He is the complete opposite of Jacob—he is trouble with a capital T. His nickname is Charlie, or Charlie Sheen, since he is a well-known womanizer and party guy. But he is smart about it and keeps his partying side well hidden, hence the reason he moved on campus. What Mommy and Daddy don’t know won’t hurt them. Right?
“Hey Ty, we gotta catch up this weekend, dude. I see you at training, and that’s it. You got some secret woman I don’t know about?” Jacob questions me, joking around and slapping my shoulder.
“Ha-ha, very funny. Even if I did try to hide something like that, Detective Tyler would find out and tell the world,” I reply honestly.
“True. So where have you been, dude?” he asks more seriously. I hope he doesn’t think I’m avoiding him.
“Just crazy busy, Jake. I’ve been given a few more shifts at the hardware store. Mom’s at the hospital working more, so I’m on Thomas duty and holding down the fort. Same old shit, dude,” I answer, and it sounds lame. I’m seventeen, for God’s sake, not thirty. Some days, I wish I didn’t have the extra responsibilities.
“Well shit, that does sound insane. When do you let your hair down, bro?” he questions, and I wish I had a better answer.
“I’ll be at the next pep rally for sure,” I tell him. Honestly, I’m looking forward to it; I can actually have a release and be a teenager for the night. “If you have nothing planned for tonight, you should come over. We’re having pot roast, and you know Mom—there is always plenty,” I tell him as I realize it has been too long since we hung out.
“Okay, that sounds cool. I’ll shower and drop my gear home after practice and come around six?” he asks, now smiling.
“Perfect. Oh, and bring some of those new sports clothes from your work you mentioned. I’ll check them out,” I add remembering a conversation we had months ago. Shit, I really had been neglecting him.
Jacob works part time at Sports Mart and is always bringing home extra stock. Sometimes, it's clothing, and sometimes, it’s sporting equipment. I practically live in my Nike shirt he gave me when he started.
One thing I’m learning as I run around like the man of the house: Life is a juggling act, but the more balls you add, the more chance you have that they will all come crashing down.
****
After English and history, which were totally dull, it’s time to experiment in chemistry. There is something pretty cool about mixing acids that froth and explode to get the adrenaline pumping. All this schoolwork has definitely worked up an appetite.
Thank God, it’s time to eat. I stroll over and sit at our regular table in the cafeteria. It’s usually where I sit with Brooklyn since most of the jocks sit with the cheerleaders hanging off them at the table next to us.
Brooklyn and I made a pact that we wouldn’t be the cliché high school jerks who single out the less cool, so we don’t sit with the jocks. Sometimes, the computer geeks sit with us, other times the chess guys, and Brooklyn’s friends, mainly Cassie sit with us too.
As I bite into my burger, I think of just how lucky I am to have Brooklyn. She is such a good friend. She is the one thing in my life that stays constant, and her company is easy and enjoyable. When I’m next to her, it feels like I’m in a bubble, keeping me safe from the unpleasant Tyler’s and Chelsea’s of the world.
Right on cue, Chelsea and Tyler walk in, arm in arm. She giggles her ridiculous hyena laugh at something he says, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Tyler looks my way and winks. What a jackass. I guess he was with Chelsea last night. I look away and continue eating, just as Brooklyn turns up.
“Hey you,” she states as she takes her seat, grinning her usual smile that calms me.
“Hey, finally you arrive,” I reply, now smiling; hers is infectious.
I notice Chelsea gives her a dirty look and rolls her eyes; such an immature girl, but in typical Brooklyn fashion, she keeps smiling and isn’t fazed by Bimbo Barbie.
We eat our lunch in peace, chatting about anything and everything. I don’t even notice anything else going on in the cafeteria—my focus is on Brooklyn. The way she screws her nose up at the dried bread she bites into. Her luscious lips as she licks away a crumb. Even her hair as it hangs loosely on her shoulders.
After lunch, I make my way to chess club. Yeah, I know it sounds geeky, but it’s pretty awesome. It’s all about strategy and brain power. I am one of the best in Indiana, and we have a match coming up next month that I hope to win. It is a great extra-curricular activity to add to my resume for college applications.
