Page 70 of Wicked Spite
“You think they’re gonna make us something fruity?” Lincoln asks, glancing toward the stairs.
“Not likely. We aren’t getting shit from the girls’ night,” Jeremiah says without looking away from the screen. “Reagan’s too busy being the queen bee down there. I swear she’s got a personality that if I didn’t know better is straight from the Blackwood bloodline.”
“Queen bee, I like that. A Blackwood queen,” I muse under my breath.
“What’s that, Penn?” Lincoln asks, raising an eyebrow. He loves to poke the bear; see how far he can push before I snap.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I reply, my voice casual, dismissive. “Just focus on not getting your ass handed to you again.”
“Big talk for someone who’s barely keeping ahead,” Jeremiah says with a smirk. He can’t hide the rush of competition that always gets us caught up.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I say, settling back into thecouch. My fingers move deftly over the controller, every movement calculated, every attack precise.
“Fuck you, Penn,” he retorts, though there’s no real heat behind it. Just the usual brotherly bullshit.
“Love you too, bro,” I say with a wink, then turn my attention back to the game. “Dammit, Lincoln! How the hell did you pull off that headshot?” I mutter, shaking my controller in disbelief. The screen flashes with “GAME OVER” and Lincoln’s smug face is all I can see.
“Skill, bro. Something you clearly lack,” Lincoln says, his eyes never leaving the screen as he readies for another round.
“Yeah, yeah, keep talking. We’ll see who’s laughing when I wipe the floor with you next round.”
“Speaking of something lacking,” Jeremiah cuts in, setting his controller down for a moment. “Anyone else feel weird without Graham around? The place feels…different.”
Differentis putting it mildly. The house feels like it’s missing its perpetual storm cloud. Graham’s grumpiness always added an energy to our chaotic group, like the final ingredient in a Molotov cocktail.
“Can’t say I miss his endless bitching,” I reply, though deep down, the absence gnaws at me. It’s like losing the punchline to an inside joke only we get.
“True,” Lincoln agrees, lips curling into a grin. “But admit it, the asshole has his charm. Like a grumpy cat that occasionally decides to show affection by scratching your face.”
“Yeah…” I trail off. We feel the void as our brother lays up there in the fucking hospital. It makes my skin feel itchy and like the only way to fix this is to kill someone. Specifically, the someone who’s fault this fucking is. My murderous thoughts are cut off by Lincoln’s smug ass voice cutting in.
“Anyway,” Lincoln shifts gears, trying to lighten the mood. “What the hell were you and Reagan up to when you came home last night? Sounded like the place was being torn apart.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I shoot back.
“Spit it out already, Penn,” Lincoln says, his impatience seeping through. “What the hell were you two doing? Sounded like you were setting off fireworks in the damn house with all the fucking laughter.”
“None of your fucking business,” I snap, fingers gripping the controller tighter. I don’t owe him or anyone else an explanation.
“Typical,” Jeremiah mutters, his eyes glued to the screen but his voice cutting through the air. “Any time there’s chaos or commotion, it’s usually got your name written all over it. So yeah, it is our business.”
“Jeremiah, always the concerned brother,” I retort, the sarcasm dripping from my words. “And it was nothing.”
“Yeah, well, when your shit becomes our shit, it kinda makes it our concern,” he counters, glancing at me briefly.
“Trust isn’t exactly your strong suit,” Lincoln quips, his lips curling into a half-smile. “But alright, we’ll drop it—for now.”
“Goddamn right,” I say with a sly grin, leaning back and savoring the moment. “You guys would be bored out of your fucking minds without me. I’m like a fireworks show—bright, explosive, and totally unpredictable.”
“More like a dumpster fire,” Jeremiah retorts, not missing a beat. “Bright, explosive, and leaving everyone around you scrambling for cover.”
“Hey, a fire’s a fire,” I shoot back, my fingers dancing over the controller. “And any time I get to play with it makes me a very happy Penn.”
“You’re a constant fucking headache,” Lincoln says, shaking his head.
“Then take an aspirin and shut up,” I laugh, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with these verbal sparring matches.
“Seriously though,” Jeremiah says, his tone softening just a touch. “You push boundaries like it’s a hobby. One day, you’re gonna push too far.”
