I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. I don’t like to see my brother hurt, but damn, he’s got to respect Jimmy and then this shit won’t happen. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I am scared of Dad… When will Tyler learn?
I heard Mom crying when Tyler went into the house. “Please, Tyler; just keep your mouth shut. Just be respectful and obey the rules and this won’t happen,” she pleads with him.
“I’m not a prisoner of war. What right does he have to whip me until I’m black and blue? I am his son. He has no respect for me either,” he mouths back, but I see his point.
“You have to earn his respect, baby, and then you won’t be punished,” she replies weeping, desperately trying to make him see sense.
“You are just as bad as he is, always defending him. One day, you will see that this is wrong. The way we are treated is child abuse,” Tyler yells and runs to his room slamming the door. I am thankful Jimmy doesn’t hear the door slam; that would fuel the fire even more.
I see both sides of the argument, except for the beating.
After only two interviews, Tyler got a part-time job working at the local fruit market loading and unloading the trucks.
“I’ll be moving out when I have enough money,” he tells me as we jog our usual ten miles around the track before practice. The lists were up this morning, and we both made the team.
“That’s a bad idea, bro. Don’t be stupid,” I respond honestly. He never thinks things through; he just reacts.
“What’s stupid is living with that drill sergeant you call Father. He is nothing to me. I hate him, and it won’t change. You tell me to earn his respect but fuck that—how can you respect a monster that enjoys beating his own flesh and blood?” Tyler retorts back angrily. I hadn’t realized how much his altercation with Dad had festered this last month.
I am lost for words. There are pretty dark and deep emotions coming from Tyler.
“Come on, Tyler. He doesn’t enjoy it. In his eyes, he is teaching us how to be adults and how to be respectful and live in the real world when it’s our time,” I state. “Do you think paying rent, buying your own food, making your own meals and the rest of it will be easy? Shit, bro, you just need to chill, get along with him, and not give him a reason to punish you and life will be easy,” I say trying to reassure him and stop him from doing something that he will regret.
“Whatever, Tyson. You are his fucking favorite, so of course, you would say that,” he tells me angrily then sprints away leaving me with that revelation.
What the hell?
He thinks I am the favorite? Does Tyler feel jealous that I actually get along with Jimmy? It’s called keeping the peace. Being Switzerland. I guess I do look at it as a role I play. Jimmy is like a lieutenant, and I am a soldier with my “Yes, sir” and “No, sir.”
Fuck me … I just can’t win sometimes. I keep the peace, try my best to keep the other two in line, make Father happy. Mom is happy if Jimmy is happy, and now, fucking Tyler has issues with me.
For the first time in a long time, I feel my chest tighten, and the pressure of being the oldest and the so-called golden child hits me. Why do I have all of this fucking responsibility when I’m the one doing the right thing? Why should I have to bust my ass keeping Tyler in line? I am so fucking over it. I refuse to do it anymore.
That’s it! Let the asshole move out—I might actually get my life back. It would save me a ton of gas to not have to drive him around all the time.
He also wouldn’t be around to antagonize Thomas. Now, that would be heaven. Thomas may be the youngest, but shit, he is strong and fiery. He explodes like nothing I’ve seen, and he is hard to console in the aftermath. Fewer freak-outs would make Mom happy too.
Well shit, maybe I should help find him a place. I might even start packing his bags. The sooner, the better. Nah, we are all in this together, so we will have to just work it out.
Someone sensational is in my life, and her name is Brooklyn Waters. We have been friends for the past five years. When I say friends, I mean best friends. I know everything about her, from her favorite color to her lifelong dream of becoming a famous dancer. We talk about every single thing that life throws our way. It’s such an easy and fantastic friendship.
Brooklyn is damn amazing in every sense of the word, but we are just friends.
Around six months ago, I started feeling something more for her. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. One minute, we are all swimming in the lake, and the next, I am taking in her stunning body and every curve and dip of her figure. And not in the way a friend should either.
