Page 58 of The Stepbrother 2: Noah

“My heart's breaking," I replied, grabbing my chest. I could feel it physically breaking. My chest burned and tightened. Then my weight was too heavy for my legs.

I hit the street hard. Scarlett screamed for help.

I felt hands on me and heard, “I think he’s having a heart attack," seconds before I blacked out.

Creed-

Daddy dealt with mental illness. Noah dealt with mental illness. Tiffany was crazy as fuck. Why hadn't anybody thought to stop for a minute and ask themselves what was behind Maine's erratic behavior? Not even Jason, who was the ebony to her ivory, her shadow, had recognized the signs she was slipping. We could have helped her if she had asked for help. Had she asked for help, and we'd been silent to her cries?

In hindsight, Maine had always shown signs of being a little imbalanced—the promiscuous behavior, the mood swings. We went to her house and found her mental health diagnosis. She had pills she wasn't taking and missed appointments with her doctor. I didn’t feel like anyone had the right reaction to finding out. Everybody sort of nodded and said, "Oh, that makes sense," but no one thought deeper or felt accountable. Why hadn't any of us at least reached out and asked if Maine was okay when her personality changed? Me included. For five years, I'd isolated her because she didn't have my back a few times in our lifetime. I got lost in my own grief and self-righteousness and shut her out. Maybe if I had tried to be more empathetic instead of reactive, I wouldn’t have buried my sister so early. She'd never get to meet her niece. She wouldn’t see DJ grow up, graduate, or get married. Thinking about it left a heavy, suffocating sorrow that seemed to have no end, sitting in the center of my chest.

Despite all that happened, Maine was my sister. I never wanted anything bad to happen to her. I just wanted to kick her ass a few times. She had been a good sister most of my life. When Mommy and Daddy were wrapped up in Troy and Scarlett's world, Maine was my distraction. She made me never feel alone as a kid. There were so many good things about her that far outweighed the bad.

I looked around, my eyes meeting relatives I hadn't spoken to in years, and Maine's friends, who she had drifted from. Our grandparents were surrounded by people. Grandmother was recovering well from her heart attack. Jason and DJ were missing—Jason refused to participate, and we all thought DJ was too young to come.

Nobody seemed sad enough for me. I saw relief in their eyes where I expected tears. Maine had burned a lot of bridges, hurt a lot of people. Except Daddy. He was drowning on dry land. Scarlett told us they thought he had a heart attack because he’d passed out at the scene of Maine's accident.

They thought he had a panic attack. I think he was actually feeling his heart breaking. Despite what any of us thought, Daddy loved us all hard and equally. He just loved Momma differently, obsessively.

At the moment he was sitting in the corner of the room in a wheelchair, his hands and legs bandaged. He had run into flames barefoot, trying to get to Maine, and he passed out from the pain and a panic attack. He said he didn’t even notice there was fire. He just had tunnel vision and wanted to get to Maine. The man who helped him had run into the flames with him and also suffered a few burns. Ironically, he had been homeless, a veteran. He would never have to worry about money again.

I stared at Daddy until he looked over at me. He tried to smile, but it turned into a frown halfway.

I wanted to make it all better for him, but didn’t know how or where to start. Could I even? How do you unbreak someone's heart? How do you fix the unfixable, mend a shattered soul? A parent should never have to bury a child. It's against the natural order of things. Witnessing him in this state was like watching a mountain fall.

Suddenly I felt the urge to sing. There was this movie Daddy, Maine, and I watched –Funny Valentine.That was Maine's and our favorite song. Maine sang that song a lot, even though she was one of the only people in our family who couldn’t sing. Mommy had asked me to sing it at the church or graveyard for her. I didn’t feel like singing then. I felt like singing now. I felt as if, if I didn’t, I’d scream.

Noah's hand wrapped around my arm when I stood. So lost in my own head, I had forgotten he was there. His eyes found mine. He hadn’t shed a tear. I don’t think he knew how to process his sadness, so the energy from it turned into servitude. He had planned the entire funeral, had been taking care of everybody. I was determined to be there for him when it all hit him square in the chest like it had done to us. "Are you okay?" he asked me.

"Yes, I need to do something. Stay here." I walked off before he could say more. My feet felt heavy, as if I was walking in quick sand as I made my way cross the room.

Noah had been my rock, but I wanted my Mommy. I needed her comfort. This didn’t mean we didn’t have issues to work out or that I’d instantly forgive her. I just knew now I wouldn’t stay mad at her forever. If she gave me time, we’d be alright.

I found her at the tables of food we had set up. Dressed in black silk, she looked beautiful but totally defeated. Her hands held mine when I attached myself to her back and wrapped my arms around her waist. “My Funny Valentine,” I started singing. She started rocking.

As the words left my lips, memories of Maine singing off-key flooded me. "Sweet comic Valentine. You make me smile with my heart."

As I sang, I hoped Maine was somewhere listening to my apology. I was so sorry I didn’t ask, just once, if she was okay.

By the end of the song, I opened my eyes. Mommy's tears were silent, her grief quiet. Daddy was next to me now, his tears flowing freely. I ignored the stares of everybody and searched the room for Noah. He was standing by the door that led to the dining room, talking to one of the guards. He briefly glanced back at me and gestured that he’d be back. There was so much tension in his shoulders. I wondered what was going on. I excused myself and followed him.

I walked into the kitchen to find him and Tiffany in a face-off. "You shouldn’t have come here, Tiffany."

"Maine was my daughter. Why wouldn’t I come?" she rebutted. It was déjà vu over and over again with Tiffany. She used her children as an excuse for her bad behavior.

Noah looked like he was about to explode. His entire face was red. "You know—"

I beat him to combustion. My grief turned to anger. "Because you're part of why she's dead!" I yelled. "You manipulative, conniving bitch." I advanced on them. "You never cared about her, just what she could do for you! Her entire existence came about because you wanted a meal ticket.” I shoved Noah out of the way.

I was so close to Tiffany now, our faces inches apart.

"What are you doing, Creed? Put the knife down."

My hand trembled, and I looked at it. I didn’t even remember picking a knife. But here it was, cold and heavy in my hand, the blade pressed against Tiffany's throat. It felt like I was havingan out-of-body experience. Noah's words barely registered as I stared into Tiffany's cold eyes.

"I've barely said a hundred words to you in twenty-five years, but I hate you so much," I confessed. "I could put everybody and you out of our misery if I just applied five or six pounds of pressure to your jugular." Tiffany's eyes were wide with fear but showed no regret or remorse.My hand trembled as I pressed the blade just a little deeper, feeling the resistance of her skin.

"I want to stab you so badly that the thought of not doing it is making me angrier. Because why do you deserve to live when Maine's dead?" I taunted, but she remained silent, a deer caught in the headlights.

---