by Teagan Kade
“Bullshit.”
“Seriously.”
I start to walk towards the stairwell. “I’ll hear it from her, thanks.”
“She’s not there.”
“You’re lying.”
He gestures up to the apartment. “Be my guest, but I’m telling you.”
I point. “You’re fucking delusional, you know that?”
He sits on the bottom stair and pats the space beside him. “Sit.”
I remain standing.
“Come on, you pussy. I’m not going to do anything. Scout’s fucking honor.”
“We weren’t Scouts.”
“Just fucking sit, will you?”
I’m shaking my head as I do it, legs aching from the session. I sit beside him looking at the blue twilight above glancing off the pool’s surface. “Why are you here, really? Don’t bullshit me, Josh. You don’t think I can smell when you’re up to something? We’re fucking twins.”
“Look,” he says, bringing his hands together. Almost looks like he’s praying. “Things aren’t good, okay?”
“What do you mean ‘things aren’t good’? We’re shooting up the ladder, you’ve got your house, your car… You’ve got more money than we ever dreamed of. Remember when we were in Rosie? We would have killed for five bucks back then.”
“Fuckin’ A.”
We both smile at the thought of Rosie. We didn’t have much there, but we made do. Sometimes I miss that simple life.
Josh sniffs, nose twitching. “I don’t have any money, man.”
I laugh. “The fuck you don’t.”
“No, he says, serious, “I don’t.”
“Well, what the fuck happened to it? You can’t tell me that palace of yours was twenty-million.”
“I got in with some shady people, bro.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, just fucking shady, okay?”
“And?”
“I did some shit.”
I’m struggling to bottle my anger up. “What the fuck are you talking about, Josh? You better start talking sense and quit with the fucking riddles or I’m gone.”
He throws his hands up. “Fuck, fine. Shit, okay? Drugs—cocaine, heroin, fucking speed, all of it, whatever I can get, stuff to level me out, help me play better—top-grade compound shit.”
“And the rest?”
“Poker.”
I stand, holding my head. “Jesus fucking Christ, Josh. You’re telling me you snorted away all your money and now you owe it to who? The fucking mob?”
“Maybe. I don’t know who they are.”
“But you were happy enough to let them take you for a ride, get you nice and jacked up before they scammed you out of your money. Pops taught us better than that.”
Josh stands, pointing back. “Fucking Pops. You think he was such a great father? Why the fuck did he leave then, without a fucking word. Fuck him.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. This shit is genetic, fucking addiction. I blame him.”
I step in. “The only person you have to blame is yourself.”
He sits and breaks down, the façade dropping so fast I barely see it coming. He sobs into his hands. He looks up to me with desperate eyes. “I’m fucked, man. I’m completely fucked.”
I push the stuff about Scarlet aside, even though I want to get to the bottom of it.
I sit, shaking my head again that I’m actually going to help him.
Blood. He’s blood. It’s your duty.
Maybe Josh is right. Was Pops really that great? He was strict, but I get that. We sure as hell needed a hard hand every now and then, but leaving us, leaving Mom high and dry? That was low.
I place my hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Look, I know some people. I can get you help, but it’s up to you. There won’t be a second chance. You pay these pricks, you ditch the shit, cold turkey, whatever it takes, but after that…”
“I don’t deserve it,” he says, great wracking sobs shaking his frame.
“You have fucked up. I’m really fucking mad at you, man, but you’re my brother. Let’s forget about what has happened and move on, work on getting you out of this mess.”
“I can’t get out.”
My gaze narrows. “You can and you will, but it’s going to require a lot of effort on your part. This isn’t like going up against Philly, those fucking pushovers. No, you’re going to work harder than you ever have in your life, but you will be back on your feet.”
Don’t do it, says my head, screaming, but what choice do I have? Do I just ignore this, and then what? His blood will be on my hands. Mom would never forgive me.
But the respect I had for Josh is gone. There isn’t an ounce of it I can dig up to put this into some kind of positive perspective. Cheating on Scarlet was bad enough, barely forgivable, but drugs, after what we saw growing up? It doesn’t get much worse. Who knows who the fuck he owes money to, and how much? I can pay it, but what’s to stop them coming back for me, bleeding the both of us dry? I’ll help him, but I need time to think it all out.
“Are you listening to me, Josh?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“No,” I repeat, louder, “are you fucking listening to me?”
“Yes!” he shouts back.
I look around. There’s no one in sight—thank god. The last thing I need is another headline. Might do you good this one.—
Still, I don’t want it. Things were just fucking fine until Josh showed up here today. I’m mad at him for a moment, consider getting the hell out of there, but I think of Scarlet. What would she make of this?
She’s too sweet, too good for either of us. What Josh did wouldn’t matter to her in the end. She’d ask, beg me to help him, and I’d do it. I will do it. She doesn’t have to know the details. I can keep it all on the DL, make the right calls and get him into rehab somewhere nice and sunny away from the press. Coach will understand. Well, maybe not, but there won’t a choice if he ever wants Josh back on the field again.