I now have deep, intense feelings for her—there is no doubt about that. I think of her first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and then I even dream about her. I have it bad.
It’s not all about her looks, though. Well yeah, she is a natural beauty. She doesn’t need anything but lip gloss, and her hair is chestnut brown and always so silky. Brooklyn is like a breath of fresh, crisp air. Her dazzling smile is perfect, and her ocean blue eyes shine brightly and complement her oval face. Her body is athletic; she always has perfect posture, her shoulders are toned and firm, accentuating her well-rounded breasts. Brooklyn is the full package. She is smart, funny, a talented dancer, but she is unique, one of a kind. I see no faults with her.
I find myself stealing secret glances at her constantly, then when I realize what I’m doing I feel awkward. There is something super special about her. Just today, as we walked side by side out of the cafeteria, her hips swayed, and her skirt hugged her ass so tight. I dropped back a little to get a better view. Her athletic thighs look so toned in my now favorite short, blue skirt. As she glances backward, I almost break my neck looking sideways. Shit, was that too obvious. Being busted would open a whole new can of worms.
We get along so insanely well as friends. What if we end up hating each other? We also have a lot of the same friends and interests—how could I avoid her if it ended badly? Should I risk it? Should I take a chance on us?
Is it worth risking losing her forever? I just can’t decide what to do.
I have always loved to dance. Even as a cute little toddler in a tutu, I would dance to my mother’s favorite songs. Starting dance classes at the age of six was only logical. I quickly aced the dances and concerts and received numerous medals, awards, and trophies. The contests were in other towns and Mom would always drive me herself—she wanted to be there and not miss a thing.
“My beautiful, dancing princess,” is what my mom would call me. She never missed a single rehearsal or concert until she became ill.
It was heartbreaking to see her once agile and graceful body become so fragile and lifeless. Her beautiful auburn hair started to fall out. Her skin was so pale, and she was very skinny and brittle.
But she insisted that I never miss a rehearsal. I would come home and show her the new dance moves I was taught, and even though she was weak and tired, she would always give me her full attention. Watching me dance was the only time I saw her smile as the cancer overtook her.
“Promise me, Brooke, you will always dance. Promise me you'll always follow your dreams and heart, baby girl. You are truly talented. I will love you always and forever, my sweet daughter,” she told me as we embraced and shared a precious moment.
Those were the last words she said to me. The next morning, she was rushed to the hospital unconscious. Two days in the ICU and her heart stopped.
I was shattered. At ten years old, my world was thrown into turmoil. Life as I knew it was forever changed. My poor father was so heartbroken. He cried for days and even broke down halfway through his eulogy. His words are forever etched in my mind.
“My darling Esme is now an angel in heaven. She was the love of my life, my soul mate and best friend, the best mother to our children and wife to me. Twenty years was not long enough, but I will treasure and remember every second of my amazing life with her. Sleep well, my angel; you are free from pain and heartache. I know you will be w
atching over us, and I promise to take good care of Brooklyn and Dylan.”
My little brother would cry every night for Momma. It was so hard to watch and try to comfort him since I wasn’t his mother and he didn’t want me. But I was the anchor in our family. Like on a boat, I kept everything calm and in place; by hell or high water, I would keep our family together.
When my breakdown finally happened, I was at dance rehearsals and was having trouble with some steps. It was nothing major, but I got frustrated and angry and felt I was letting Mom down. My frustration triggered losing her, and I broke down and bawled my eyes out.
My dance teacher, Jenny, was so supportive and sweet. To this day, she is like my surrogate mother. Tyson’s mom is another sweetheart who looks out for me. She has taken me shopping to the mall for a few girls’ days. “I’m here for you, Brooklyn. If you ever need someone, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.” Her words were so heartfelt and genuine.
Remembering my mother’s words, I kept my promise to her and I danced my little heart out. I really did love to dance; it was my escape, and it turns out I excelled at it too. Great exercise—it keeps me toned and fit. Every chassé, spin, and pirouette that we learned had me training for hours. It’s amazing the muscles you use to dance.
