Page 20 of Ride the Sky

“Okay,” Charlie finishes with an eyebrow raise.

I glare at him. “I’m—”

“Depressed,” Davis finishes

“An idiot,” supplies Ford.

I scowl. “Christ, can I get a word in?”

Ford tugs on his collar, ill at ease. “Kid, shut up and listen to us.”

I swing my head in Charlie’s direction for help. He’s always had my back. But instead of calling them off, he just sighs and settles back in his chair.

My eyes narrow. “Did your wives put you up to this?”

Davis clears his throat. “The wives have nothing to do with this.”

Liar.

Ford reaches for the stack of notecards, his big hands fumbling as he flips through them.

I laugh. “Christ. You made talking points. Y’all really are whipped.”

“This was Ruby’s idea,” Ford snaps, looking more desperate by the second.

“Leave my wife outta this,” Charlie growls.

I smirk, satisfied I have them arguing amongst themselves. As the third youngest, I learned the tactics to charm and argue my way out of sibling squabbles.

“Fuck this,” Ford swears, realizing what I’m doing. He drops the cards and looks to Davis. “D, I’m about ten seconds away from puttin’ this kid’s head through a wall.”

All my brothers appear equally unamused.

Davis pins me with a stern glare. “You know, you’d make it a hell of a lot easier if you shut up and listened to us.”

“It ain’t your job—”

“Yeah, it is,” Charlie cuts in. “We’re your big brothers.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “Say what you want to say.”

The faster they spill it, the sooner I can get the hell out of here.

On a big exhale, Charlie rubs his jaw. He looks at Davis and Ford and then at me. “You’ve changed,” he states bluntly.

The amusement I feel is immediately replaced with shame.

A faint glimmer of emotion slides across Davis’s hard face. “You’ve been avoidin’ us. The family. Stayin’ away.”

I stare at the toes of my boots. Maybe I have. Maybe all I’m doing these days is keeping my distance. Because sometimes it feels like I have too much to lose. Other times, all I feel is numb.

“You’re workin’ too much. You ain’t sleepin’.” Ford drags a hand through his shaggy dark-blond hair. “Think I’ve seen you crack a six-pack more than a smile these days.”

“What can I say? I’m thirsty.”

The joke doesn’t land. No one laughs.

“Wy, the road you’re headed on—I know it.” Ford eyes me warily. “You’re sleepin’ too little. Drinkin’ too much.”

---