My match buddy is Mike. We get along well. His IQ is out of this world, so his personality is quirky. But I don’t discriminate. I guess I have a variety of friends.
I’m not choosy—if we hit it off, I’ll call you a friend and hang out with you. Unlike Tyler, I don’t care about popularity status, hair color, race, or the car they drive. As much as I hate to admit it because he is my brother, at times, he is shallow and judgmental.
In my eyes, life is too fucking short to be an asshole.
Tyler loves to rain on my fucking parade.
Why does he like to cause problems? He intentionally stirs shit, creates conflict, and makes a tsunami when the water is otherwise calm. Today, he made us all late by hogging the mirror for thirty-five minutes to do his hair. The guy is as vain as they come.
He seriously should date himself. No one could love him quite as much as he loves himself.
‘Love yourself’ by Justin Bieber sums him up perfectly.
I wonder if he will ever settle down. Sure, he likes Chelsea, but before her, there were a few others. Andrea was my favorite, but she was too good for him. Thank God, she woke up and ended it. I don’t think he ever really got over her. Maybe that’s why he is so screwed up.
We are like chalk and cheese. I don’t need fame or thousands of dollars to feel happiness or feel like I’m accomplished, but fame and fortune are Tyler’s main goal in life.
He wants to be famous for playing football—make headlines, be the star, and the center of attention. Of course, making millions of dollars can buy you all the cars, houses, and even women in the world. You can have all the materialistic shit, but it can’t buy you happiness.
After last period, Tyler and Chelsea are waiting at my truck for a lift home. It’s always a tight fit when we have Chelsea, but I’m not in the mood for a fight, so I let them climb in as we wait for Thomas.
When Tom comes out, he says bye to his friends and climbs in the beast. “How did you go today?” I question, hoping for more than a one-word response but no such luck.
“School sucked,” he replies smiling at me, knowing that is not what I want to hear.
Tyler gives him a high five. “I knew you were my real brother. Tyson is adopted, but you, Tommy boy, are a man after my own heart,” he exclaims, and Chelsea giggles.
Give me strength. I bite my tongue and drive a little faster.
I am feeling frustrated by the time I drop the three knuckleheads at home. “Dinner is in the fridge, Tom, just microwave it for one minute thirty, bro, and I’ll check your homework when I get home,” I say and give him a wink.
I avoid eye contact with the evil king and his queen. Part of me wishes I didn’t have to leave Thomas alone with them. In the words of Bon Jovi, Tyler is ‘Bad Medicine.’ I make tracks, driving a little over the speed limit since I still have to change clothes and clock in.
I pull up to a vacant spot, park my truck, and turn off the engine. It’s then I get a whiff of something rotten. “What the hell?” I say out loud. I look around and search the cab frantically. What is that terrible smell?
It’s then that I smell a dirty rat. Tyler...
What in the world has that asswipe done now? I hastily climb out of the truck after searching the dash and center console and start to check under my seat. It’s empty. I race around to the passenger side, and as I assumed, the smell is much worse.
“Oh, gross,” I moan as I reach my hand under the seat, where I find s
omething slimy and vulgar to touch. I grab hold of the object while dry heaving at the scent. I’m half hoping it’s not alive.
Taking a glance at what I have recovered, I can see it’s a slimy piece of meat. A very disgusting green and extremely moldy chunk of meat. I race to the dumpster behind the hardware store and toss the feral culprit in before slamming the lid closed.
My hand is still slimy and gross, so I wipe it on the grass for now. I will definitely disinfect it when I go inside. I wind the passenger window down to help with the stench. It will never be the same in here again. It needs a scrubbing and gallons of bleach. I lock the truck and head inside to wash and scrub my contaminated hand.
“Afternoon, Tyson,” Mr. Monroe calls out as I walk inside.
“Afternoon, Henry,” I reply waving and then I head straight to the men’s room.
I lather the soap, scrub, rinse, and repeat. After five washes, it no longer smells, but I’m still paranoid. My OCD is not coping. Dumbass will pay for this!
