Page 15 of Born into Blood

As soon as I hear him, I open the door and walk in, tossing him one of the un-iced cupcakes. “Mom said the others will be iced soon.”

“Cool,” he mumbles around the big bite he just took.

I grab his laptop and crash on the leather chair in the corner. “So what’s the assignment?”

Damien’s brown eyes mirror our mom’s, just like mine are a copy of our dad’s, but there’s no mistaking he’s my brother. Everything is the same except the eye color and the fact that he’s even more stubborn than I am. He’s always struggled in school, but it wasn’t until around fifth grade that he was officially diagnosed with dyslexia. He hates it, and still tries like hell to hide it from everyone. Most of his classmates don’t even know he has it. They just think he hates school and has a massive chip on his shoulder. Our parents spoke with the principal, and my dad was pretty persuasive. In the end, they decided the best course of action was to let my brother take his tests orally and that he wasn’t ever to be singled out or called on in class. Since it’s a private school that my family has donated a shit ton of money to, they were more than happy to agree to my dad’s demands.

I do my brother’s homework, though. That’s the part no one knows about but us.

“You don’t have to do this,” he reminds me for what has to be the millionth time.

“I love English lit,” I tell him. “I can’t help myself. So, what’s the assignment?”

He sighs and grabs his textbook and the paperback that’s lying next to it, the one that he most definitely has not even attempted to read. Trying to get the letters to make sense drives him crazy and leaves him pissed off and with a raging headache. Our method works better.

“We’re reading Jane Eyre, and we’re supposed to answer these questions about it.”

I stifle the groan I want to give and instead force a smile and reach for the books. “My favorite fucking English novel of all time.”

He tries to fight a smile and fails. He looks so much younger when he smiles, but he doesn’t hand them out too often. He’s not what I would call a carefree kind of guy. He goes to the same private school I graduated from, and several of our cousins are still in school with him, so when the bullying started because some jackass caught on to the fact that Damien was struggling to read, that shit was quickly nipped in the bud. We all made it clear that picking on my little brother was not something anyone was going to do and then walk away unscathed. That’s the good thing about private schools. Most of the kids that go to them are pampered and spoiled and used to everyone bowing down to them. They aren’t used to having their asses handed to them.

Max, Val, and I kept it in check when we were there, but even though I’m not there to make sure he’s okay with my own eyes, I know that Sasha, my Uncle Lev’s son, will stop anyone who comes at Damien. Everyone at that school fears the Melnikov name, but Sasha brings it to a whole new level. You’d have to be out of your fucking mind to go up against him.

While I start answering questions about the novel, I toss the remote to Damien. “See if you can find the movie streaming somewhere. It won’t be identical to the novel, but it’s better than nothing. No way can I read this one to you in a night. Way too fucking long.”

I smile at him to let him know I’m not pissed. When he was working on shorter novels, I could just read them to him, but that’s not going to happen with this one. I once stayed up all night reading him a collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories so he’d be ready for class the next day. It’s one of my favorite memories. The letters on the page may not make sense to Damien, but once he hears something, he rarely forgets it. He’s really fucking smart, but people see the learning disability and assume the worst. I know it bothers him, even though he tries like hell to hide it.

When I’m finished with his questions, I read them aloud so he’ll know what he’s turning in to his teacher, and then we fill a plate with cupcakes and I make some popcorn and grab a couple of drinks before we settle in for a night of Jane Eyre.

We’re about an hour into what has to be the longest fucking movie ever when the door opens and my dad peeks in. As soon as he sees us sprawled on the bed, empty cupcake wrappers balled up on the plate next to the half-empty bowl of popcorn and the gothic romance playing on Damien’s large TV screen, he starts laughing, snaps a photo, and hollers for our mom.

“Solnishka! You’re never going to believe what our sons are doing.”

“Nice, Dad,” I tell him, while Damien groans and our mom bursts in. The surprised look on her face when she takes everything in makes it clear she’d been expecting a lot of things, but a Charlotte Brontë movie night isn’t one of them.

“Wow,” she whispers, and then her shocked expression turns into a genuine smile when she glances at the screen. “I love this movie!”

She hops on the giant beanbag and then motions for my dad. “Come on, babe. You don’t want to miss this one. They’re just getting to the good bits.”

My dad shoots us both a look. “I may never forgive you two for this.”

We all laugh as my dad settles into the beanbag chair and pulls our mom into his lap, accepting his fate with as much grace as he can muster. He reaches for the bowl of popcorn, resigning himself to the movie.

“You better not ever tell your Uncle Vitaly about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

My response is to take a quick photo of my parents, making sure to get the TV screen in the photo so my uncle can see the period costumes. My dad’s phone dings a few seconds later, and when he reads the message, he looks over at me and raises a brow, shaking his head in mock disappointment while he holds his phone up so I can see the one-word text my uncle sent him.

Pussy.

My brother and I laugh.

“You know he’s going to put that in the group chat,” my dad says, but he’s not mad. He knows my uncles would be doing the same damn thing he’s doing. My dad tosses his phone aside and wraps his arms around my mom, who’s taken over the bowl of popcorn. We settle in and finish the movie, my dad and I not even grumbling once about the romantic movie because this is for my brother, and we’ll do anything for family, no matter what.

By the time the credits start, my mom’s asleep and Damien is barely keeping his eyes open. Picking our mom up, our dad tells us goodnight and then carries her back to their room while I stretch and gather up the dirty dishes.

“Thanks, Luka,” Damien says, running a hand through his dark hair. “You don’t have to keep doing this. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Better things than watching romances with my family?” I laugh and smack his shoulder. “What the hell is better than that?”

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