Page 3 of Keeping Kasey
I fully believed the show Damon put on all these years. I fell for it like the naive child he must think I am.
Because if he were half the man I thought he was, this loss wouldn’t be enough to put a dent in his armor, let alone shatter it to pieces.
I have half a mind to leave him like this and let him face the consequences of missing our mother’s funeral, but I can’t. My father specifically ordered me to ensure my siblings are ready, so that’s what I’m going to do.
Our family’s show of strength is more vital now than it’s ever been, and I won’t let Damon’s downward spiral screw that up.
I slam the door against the wall as hard as I can. The bang is enough to stir him, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
I slam it again. “Wake up.”
“Go away,” he slurs.
“Get up and get ready.”
If he means to say words with his groan, he fails.
I kick some glass from the shattered bottle and grab Damon’s upper arm.
“Get up,” I bite out. “We don’t have time for your pity party.”
Getting him to his feet is easier said than done. Damon is only two years older than I am, but he’s filled into a broad frame where I’m still skin and bone. When I finally haul him to his feet, he shoves at me, misses, and crashes into my chest, sending us both into the wall with a loud thump.
I curse under my breath, barely managing to get up and guide him to the bedroom.
I drop Damon into an armchair beside the fireplace and throw a water bottle at him from the mini fridge across the room. He doesn’t catch it, and it hits him square in the stomach. This would make me smug if not for the fact that he leans forward and empties the minimal contents of his stomach all over the floor.
At least he drinks the water when he’s done.
Half an hour passes before I get him in the shower with brushed teeth. I only leave after a dozen murmured assurances that he can take care of himself.
Doubtful, but I go anyway.
My last stop is the room directly across from mine. With a single knock, I hear the call to come in, then open the door. James stands in front of the floor-length mirror in his closet, fully dressed and ready to go.
“Finally, someone who canactuallytake care of themselves.”
My twin brother would usually crack a smile at the jab at our siblings, but when he turns to face me, his expression is somber, and unshed tears fill his eyes.
“Stop,” I say in a voice sharp enough to cut through the grief in James’s eyes. “We can’t show weakness. Not now.”
“I know,” he says in a strangled voice. “I just…” He trails off, and I know it’s because he’s afraid the tears will win if he says anything else.
He doesn’t need to say anything. I know what he means.
Facing a day like this is hard enough without having to hide our grief.
Grief is normal, butwearen’t.
I grab James’s shoulder, giving it a firm shake like I can help snap him out of the haze.
“Later,” I tell him. “You can break later. But right now, we need to be a strong, united front.”
“How are you able to stay so calm?”
I shake my head, keeping the answer to myself.
Because someone has to be.