A thought crosses my mind. How am I meant to clean under my car seat? Damnit! It’s not like I can easily pull the seat out. It is going to be a nightmare job. I cringe just thinking about it.
I get to work on something physical. I start to bundle up the new turf that has arrived, and my brain can’t help but tick over with ideas on the perfect payback for Tyler. I don’t stop until I’m sweating like a madman, but it helps me clear my mind.
Revenge. I can’t back down, not this time.
My ideas so far are itching powder in his jocks. Laxatives in his Gatorade. Washing his football gear with pink dye. Whatever I decide on, one thing is for sure—this will be epic.
Things at home are tense and uncomfortable. I can sense a collision on its way, a war even.
Tyler has been up at the crack of dawn to leave early every morning, then coming home late at night, which means skipping meals to avoid Dad. Ever since their last fight, there is a strain in the family. They are both stubborn, and it won’t end well.
“Where’s your brother been hiding, Tyson? It’s your job to keep tabs on the other two,” Dad asks as I walk through the front door after school. I feel the usual tension in my stomach. Dad has been home for the last five days. He will go back to work at the end of the week.
“I don’t know, Dad. He’s not one to confide in me, that’s for sure,” I answer him truthfully. Although I’m sure Tyler would be at Chelsea’s or a friend’s place. At least, he has actually been coming home, unlike the previous week.
“You tell him he can’t avoid me forever. I will visit your school, and I’m sure he wants to avoid that, so if he is smart, he will show his face around here.” We all know that would embarrass the shit out of Tyler; he has an image to uphold, after all.
“If I see him, I will let him know, Dad. I got to get changed. Brooklyn and I are hanging out at the mall,” I say as I move rapidly toward my bedroom.
“Good job, Ty. Now, if only Tyler turned out like you did life would be a damned bit easier,” he remarks, and I hear the squeak of the fridge door, then the crack of a beer can open. I know the alcohol takes the edge off, but drinking isn’t helping him when it comes to Tyler. The angrier he becomes, the worse it is for us all.
I should be thankful it isn’t rum. That shit turns him into a real nasty piece of work, and then no one is safe.
****
I decide impulsively to take a quick shower. I kind of stink and not in a good way. The humidity of summer in Indiana is never kind. I have gross sweat marks on my shirt just from the trip home.
After showering quickly, I hastily make my way from the bathroom back to my room in nothing but a towel. I’m stopped by a shadow at my front door. That’s when I see Brooklyn’s pretty face.
“Knock, kno—” she declares but pauses mid-sentence when she notices that I’m half naked.
“Hey Brooke, I will be ready in two seconds,” I remark as I feel her eyes boring into my exposed torso.
“So-sorry. I’m a little early. I can wait out here,” she responds, her voice sounding a little shaky. Well, I’ll be damned. I haven’t heard Brooke at a loss for words before. I decide to play on it just a little. I’m no Adonis, but I take pride in my body, and honestly, I enjoy her gawking eyes on me.
I saunter over to our white front door and open the screen. “You will do no such thing. We’ve only been friends for five years, Brooke. You come in and wait,” I announce ushering her in, with one hand holding my towel tightly. I don’t want to show her too much. I don’t think she would ever come back. Or look at me the same way, for that matter.
“Okay, I’ll watch TV while you get dressed. Now, go and get some clothes on,” she retorts all bossy. Oh, I love the bossy side to Brooklyn.
“What? You don’t want to gawk at me just a little longer?” I chuckle as I tease her.
“In your dreams, Mr. Caine,” she retorts as she giggles and rolls her eyes.
“Well, now that you mention it, I’ve had that dream before,” I joke and sprint off into my room to leave her with that thought. I can’t help but wonder if she would be shocked, find it funny, or think I was lying?
The truth is I’ve had countless dreams about the captivating angel with the caramel-colored hair who has skin soft as velvet and irresistible lips. I’ve woken up a few times and literally caught myself red-handed thinking about her.
****
“Okay, I’m ready,” I announce coming out in denim shorts and a simple gray tee. I was a little tempted to come out with no shirt still, but I’m not that cocky.