Tyson is my best friend. He’s like the male version of Cassie. Our friendship is one of my favorite things in the world. We laugh all the time, get along extremely well, and talk about most things. He is one of the few people who I have opened up to about my mom. He has a great ear for listening—only putting in his two cents when I ask for it. His hugs are totally the best, too.
Lately, I’ve been seeing Tyson in a different light. The boy I have known for the last five years now has facial hair on his perfectly chiselled chin; biceps that are getting larger by the minute, and dimples that give me butterflies.
I’ve always known he was a sweetheart, but the way he holds the car door open for me, always waits for me to eat first, and needs my opinion on something before he does it really has me smitten.
It’s kind of scary. My best friend in the whole world is a guy that I am attracted too. Plus the way he looks at me sometimes gets me hot and bothered.
Holy hell, what in the world is happening?
It’s Wednesday, and I have a shift at Monroe’s Hardware this afternoon. Tyler is at Chelsea’s, and Thomas is at tutoring, so it’s a nice quiet drive to work for a change. I was lucky to land this job last year, and I strive to keep it. Mr. Monroe tells Mom every chance he gets, “Tyson is a hard worker. I’m lucky to have him.”
I never give up on a task even if most of the jobs are pretty much easy labor. Mr. Monroe will lift the heavier boxes or usually we do it together. I guess cleaning the toilets would suck so I’m grateful not to have that job.
After serving my first customer of the afternoon, I rhythmically pack the shelves with gallons of paint tins and I think back to the time Dad and I painted the spare room at home. We painted it blue when Mom found out Thomas was another boy. Not gonna lie, she was a little disappointed since she really wanted a girl.
Shit, who wouldn’t be after two boys? That was fourteen years ago. Damn, that went fast.
Anyway, Dad decided to surprise her and bought some nice pale blue paint. He spent hours in there sanding the walls, then painting the base coat and two coats of the powder blue color he let me choose.
We did it while she was at work. We even put the crib together that Dad hadn’t gotten around to doing earlier and tied a blue ribbon around it. I was only three at the time, and Tyler was two, but I guess Dad figured you got to make the most of the situation in front of you.
I know it wasn’t much, but damn, Mom loved it. She cried and cried happy tears.
“Oh Tyson, you and your father are so thoughtful. I love you, my big boy,” she said hugging me tight. I felt so much joy and love from her. It was such a small gesture, but it’s something I’ll never forget.
“You really have helped shine a light and show me how exciting a new baby will be. A boy or girl doesn’t matter. As long as he is healthy and well loved, that is the most anyone can ask for,” she told me, and I know she really was convincing herself.
“I love you, Jimmy. Our three sons will be amazing,” she gushed to Dad as they embraced. We have never had a lot of money, so having a third child in the house did make money tighter, but we managed. We always did.
Thomas really brought brightness to our lives. He was always a very happy and smiling baby, and he hardly cried. Thank God for that; I think we would have struggled otherwise. Especially since we are all so close in age, Mom had her hands full.
Dad was good with Tyler and Thomas—he would bounce them on his knee and sing to them. It wasn’t until he got laid off from his timber mill job that he started to drink excessively and his persona changed to aggressive.
I have never seen him lay a finger on Mom, though. That is one thing I would never allow. He would be a dead man. He has come close and threw a chair that was inches from hitting her. It makes me worry that Tommy’s explosive temper is similar to his. I just hope it stays under wraps.
Work is slow, not too many customers today, so I keep busy by rearranging the paintbrushes, hammers, and screwdrivers. I also collect a few more tools and the timber I will need for my new project at home. I’m making Tommy a bookshelf. He is starting a nice book collection, and I figure a cool shelf would be helpful for him. Any incentive to keep a fourteen-year-old boy reading is what I’m looking for. I remember one of the books I had at his age and there were no words only naked women.