All those sponsors—Tag, Lonsdale—gone. It ain’t going to be an easy road back, but fuck, if Suarez did it…
“I need details,” I tell him, “starting with what you’re taking, right now.”
“Nothing.”
I take him by the shoulders and shake. “Fuck, Josh! What are you taking? Tell me or I walk.”
“Coke. Just coke.”
“Weed?”
“Yes.”
I can’t stop shaking my head. “At the house? Anywhere else?”
“The car.”
“Okay, that’s good. We’ll flush it, get rid of it all. Who knows about it? Anyone on the team?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Any girls?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
I tap his head. “Think. Did any of them take pictures, video? Can they prove it?”
“I was high as a fucking kite, man. I don’t know.”
“Think. Fucking think.”
“No, not that I remember.”
“Okay. It’s a start.”
I look around, check we aren’t being watched. His paranoia is catching. “When was the last time you used?”
“This morning.”
“You were high at training?”
He nods.
“Un-fucking-believable. No wonder you looked like an under-eighteen out there. Coach pulled me aside, you know, told me to get you back in order.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You looked like you were doing a fucking sobriety test out there. If you don’t shape up, he’s going to bench you.”
He claws onto my shirt. “You can’t let that happen.”
“No,” I push back. “You can’t let that happen. What did I say? It’s up to you to fix this mess. I’m just here to help.”
“But you are going to help, aren’t you?”
“Against my better judgment. I always was a sucker for your bullshit.”
He smiles. “You were
. Remember that time you told Mrs. Moser her cat had escaped so we could steal that apple pie off her back window?”
“I can’t believe she bought it.”
“That pie was fucking incredible.”
“Worth the beating Pops gave us later.”
“Every painful minute of it.”
The conversation stops. We were inseparable back in Rosie. We were shits, the worst kind of teenagers, but we had a good time. I don’t know how either of our parents handled us. The thought of having my own kid one day scares me to death. If they turn out to be even half the handful I was, I’m in for serious fucking trouble.
Josh gets real quiet before he speaks again. “There’s something else, Jen.”
I can’t possibly imagine what could be worse.
“Do I need to know?”
“Yes.”
He remains quiet. It’s scaring the shit out of me. I shake him again. “Josh, what the fuck is it?”
“Scarlet.”
My heart stops. “What about her?”
My grip tightens on his shoulders. “What the fuck did you do? If you touched—”
He holds my arms. “No, but I did something horrible and you should know.”
I shake him harder. “What the fuck did you do?!”
He shrugs me off, standing and moving up a step. “I set up something at your apartment, something to break you guys apart.”
My patience is slipping, fingers tightening into a ball by my side. “Tell me!”
He puts his head down, taking another step higher away from me. “I sent a text from your phone.”
“How’d you get hold of my fucking phone?”
“I took it from your bag at training.”
“Why?”
He puts his hands out in surrender. “There’s more.”
I stop, a second away from knocking his block off.
“I sent a text telling Scarlet to meet you at your apartment.”
The fucking cheek of this is unbelievable. “My apartment?”
“I’ve still got your spare keys. I had Carolina slip inside, make Scarlet think you were cheating on her.”
I rush up the stairs and grab him by the collar. “What do you mean? How?”
“I told her to use her imagination.”
I can’t stop the rage now. It bubbles up from the darkest place inside me, boils on the brink of eruption. “Let me get this straight: You basically hacked my phone and then smuggled your whore into my fucking apartment so she could fuck with Scarlet’s head and push her away from me?”
He nods, sullen. “Yes.”
I picture Scarlet walking in to that and my restraint leaves. Holding Josh’s collar, I whip my arm up and punch him hard in the face, holding him there and belting him a second time, the flood of blood that follows from his mouth and nose splattering against my shirt and face.
His head lolls in front of me, his body limp in my grip. My fist hovers still ringing from the punches. I’m shaking. I could fucking finish him, but I let my grip go, let him fall to the steps and roll to the bottom holding his face.
I jump down beside him, cheek pressed into the pavement and the coppery scent of blood heavy in the air. “You fucking speak to me again and I’ll break it again, break your fucking face until there’s nothing left.”
I kick him hard in the ribs, actually consider stomping on him, but I somehow manage to walk away with knuckles bleeding and my eyes literally bulging from my head with fury.
The realization sinks in and it’s cold, arctic.
Whatever Josh and I had is over.
I no longer have a brother.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SCARLET
It’s dark against the curb. I’m caught in a pocket of shadow between two street lights, the odd car rushing by feet away but unable to see me.
One of my hands is up on the pavement, fragments of glass caught between my fingers. For the longest time I don’t dare move, given the pain in my side and back. I lift my fingers, the window of Jensen’s apartment so close but impossible to reach.
I’m drifting somewhere in the midpoint between consciousness and utter black. My head doesn’t even feel attached to my body, a hot line of blood forcing one eye closed.
The driver didn’t even stop. They powered away as soon as I rolled off their hood.