“About freaking time. You take longer than I do,” Brooklyn protests raising one eyebrow.
“Just let me text Tyler. Dad is fuming and warned me if he doesn’t come home soon and face him, he will show up at the school,” I tell her as it’s bordering on a disaster for all of us if he ends up at school.
“Holy shit. Tyler would be mortified,” she replies covering her mouth.
“Yep, I know, so I gotta warn him.”
I send a quick text.
Dad is shitting bricks that you are avoiding him.
I’m warning you, he is talking about coming to find you at school.
Seriously, Tyler, it’s time to face the music.
Dun dun duuuun.
****
As we drive casually through the suburbs, the windows are down, the warm summer air blowing in our hair, music is blaring, and Brooklyn is next to me. This is one of my most treasured pastimes. The girl really is a confident driver. I’ve never been worried with her behind the wheel, and she has driven my pickup more times than I care to count.
With ease, she carefully parks her dad’s Chrysler in a vacant spot, and we head into the mall.
“What is the plan, Ty? You know I hate being at the mall for too long; the crowd’s drive me crazy,” Brooklyn declares making me smile. She must be one of the only women on the planet who hates to shop.
“Haha, you make me laugh. You are female, right?” I joke. “How about we check out Target first. I desperately need some new jeans, then the sports shop for shin pads, then the rest is your choice Miss Waters,” I suggest as we are already walking in that direction.
“I’m happy with Target. I could do with a black tank for Chad’s party,” Brooklyn replies sounding totally unimpressed.
“One shop, that’s all you need to go to? Really, Brooklyn? You don’t you need some girly stuff like earrings or shoes?” I interrogate her wondering if she would have been more girly if her mom was still around. Mrs. Waters really was a beautiful lady. I can see who Brooklyn got her attractive features from.
“You are hilarious, Caine,” Brooklyn proclaims shaking her head.
I give her a brash wink. I should know better. Brooklyn is so laidback and casual. It’s never about new modern outfits, expensive hair products, the name brand makeup, or high heel shoes. What you see is what you get with her—one of the many things I love about her.
Inside Target, the men’s and ladies’ c
hange rooms are next to each other, so I head in with my two pairs of jeans and Brooklyn with her two similar looking black tops. It’s always black with her.
“Okay, I’m done,” I call out as I decide on the darker jeans. The lighter shade was boring.
“What do you think?” Brooklyn questions me slowly waking out of her change room. My eyes widen in shock. There she is in a mid-drift tank, showing off her chiselled abs. It’s low cut into a v and her cleavage is toppling out. Wow …
“Um,” I manage to say totally speechless. She looks hot.
“What are you staring at? You have seen me in less than this at the lake and some of my dancing costumes, Ty,” she says smiling; it’s as if she is enjoying my ogling.
“True, but that top is smoking hot, Brooke,” I force myself to say as I regain my composure. But hang on—I don’t want other guys gawking at her like I just did. “It’s probably a little much for Chad’s party, though,” I add, and I wish I hadn’t.
“Since when does a guy ever say an outfit is too slutty? It’s perfect. Thanks for your help,” she says and pokes out her tongue before she wanders back to change.
I really need to get the nerve to talk to her. This whole ‘just friends’ business is getting harder, especially when she has become such a damn hottie.
****
We grab a couple pieces of chicken and salads for dinner, seeing as though we both watch the carbs and calories we put into our mouth. As we drive silently along the freeway, I still can’t muster up the courage to talk about things. Maybe after a few beers at Chad’s party, I will gain some Dutch courage, and then I can get a few things off my chest. Yep, that’s it; only three more days and I’ll tell her how I really feel.
At nine pm, she gradually pulls her car into our driveway, and that’s when I first hear the yelling.
“Well, it looks like Tyler finally came home,” I remark as I look at her picture-perfect face to help me zone out. The fact of the matter is that I’ll be entering a minefield very shortly.
TYSON CAINE: Book 1 in the Brothers in Arms Series (Brothers in Arms Book 1) Page 3
