Page 100 of Gorgeous

My final words to you.

1)You suck.

2)I don’t know who you blew to make major because you definitely didn’t make it on your skills alone.

3)Sleeping next to you while you jerk off is still awkward. No, I wasn’t asleep, asshole.

4)Meghan, that chick from down the street, said I was a better lay than you were, so ha! She also said she was into girls so she might not be my best example. I was going through a dry spell.

5)You still suck at video games and your deadlifts lack the correct form.

But I guess if I’m dead, I can be honest with you. You weren’t too terrible to have around. You built some great forts and made Mom happy eating all her apple pies. You didn’t snore and you kicked Micah’s ass for me in the sixth grade. I still say I could have taken him.

It’s been an honor to be your brother.

Take care of Mom and Dad and find a girl to marry you. Bribe her if you need to. You aren’t getting any prettier.

Take care of yourself.

I’m watching you, motherfucker.

Drew

I empty the bottle of whiskey my dad keeps stashed away until I pass out.

Theo wakes me in the morning with a smug ass smile and a cup of coffee. It takes me a while to say goodbye to my parents, promising I will return soon and stay longer. They are eager to meet all the guys, and the new lady in my life Anniston has been telling them about.

Breck.

Another wrong I need to right.

But before I prepare to grovel, I ask Theo to make one more stop with me.

“This place looks like it’s crawling with incurable diseases, Jameson. Are you sure it’s reputable?”

Theo is chewing at his fingernail all wide-eyed, giving everything in this hole-in-the-wall tattoo parlor a thorough once-over. I almost want to make fun of him for it, but honestly, I’m a little nervous too—it does look a little rough.

The walls are covered in laminated drawings—a shrine to the artists’ work. From dragons to Betty Boop, gang signs to praying hands, not an inch of sheetrock shows through this thousand-square-foot building. It’s clean, though, housing two open chairs for piercings and non-private tattoos. Three other chairs are in back rooms with a shower curtain pulled across, improvising as a door.

The overall feel of the place is one hundred percent Drew. I didn’t tell Theo my brother has a history with this place. I just asked with a clogged throat if he would make one more stop with me. He nodded only once, buckled in, and turned on the radio. Now, though, after sensing I’m okay and not on the brink of a meltdown, his friend game is on.

“Chad is an old friend. I trust his word,” I answer, vaguelytracing over one of the sketched doves on the wall.

Theo’s face scrunches up, the lines in his forehead creasing in concentration like he’s trying to read into my words and extract the truth from them.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, tracing another image in the hope he’ll get distracted and move on. My friend, Chad, is bullshit. I don’t have a friend named Chad, but Theo doesn’t know that and I’m not in the mood to explain it to him in the middle of this questionable tattoo parlor.

“Now I know for sure I’ll have to get a tetanus shot when we get home.” He rubs his arm in a grimace before morphing it into a lazy smile. “I’m not stupid, Jameson. You have zero friends. You found this place online and read the hell out of the Yelp reviews before making an appointment. Chad is a reviewer. Am I right?”

I’m struggling to keep a straight face. Bastard. “Why did I bring you, again?” I ask with a chuckle.

Theo’s smile is a full-on grin by this point. “Because I’m the only friend you have, and in a few hours when Hep C sets in, you’ll need me to take you to the ER and convince Breck you weren’t getting a fifty-dollar quickie on Moreland Avenue by some STD-ridden hooker.”

I punch him in the arm, my throaty laugh taking the sting out of my hit. Theo stumbles back, rubbing his bicep furiously with a semi-scowl. “Come on, Jameson! That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

“For once in your life, shut up,” I tell him, glancing over another one of the laminated pages. Drew’s note burns in my pocket.Make them proud.His words echo around in my head. I haven’t made anyone proud of me. I’ve disappointed everyone in my life at the way I’ve dealt with my grief.

After firing off an email to the therapist Anniston requires me to see on occasion, I feel better knowing I am one step toward getting my shit together. If I ever want to get Breck back, I have to start with making room in my head for her. I can’t afford to be selfish anymore. There are too many people who deserve my devotion.

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