“Thankfully short. We were on a plane filled with a college basketball team. Damn, were they loud.”
“Have you been to your house before?” Billy asks, lifting an eyebrow over his green eyes.
Hank laughs, likely realizing the irony when his four sons can make a concert seem quiet. “How are you, Landon?” Hank asks.
It’s strange for me to watch my brothers interact with either Jameson or Landon. I’m so close to the both of them that it seems like my brothers should know them as extensively as I do, but they’re still practically strangers and it’s apparent as they remain cordial and discuss crap that doesn’t matter, like the weather.
“You want to help me out tonight, show off your skills with the barbecue?” Landon’s eyes sweep to me like I’ve just announced news worthy of a shocked reaction, and it makes me feel a little more shitty. Other than the comment after the porn videos, Landon’s been here through all of this, not wavering or yelling at me for my crappy moods. He hasn’t said anything about Erin. He’d even been the one that gathered up the movies and tossed them in the trash.
“I, uh … um, I figured I’d clear out tonight, let you guys have space, but yeah, I’ll hang out and grill.”
I clasp a hand to his shoulder and squeeze my fingers, hoping he senses my appreciation.
“Is this your new brofriend? What happened to Wes?” Billy teases, escaping the cordialness.
He really hadn’t been paying attention, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him where in the hell he’d been, but I know where he’s been. I’ve been there for the last few weeks too.
Landon turns stoic. It’s an art that I’m pretty sure war perfected for him. My eyes turn from him to Billy, and his eyes narrow.
“What in the hell’d you do?” Billy accuses.
“Noth—”
“Don’t nothing me, you lying bastard. Wes finally got tired of you acting like a dildo, huh?”
“Dude, shut up.” Hank punches him in the arm, but his voice lacks all conviction. He’s right, I have been a dick.
Kendall and Jameson arrive home from work separately, both looking a bit rattled, but seem to relax as the evening wears on and alcohol begins to be distributed along with stories.
They begin one of my brothers and me from when we were kids and raided our dad’s liquor and stole shots of his bourbon. We all got sick off of it and then got grounded for a month.
More memories are shared, and as the night wears on, laughing becomes a little easier for the first time in over nine months.
Two weeks later my dad approaches me. He’s just returned from a weekend visit to Arizona, where he was granted the opportunity to meet Hank and Sarah’s four boys.
“Why don’t we all go get a drink tonight? Bolts are playing. No discussions, just drinking and football.” He studies me for a long moment, and for a second I see Hank.
“I don’t want to hear about Arizona.”
He nods a couple of times, seemingly understanding that Arizona encompasses pretty much everything.
Jameson, Landon, my dad, and I fill Landon’s rig and we head to a sports bar at the far end of town.
We take a seat at one of the only available tables, and are immediately greeted by a waitress that makes it clear she’s not here to flirt as she acknowledges each of our orders with a nod before disappearing. Most of the TVs are already turned to the pre-game where the announcers are discussing other teams in the conference, which has both Landon and Jameson intrigued since neither of them have converted to Bolts’ fans.
Jameson starts defending the Seahawks a little too loudly, attracting some attention from a nearby table, filled with die-hard Bolts’ fans. They turn to tell Jameson to shut up and eye the four of us. Resituating in their seats, they quietly huff to each other and I feel the corner of my mouth curl in a smile before I lift my glass of whiskey to wash it away.
“If you get us in a fight over a team that’s not even playing tonight, you’re picking up the tab,” Landon says, taking a long pull from his beer.
We sit together with a strained feeling hanging between us as Landon and Jameson try to make small talk that incorporates both my dad, who participates too easily, and me. I occasionally add a short response but keep my attention on the TVs.
“Shit, isn’t that the dude from that party we went to last summer?”
I slowly turn to look over my shoulder at the noises I’ve been struggling to ignore for a while now, knowing that if I turn my attention and see fighting with all of the tension I have in me, I’ll be over there, beating the hell out of some nameless face in an attempt to soothe the living beast of anger and aggression that I seem to constantly battle.
My eyes focus on Pedro’s face. His eyes are slits of rage, and his mouth is pursed, showing how tightly clenched his jaw is. I notice the strain in his arms that are filled with blood and adrenaline, ready for a fight. He’s struggling against someone that’s on the losing end of the battle, and I can’t tell if Pedro knows him or not. He seems nearly oblivious of the poor bastard. My eyes scan the rest of the scene, taking in a few guys that I recognize, and more that I don’t, until I get to Nathan Hudson. The sole focus of Pedro’s hatred seems to fall to him, struggling against two guys that we’d gone to school with.
“Shit!” I hear Landon growl and see the back of him and Jameson as they lunge toward the brawl. Nathan Hudson jumps Pedro, a matching expression of loathing across his face.
“You waitin’ for an invitation?”
I look over to see my dad looking at me with a brow raised over the glass of iced tea he holds to his lips. He gave the entire table a brief explanation after placing his order that he doesn’t drink anymore, something I didn’t know, but strangely feel relieved about.
“I don’t—” my objection falls flat as I see a punch land on Jameson’s face, catching him off guard. He falls with a heavy thud.
“Shit,” I mutter, pushing away from the table. I don’t hesitate slamming my fist into his assailant’s face without warning and am rewarded with hearing the satisfying thwack that my knuckles make against his flesh.
“What the fuck?” someone yells in objection.
I don’t stop. My fist connects with several more faces and ribcages that I don’t even take the time to look at before things begin to slow down. Pedro takes the distraction that I’ve caused and throws himself toward Nathan that was at some point separated from him. I grab him by the shoulders and hold him back as Nathan mutters about how Pedro has lost his mind and doesn’t know what the fuck happened.
I don’t give two shits about what happened and am ready to punch Pedro as well to get him to calm down when he turns his anger filled eyes to me.
“What the fuck? Get off me, Miller! Just because she left your sorry ass, you think it’s okay what he did to her? He tried to rape her!”
I don’t know what courses through me. It’s so consuming, it overpowers my ability to think straight as his words hit me again and again like a physical attack.
I don’t hear or see anything. Not the satisfying crunch of flesh, not even the blood that’s now covering me, but at some point I realize I’m being pulled away and feel my body react to it. I struggle to get free from the grip on my arms as another goes around my neck, and then I hear Pedro repeating that he thought I knew.
I never knew. How much had I never known?
I get shoved outside and into Landon’s SUV before I can stop it. My mind’s far too warbled to be able to object to the chain of events as thought after thought rains on my brain. Is that why she had stayed a virgin so long? What had he done to her? Did he cause part of her strange issues about attachment and the future? Did he hurt her? When in the hell did it happen?
The ride home is filled with silent thoughts. I can hear their minds shouting the same questions mine is.