Page 89 of The Bitter Rival

Knock, knock.

Standing from my chair, I grab my braces to steady myself before heading to the door. The long travel home from Italy had exacerbated my weakness. I pray this relapse will be over soon, and I can try to take advantage of some new therapies to prevent future relapses from coming as often or as intense.

“Hey, come in.” It’s odd greeting my brother this way, given his penchant for breaking and entering.

“Fuck, Bas. I heard what you said on the phone. But I didn’t realize it was this bad,” Sam says, not moving from the porch.

“Thanks. You’re a ray of sunshine.”

Stepping through the doorway, he follows me into the den. “Shit, Bas. I’m sorry. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve had a few months for it to sink in. I guess I’m as good as you’d expect.”

“Have you told Mom and Dad?”

“Why would I do that? Hell, I haven’t seen them in years. What good would it do?”

“I don’t know. I just thought they should know.”

“Well, tell ‘em if you want. I don’t care. It’s not like Mom is going to come running over here to dote on me. Unless she has something to gain from it, I’ll never hear another word about it.” I can picture her repeatedly dropping my name at a multiple sclerosis charity gala and shudder. I leave out I have new parents and don’t need her anyway, but even I think I sound a little nuts considering the thought.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

“How’s your girl dealing with it?” Sam asks, concerned.

“My girl?”

“You know… your birthday girl?”

“Oh, she’s not in the picture anymore.”

“Hell, Sebastian. That was really insensitive of me.”

I find this perplexing. It isn’t near as offensive as half the stuff he asks. “What was?”

“Your dick probably doesn’t work anymore, huh?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam. My dick works just fine.” Not that it’s seen any action from anyone but my hand. There’s no one else for me but her, and I know it.

“Thank god. I mean, I don’t even want to think what would happen ifmysoldier wouldn’t salute.

“Can you please?’ I huff in disgust. How had my affliction with MS been reduced to this?

“Sorry.” He winces. “So if your third leg is working better than the other two…” he points to my legs as if to make a point, “why don’t you give your birthday girl a call? She could at least put a smile on your damn face.”

Flicking him my middle finger, I shake my head at his one-track mind. “I blew that situation. And anyway, I don’t have her number.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I’d never seen you look so happy. I would’ve tried to chase her down- Oh, sorry. I would’ve walked carefully with my braces and given her the whole Tiny Tim routine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, hobble on over and let her feel sorry for you. She’ll take one look at you and want to make you feel better,” he says, waggling his brows.

“I seriously think they dropped you on your head when you were born.”

It’s at this time that the universe decides to step in and save me when Nancy enters the kitchen. “Hi, you must be Sebastian’s brother. You two look so much alike.”

I grimace at the statement as Sam walks over to shake her hand. “Hi, I’m Sam. Who are you?”

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