The sickening crunch of my head hitting the windscreen, the world spinning, and my limbs flung out wide—I squeeze my eyes tight to block it out, but each time I think back to the impact hot and cold flushes through my system, the shock still present.
I shake, my cheek against the surface of the road, a rat darting out from a drain.
“Help,” I manage to get out, but even this is a struggle, my voice mousey and small, barely audible. Not a single person has passed. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours?
I try to move and the pain strikes hard, forcing me back to prone supplication.
I drift further away, the apartment buildings becoming fuzzy boxes, the edge of the curb losing its sharpness and clarity. Concussion, I think.
Time leaves too, becomes abstract.
I’m sure there is someone standing there, a hand on the side of my neck, but I’m too distant to care.
Faintly, I hear the wail of sirens. Crimson light surrounds me, forces me to squint and retreat internally.
There are more voices, clearer now, strong hands lifting me from the ground, and then I’m floating, a cloud under my back as the light becomes far too great to bear.
*
The paced beep, beep of a machine, the smell of bleach and sheets washed one too many times—these are the things I notice first.
It’s takes effort to open my eyes, but I manage it, everything suddenly becoming clear.
“Polly?” I whisper. My throat’s so dry I can only just get it out.
She lifts a glass with straw to my lips, tells me to drink. I do, the water acid.
She looks more serious than usual.
Jensen is sitting next to her towards the end of the bed. He shares the same look of concern, and for a moment I have absolutely no idea why until recent events come hurtling back.
I look away from him, remembering Carolina.
Polly places the glass down and takes my hand. “You were in an accident, hon. Do you remember?”
I look down at my arms. They’re not in casts or strung up—a good sign. “Yes,” I breathe. I sound like I’ve got a mouthful of marbles.
Polly squeezes my hand. “The fucker who hit you didn’t stop, but the cops have a good description of the car from the street cam. They’ll get him.”
I don’t really care at the moment. I shift, a string of pain lighting up my side. “How… bad?”
Jensen remains the quiet observer.
Polly scoots forward a little closer. “Considering you were hit by a car, you’re lucky. Nothing’s broken. You’ve got a nasty cut on your head there, little bit of concussion, couple of bruised ribs, but nothing that’s going to keep you out of action for too long. You’re a tough little thing.”
I want to smile, but I’m too weak to make the corners of my mouth lift.
Jensen’s mere presence is pissing me off. Maybe it’s irrational, but I want him gone.
Why her? It was bad enough seeing her at Josh’s place that night. Now she wants to take Jensen, too? The way she smiled when she said she’d been seeing him for months, the nerve to ask me to stay, that we’re alike.
It’s all his fault.
I lift an arm, a little shocked by the pulse oximeter attached to my finger. I aim right at him. “Go,” I say.
Polly stops and looks to Jensen before looking back to me. She seems confused. “You want Jensen to go?”
“Go!” I try to shout, my voice coming through a strainer, painful.
He stays there silent, watching on.
I take a rattling breath and sit up, something attached to my chest unclipping and the monitor sent into an alarmed panic.
“Go!�
�� I’m screaming, dry tears forming in the corner of my eyes, Polly letting the grip ease on my hand.
I swing at the air. “Leave!”
Jensen stands. “I can explain, Scar. Let me.”
I collapse back, too tired to argue.
Polly stands, speaking to him quietly. “I don’t think she wants to see you right now.”
He leans out around her head. “Scarlet, please.”
I turn my head away, watch the curtains as the alarm continues to ring out.
A nurse rushes in, sees Polly trying to push Jensen out the door. She looks disapprovingly at him. “You need to go.”
In the window I see Jensen shaking his head. “It’s not what you think,” he says into the room, raising his voice to be heard of the manic dah, dah, dah of the alarm.
Polly herds him out of the door, turning. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
They leave, the nurse mumbling “never trusted that one” as she goes about reattaching the sensor to my chest. “Take it from me,” she says, leaning over the bed, “boys like your friend there are fun for a while, but they’re never good for you in the long run.”
I close my eyes, only wanting to sleep as she tucks the sheets tight around my chest.
*
Polly shoves another spoonful of Jello into my mouth. “I really don’t know why you love this stuff so much. You could build a house with it.”
I swallow it down, my throat still a little sore but in general much better. I’m sitting up by myself, the pain easing in my ribs.
Polly scoops up another spoonful. I stop her before she gets it to mouth. “Does Mom know?”
“Jensen called her.”
“He did?”
“Called your mom, your work, even your super. He had to go down to the station for a while, leave a statement, but he’s been here ever since.”
“He’s still here?”
Polly puts the spoon down, the Jello twerking on top. “Yep, slept in the waiting room a floor down last night after the Colonel kicked him out of this wing.
“The Colonel?”
“That nurse. You know, the one that looks like she’d be better off as a prison warden or guest-starring on Supernanny.”
I sink back into the pillow. “Right.”
“Jensen’s the one who found you.”
“I figured.”
“For someone who saved your life, you didn’t exactly seem appreciative.”
