin caught me. If he wasn’t behind me I would’ve busted my head on the concrete.”
“If he was in front of you, he would’ve known there was no threat, and you wouldn’t have been scared or fallen at all,” I argue through my teeth.
“If he wasn’t behind me he couldn’t have stopped someone if they rushed me from behind and attacked me. He can’t be two places at once.”
I know she’s right so I look away and I drop my hands from her shoulders and look up the set of stairs. I can’t see the mirror she’s talking about from the landing. I spin and jog up the stairs.
“He’s going to go all caveman,” Brae mutters under her breath.
“It’s dangerous. Someone needs to tell that person. Brae you could’ve been hurt. What if you were alone?” Corbin’s tone is deadly calm and serious. I won’t admit it out loud, but sometimes the kid isn’t so bad.
Footsteps follow mine. When I reach the middle of the stairs, the top of my head is reflected back at me. “If I was alone and fell, I would’ve picked myself up, walked up the stairs, and gone home. It’s not like you or my brother can stop something from happening just because you’re there. I’ve survived the first sixteen years of my life; pretty sure I can survive when something startles me and I trip like a klutz.”
My crazy-ass new neighbor has a full-length mirror hanging outside her apartment. If someone wasn’t paying attention and looked up, I understand how they would be startled by a figure appearing all of a sudden.
Why the fuck would she hang a mirror there?
I stalk toward her apartment, running a hand through my still-dripping wet hair, and pound on her door with the side of my fist. A shadow drifts across the strip of light under the door. She’s there. I pound on the door again.
“I can see that you’re there, Iris. Open the damn door.” At this moment I’m glad Carmen told me her name, I can use it, and hopefully she will answer my knock.
The shadow gets bigger and smaller as she moves in front of her door. I focus my attention on the peephole and raise an eyebrow. I know she’s staring at me through that hole.
Brae’s hand lands on my elbow. “Callan, I’m fine.”
I ignore her and keep my eyes trained on the peephole. “I can see your shadow under the door. Open up.”
The doorknob rattles but doesn’t turn. My gaze slides down the door and I watch the knob, willing it to turn. Finally, it rotates slowly. A patch of tan skin peeks out between the waistband of her black yoga pants and the wrinkled white shirt bunched at her hips.
My gaze skims up her body, mostly hidden behind the door. My nostrils flare when my eyes reach her face. Definitely not an elderly bridge crony. Half of her face is out of view, but the half I can see almost takes the fight out of me. Almost, but not quite. She swallows.
Two heavy silver chains stop the door from opening any wider. I move my eyes over her form and catch a third chain lock near the bottom of the door. My teeth grind together, and I feel a pulsing tick along my jaw. Our apartments don’t come with that type of chain. I take a step back and lift my hands in what I hope is a semi-peaceful gesture. Anger is still rolling off of me in waves. Only now it’s not for the sole purpose of Brae, it’s also for whatever reason this girl has for attaching three new locks on her door.
I won’t be swayed by her large hazel eyes and thin nose that are drawing me in and threatening to hypnotize me. Even in the dimness of the hallway light every time my eyes connect with hers, the pounding of my heart and heated skin takes away from my anger and starts to turn into something else.
“I’m your neighbor. Can you open the door?”
Iris—a completely fitting name for her unusually large eyes—snorts as her eyes rake down my body and pause on my chest. I straighten my spine, and my chest puffs with a bit of renewed anger.
“Please,” I say through gritted teeth.
The door closes, and the metal chains clink as she slides each one out of the lock. The door eases open just a crack, but I can now see all of her. Every feature from her face to her hands to her feet are delicate and seem so small compared to my six-foot two frame and work-roughened hands. I lick my lips ignoring the annoying urge pouring through me to drop what brought me here in the first place. I glance over my shoulder at my sister. I’m it. I’m what she has, the only one in her corner, the only one stepping up to the plate. I can’t forget the reason for Brae’s terrified scream because the girl in front of me calls to me like a siren.
“What the hell is this mirror doing here?”
Iris’s pouty lips pinch at the corners. “To see.” Her voice is soft and unsure. It’s another blow to the anger still simmering in my veins, but Brae’s amused snicker behind me reinforces why I’m angry. Something could’ve happened to her.
“To see? To see what?”
Iris stumbles back a couple of steps and narrows the already tight space between her and the door. I take another step back and put another foot of distance between us. I may be angry but I don’t want to scare her.
“Callan,” Brae whispers behind me. She steps forward and places her hand on my bicep. I don’t move my eyes from Iris. I take in everything about her. Raven-dark hair twisted on top of her head in a bun, with loose strands framing her face. High cheekbones. All too enticing pink lips with the perfect arch.
“You could’ve hurt my sister with this damn mirror. So you can what? Check out your outfit before you leave? Don’t have enough mirrors inside? You’ve been banging around your place for two days. What the fuck are you hanging in there?”
Since I’m cataloguing everything about her, I don’t miss the shock and terror in her eyes. She gasps and takes a step toward us, her eyes cast down at her feet, before looking at Brae. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Brae says. “Callan can be a little dramatic.”
I take a deep breath through my nose. I don’t want to argue with two women. The distracting one in front of me is enough, and nagging curiosity about the true reason behind the mirror is another distraction.
“You’re not fine,” Corbin says. “You almost fell. If I hadn’t caught you, you could’ve gotten really hurt.”
“Because of your fucking mirror,” I say, “I could’v
e been picking my sister’s brains up from the stairwell.”
“See? Dramatic, just like I said,” Brae says with exasperation laced in her tone.
My jaw clenches and my eyes roam over Iris. Her chin is quivering, and she moves back into the tight space between the door and the jamb.
“I’ll take it down. I really am sorry.”
It’s the fucking chin quiver and the shaking voice that make my anger dissolve into nothing.
Brae peeks around my shoulder. “Thank you. I really am okay. These guys are a little overprotective sometimes.” She giggles and nudges me in the shoulder. I can’t stop the smile from forming as I look down at her. The smile dies when I turn to Iris. She’s looking at me like I’m a monster lurking in the shadows.
“I’ll take it down.”
I clamp my jaw shut. My gut is saying to apologize to her. I pick up the mirror off the nail and hand it to Iris. She thanks me as she grabs it and hurries inside, shutting the door.
Brae and Corbin walk away, but I stay in front of the door, listening to the locks clicking and the chains sliding into place. I only turn to walk away when the shadow beneath the door disappears as she turns off the light.
Chapter 4
Iris
The flame bursts from the end of the lighter when I flick the switch. The metal end clinks against the glass candleholder as my trembling hand tries to light the wick.
The stench of smoke wafts through the air, mixing with the eucalyptus candle. I drop the lighter to the counter, pressing a hand over my racing heart. Once the spicy scent starts to fill the space, my nerves ratchet down a few notches.