He is a wide receiver on the varsity team and has won a few trophies. A classy shelf would be better than the tiny desk he displays them on now.
Tom really loves football. He is a natural, but he also has a brain. God knows he will struggle fitting it all in when the games start. Coach is pretty meticulous with training schedules; it can get gruelling, but throw in exams to that mix and it’s chaos.
I’m kind of glad about Dad’s rule that we are not allowed to go to parties until we turn fifteen. Thomas hates it. Dad tells us it’ll rot our brains and other kids are a bad influence. I tend to agree when I think of some of the shit I have seen.
“Those kids drinking and smoking God knows what are nothing but trouble,” were Dad’s exact words.
I’m pretty sure Tommy has been to one party when he was meant to be staying at his friend’s house, but I’ll let it slide for now. I’ve always got one eye on that kid.
I don’t want him to end up on the wrong side of the tracks—pressure plays a big part in society these days.
It’s after ten when I arrive home from work. I check on Thomas, who is asleep with a book in his hands. I am assuming Tyler is at least in his room since the door is closed like always, so I shower and collapse into bed.
****
The next morning, I hit snooze on my alarm. I’m feeling wrecked from training and working. When the music blares for the third time, I decide I had better get up—responsibility is never fun.
I attempt to wake Thomas, who honestly would sleep all day if we let him. When he was five, he started having bad nightmares. He would sneak into my bed when he had them, and eventually, Mom and Dad just moved him into my room. We’ve shared a room ever since. There’s no way anyone could share with Tyler; he is extremely messy and likes his privacy. After Tom is showered and dressed, he gets his breakfast while I attempt to wake Tyler the sleeping beast. He sounds like that when he is woken from a deep sleep.
After knocking a couple of times, I open his door. His bed is empty and still made from yesterday. “Shit,” I say out loud wondering where the hell he stayed last night.
“Tommy, did you see Tyler last night?” I call out as I walk back to the dining room.
“Nah, I figured he would have just come home late. You know what he’s like,” Thomas responds. “Maybe he just left early, Ty,” he adds trying to put two and two together.
“His bed has
n’t been slept in. I swear. He knows Mom would flip her shit if she knew, not to mention Dad,” I half-shout, feeling pissed about him not coming home.
“You can’t tell them, Ty. He will be in serious shit, bro,” he pleads. He’s always protecting Tyler. I shake my head. I don’t need this in my life; at sixteen, he isn’t old enough to make these decisions.
I send the blockhead a text message.
Me:
Tyler, where the hell did you sleep last night?
I don’t get an immediate response, so I finish my usual morning chores before we leave for school. At least, I have Thomas trained to wash his plate and make his bed. I’m past the point of caring now what Tyler does. I just wish he wouldn’t implicate me—I don’t want to lie to Mom.
My phone beeps.
Tyler:
None of your business, big bro.
That smart-assed jerk always pushes me to my limit. I take a deep breath and decide he’s not worth my stress. He is trying to get a rise out of me, and I refuse to let him win.
“Come on, Thomas. Let’s go, bro. At least we have each other,” I tell him tenderly and put my arm around him as we walk to my truck.
“You are getting all sappy in your old age, Ty,” he replies and shrugs my arm away.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” I respond as we jump in and drive to school.
****
I casually park my truck, and as I head to the front gate, I see my best friend, Jacob, walking in too. “Yo, Jacob,” I call out to my buddy. I have known the guy since we were both freshmen. Jacob Willis is seriously one of the best guys you will ever meet. He is genuine, smart, cool, and the chicks dig him, but he doesn’t go out with just anyone like Tyler.
The girls call him Channing Tatum, so I guess there must be some resemblance. He is your typical honor roll student, star football player, and his parents are happily married. They live in a nice house with just him and his younger sister. His older brother, Charles, moved away last year to stay on campus for college.
TYSON CAINE: Book 1 in the Brothers in Arms Series (Brothers in Arms Book 1) Page 2
